Chapitre 10: chapter 10
Remus shifts his weight, hoping he'll be able to find a more comfortable position in the armchair if he does.
Dumbledore sits across from him, hands folded on top of his desk. The portraits on the walls of his study are still gossiping in low voices about the events of the evening before.
"So," he says mildly, "it sounds like you've accomplished quite a bit since we've last had a chance to speak alone."
That… that would be an understatement. Less than twelve hours ago, Remus had barged into Dumbledore's office unannounced, dragging along with him a murderer, the man he murdered, and the murderer's godson and two friends, and demanded that things be made right.
"I wouldn't say I accomplished much of anything," Remus says. He shifts once more in his chair, before silently resigning himself to discomfort for at least the next hour.
It's not like he hadn't expected this. Dumbledore isn't one to let things go: he enjoys picking things apart, understanding the nuances of even the simplest situations and filing the information away for later use.
"Has Sirius already left the school grounds?"
Remus forces himself to keep his expression neutral upon hearing Dumbledore's casual switch to using Sirius' given name. He nods. "To my knowledge, he's returned to his ancestral home."
"And remind me, where is that again?"
He's playing mind tricks again, Remus thinks.
"I'm afraid I don't know myself," he says apologetically, which is a lie — he knows exactly where it is. "It's protected by a Fidelius, so you'll have to get in touch with Sirius and ask him directly."
"I'll be sure to do that," Dumbledore murmurs as he peers past his spectacles. "Have you spoken with Edward recently?"
Remus does everything in his power to not grimace.
Between him and Sirius, they'd managed to persuade Harry, Hermione, and Ron to stay (rather reluctantly) silent about Ed's involvement in the citizen's arrest of Peter Pettigrew and the pending exoneration of Sirius Black. In every single account of the events that had transpired the evening before, there's a glaring hole in the middle of it all that should be named Edward Elric.
"I last spoke to him, hm, I would guess over a week ago, when he had a question regarding the exams," Remus says.
"I see. Is he doing well?"
"I think he's much better adjusted now, considering the circumstances in which he arrived here, and I believe it's quite safe to say he didn't have any ties to Sirius or Peter after all," Remus lies through his teeth.
"Are you of the opinion that Edward is simply a victim of unfortunate timing?"
To say the least.
"Yes, I am. I don't have any negative impression of the boy despite what some of the other students have imagined about him."
"Ah, yes, the rumors about his Muggle delinquency," Dumbledore says.
Remus can't stop himself from doing a double-take. Since when did the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry give a single shit about student gossip?
His thoughts must be written all over his face, because Dumbledore smiles. "It's rather amusing, isn't it?"
"That's certainly one way to think of it," Remus answers diplomatically.
"I suppose Edward hasn't done anything untoward," Dumbledore says, his head tilted thoughtfully to one side. "Perhaps I was too quick to judge."
Remus stays purposefully silent, which he knows Dumbledore will recognize as polite agreement.
"I do have one last request, if it isn't too much to ask," the Headmaster says after some time.
"It would depend on the request," Remus answers warily.
Dumbledore smiles again. "How would you feel about continuing in your position for the next year as well? The students speak highly of you and I'm most certain they'd appreciate your help as they continue to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"You want me to continue teaching?" Remus asks, startled.
"If it wouldn't be too much to ask of you," Dumbledore says, as if this isn't the first stable job Remus has had since graduating sixteen years prior.
"I'd be happy to do so," Remus says instead of pointing that out.
"Then it looks like I'll be relying on you once again."
"Yes," Remus sighs, "it would seem so."
* * * * *
The Great Hall is filled to capacity for the end-of-year feast.
Everyone is waiting impatiently for Dumbledore to finish talking at them so that they can eat, but he's taking his time randomly assigning last minute points and sharing information like who won the House Cup (not Hufflepuff, Ed single-handedly guaranteed that) and changes to the Hogwarts staff for the next year.
"—I am happy to announce Professor Lupin will be returning to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."
The Great Hall cheers, the one moment of actual excitement, as the students consider the possibility of having a competent teacher in the subject for two years in a row; the fourth years shout the loudest, as they'll be taking their OWLs next year and they'll most definitely need the support.
"With that, I invite you all to tuck in."
The food appears in an instant, every dish over-the-top in its presentation: all of it piled high on solid gold tableware.
What kind of school is this? Ed thinks, not for the first time, as he runs a gloved finger over the designs on his plate. Solid fucking gold.
Ed sticks out like a sore thumb at the end of the Hufflepuff table, where he's given a wide berth by the rest of his House mates. He'd sit next to Luna if he could, but Sprout had specifically requested that he sit with their House for the end-of-year feast — something about showing unity — and refusing her would have felt like yelling in Granny's face.
So he's there, since he doesn't feel too strongly against it, and he's shoveling food in his face since he doesn't need to talk to anyone either. Focusing on eating is also a way to pretend he doesn't notice Harry's very blatant staring from the Gryffindor table.
Cedric slides into the empty space next to him and Ed just knows everyone is watching now.
"How were exams?" Cedric asks, neatly arranging a salad on his plate.
"'S fine," Ed says with a mouth full of bread.
Cedric laughs. "Don't talk with your mouth full."
"I do what I please," Ed answers.
"I've noticed." Cedric also starts eating, albeit with his utensils and impeccable table manners.
Ed almost feels ashamed — key word being "almost". He tears into his chicken like a feral animal without another thought.
"What are you doing over the summer?" Cedric asks in between bites of his food.
"Nothing much," Ed lies. He can't explain that he'll be spending his time tracking down pieces of Riddle's soul, so "nothing much" is probably the most accurate answer Ed can give at the moment.
"Think you'll be going to the World Cup?"
"Not really my thing," Ed answers. "You?"
Cedric smiles, all boyish charm and natural charisma. "My dad and I are planning on it. I'm excited to see Krum play in person!"
"Who's Krum?"
The other boy looks aghast. "Viktor Krum? He's on the Bulgarian national team and he's my age!"
Ed almost smiles; that's twice now that his lack of Quidditch knowledge has riled up a wizard, and fairly mild-mannered ones at that.
"Never heard of him."
This sparks something in Cedric, who feels that Ed is in desperate need of a crash-course in Quidditch. The impromptu lecture actually draws in other members of their House, who tentatively offer their opinions on certain players and teams. As they notice Ed doesn't stab them with a fork or attempt any violent action at all, they visibly relax and become more animated as they bicker over how fast a Snitch can actually fly or the weight of a professional league Bludger versus a school-assigned one.
Ed, for the most part, doesn't think much of it; he asks a couple questions, but is mostly content to listen to Cedric list stats by heart and snort as other Hufflepuffs (that he's never spoken to) argue about who the "best" Quidditch player in history is.
He happens to glance at Sprout after commenting on Hannah Abbott's assessment of their own Hogwarts Quidditch teams and is struck by the extremely proud expression on her face, her plump cheeks even redder than usual from smiling so hard.
I'll try to get along with them next year, he thinks to himself. I promise.
* * * * *
A Hufflepuff, three Gryffindors, and a Ravenclaw sit together in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express that is realistically too small to accomodate all of them and their luggage. They're joking about how they'll never fit and a few of them exclaim when their feet are trod on by another person, but they're happy enough to chat and laugh about whatever they'd like as they wait for the train to depart.
That same compartment comes to a standstill when the door slides open and reveals a Slytherin standing on the other side, looking unbearably awkward about being there at all.
"May I join you?" Blaise asks, polite in spite of his nerves.
"Yeah, of course," Fred says, before Ed can even process what is happening. "We've plenty of room."
There is, in fact, no room at all, but everyone inside is already moving to make space for Blaise, squeezing together so that he can sit to Luna's left, right against the door.
"Like I was saying," Neville starts up again once everyone is settled, "I don't think I have a good enough understanding of Muggle culture to ever go out there alone and Gran would probably laugh herself to death watching me have a go at it on my own."
"Your gran has a better sense of humor than I would've thought," Ed comments.
"I like the Muggles," Luna adds. "I think they've got fascinating imaginations, despite how little they actually know about magic."
"What do you mean?" George asks, always relatively serious in his consideration of hypotheticals and the unknown.
"There are some writers out there who've written stories about wizards," Luna explains, "and while they don't ever accurately depict magic, I find it incredible that so many of them from all over the world came up with the same idea that people might be capable of, well, of more in another time and place."
"Maybe those authors are actually Squibs?" Neville says. "That would explain how they know about magic."
"I doubt it," Luna responds. "They don't seem to know enough about actual magic to even be considered Squibs. And some of the things they come up with are far more inventive than what we wizards are actually capable of now."
"Have you ever read any of Tolkien's work?"
Everyone in the compartment stares at Blaise, who's waiting on a response from Luna.
She smiles. "Of course. It's rather frightening how much magic one Muggle can create with words, isn't it? The power of writing… it's unfathomable."
Neville, Fred, George, and Ed have no idea what she's referring to, but Blaise nods, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly.
"I would be less surprised to find out he actually had been a wizard of sorts," Blaise agrees.
"You read Muggle literature?" Fred all but screams.
The Slytherin shrugs, entirely unfazed by the other boy's theatrics. "I was curious when I was younger and my mother didn't take issue with the idea. It's also a great deal more interesting than anything we've been asked to read for Hogwarts. You should try it sometime."
"Oh yes," Luna interjects, "I think everyone should try Muggle books! There's so much of it and there's something for everyone."
"Agreed," Ed says. "Shakespeare's pretty good."
"I imagine you just enjoy finding such relatable characters," Blaise says, a tiny smirk growing on his face. "They are, after all, dumbasses like you, right?"
Ed snarls without any heat behind it, while the other people sitting in the compartment eye Blaise curiously and then exchange glances. It's pretty obvious Blaise has just used a word from Ed's language, which has been something of an unsolved mystery since the beginning of the year. They all silently agree to ask about it later, so as to not put either Ed or Blaise on the spot.
"We should have a book club or something," George suggests, "because I'm all for learning, but I can't be bothered to get through any book on my own." He jokes, "Someone has got to keep me accountable."
Ed thinks George suggests it more for Fred's sake than his own, considering how Fred's struggle to read often ends with him avoiding the activity entirely.
"It's a great idea," he says, the first to agree to it. "Half of us" — Blaise glances at Ed with slightly wide eyes — "already read a shit ton of Muggle writing, so we'd have a good foundation to build off of."
Neville smiles. "I wouldn't mind it. What would we start with?"
"Why not something with a little magic?" Luna suggests.
"Love it," Fred says immediately. "What do you have in mind?"
"I read a book about the history of something called e-leck-trickety the other day," Luna says. "We could start there."
Ed makes a strained sound. "Electricity?"
"That's the bitch," Luna says cheerfully.
"Watch your fucking language," Ed says immediately, before covering his face with his hands. "Holy fucking shit, this is my worst nightmare."
"What?"
"He said something along the lines of 'fuck crap my bad dream'," Blaise says.
Fred opens his mouth in a silent scream and stares at the rest of the group as if to say, "did Blaise Zabini really just say that with his own mouth?"
"You understood that?" Neville asks, rather impressed.
Blaise gently tugs on the collar of his robes and swallows. "I suppose I did."
"We're reading about electricity first," Ed speaks over them, "because the lack of scientific understanding in this train carriage is a god-damn outrage."
The rest of them shrug.
"As long as it's magic," Fred says.
Ed wheezes. "It's not, that's not, that — AGH!"
* * * * *
Ed's friends are kind and patient enough to endure his rant about the "science" of "electricity", nodding the entire time like they understand a single word out of his mouth when they absolutely do not.
"What exactly is 'science'," Fred whispers to George.
"I think it's some Muggle version of magic? Or maybe it's more along the lines of potion-making? I didn't fully understand Ed's explanation," George whispers back.
After an especially angry and technical explanation of "lightbulbs", George adds quietly, "We should probably listen to dad when he talks about work."
"No kidding," Fred says, eyebrows furrowed as Ed starts detailing the parts of an "Adam", like the "pro-tawn" and "e-leck-trawn".
Luna eventually asks him to buy her a tin of lemon drops from the trolley, slipping him a Sickle and ushering him out of the compartment to cool off. It's probably for the best, because Ed is literally yelling about the scientific achievement of things like the lightbulb to a bunch of teenagers who can wave light into existence with a stick.
He's on his way back from the trolley when he runs into Harry Potter, who's strategically placed himself in Ed's way.
"Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"I'd rather not," Ed says honestly.
Harry scowls, but doesn't leave. "Why didn't you say anything about Si–, er, about, about Padfoot earlier in the year?"
Ed actually laughs at that. "You're telling me that if I came up to you out of nowhere three months ago and told you Sirius Black didn't actually want to murder you, you'd just take my word for it?"
Harry opens and closes his mouth several times as he tries to refute Ed's hypothetical. "Well, it wouldn't have hurt to try!"
"Look, my life for the last few months would have been a million times easier if I could have just told you and Sirius to get over yourselves and have a proper conversation, but that wasn't my decision to make."
"Why not?"
"Between the rumors of my 'delinquency' and that other bullshit about an escaped convict looking to get rid of you, I wonder why I didn't think you'd appreciate it all that much."
Talking to Harry reminds Ed of their respective ages and lived experiences.
Harry definitely hasn't had it easy (at least from what Ed's read about in books and heard in the hallways), but he's only thirteen and he's a student. Sure, he's dealt with Riddle on three separate occasions, but he was then and still is a kid first and foremost; he's surrounded by teenagers his age and he's somewhat protected by the adults in his life (not well, admittedly).
On the other hand, Ed has had a full-time job as a member of the national military for the last three years, not to mention he hasn't had much adult supervision since his mom died, unless it's a string of orders barked at him by a superior. He's been living as an adult for the majority of his life now, because if he isn't responsible for himself and for Al, who would be?
He tries to be understanding about where their differences lie.
"Dumbledore might have your best interests at heart," Ed starts, "but I was an unknown variable in his equation. In his eyes, anything I did that was deemed suspicious would be proof that I either couldn't be trusted or that I was bad fucking news. You get it? Me trying to tell you about Sirius before things worked out the way they did would've been a guaranteed disaster."
"He's not like that," Harry says hotly. "He'd have believed you, if you'd tried to explain."
"He's not like that to you," Ed points out. "He doesn't know me, though. It's the logical thing to do, I mean, fuck, I'd do it too. Keep your enemies close, you know?"
"What enemies?" Harry retorts. "You're just a kid."
"So? You're just a kid and you have enemies. And you get involved with shady crap every single year. And you drag your friends into it." He spots Ron peeking out from four doors down. "Said friends are waiting on you."
Harry turns to look at Ron, who makes a face and then disappears back into the compartment.
"We're talking about this again," Harry says. "I want answers."
"That's nice. Maybe someday you'll get them."
Ed enters his own compartment without looking back.
"Who was that?" Fred asks.
"Does it matter?"
"Not at all," George answers. "Hurry up and sit down. We're about to start a round of Exploding Snap."
Ed does just that, settling himself down between Neville and Fred as Luna deals out cards. Blaise holds them gingerly, as if he's afraid that touching them at all will burn him. Fred and George give the Slytherin crap for not knowing how to play, but it's done in good humor and Ed almost sees Blaise huff a laugh at one point. Luna and Neville take turns explaining the rules to Blaise and Ed.
All things considered, Ed's had a relatively good year and he leaves Hogwarts surrounded by friends.
* * * * *
They agree to meet in two weeks' time for their informal Muggle-books-book-club at Ranklebury's Café on the corner of Axe-Cedent Alley.
Like Diagon Alley, the entrance is placed strategically in plain sight in Muggle London, but Axe-Cedent Alley is filled with odds and ends from smaller, independently-owned shops.
"Which is why it's not as popular as Diagon Alley," Luna explains. "The stores aren't as well-known, but it's where the young people go nowadays."
"Young people," Ed repeats with a snort. "You're 'young people'."
"I'm ancient and all-knowing," Luna replies as she finishes braiding Ed's hair.
"If I'm not mistaken, there should also be a Muggle bookstore somewhere nearby the entrance," Blaise says, well-informed as ever about trends and up-and-coming locations, "so we shouldn't have a problem finding things to read."
"Electricity first," Ed insists.
"We know," the Gryffindors groan in unison.
Blaise purses his lips in what might be considered a smile.
"Just making sure," Ed responds, defensive. If he has to learn about Quidditch and other useless wizard stuff, they should at least learn about electricity. (Personally, he thinks the twins would excel at chemistry, given the opportunity to study it.)
The Hogwarts Express will be pulling into the station in less than fifteen minutes. The overly crowded compartment becomes a mass of limbs and robes as everyone tries to grab their trunks and sort out their other belongings, but by the end, somehow, they manage to collect all of their things and get off the train without losing any extremities (which is extremely fortunate for Ed, who doesn't have many left to lose).
They stand on the platform and say their goodbyes, with Luna eventually pulling everyone, including Blaise, into a group hug.
From the expression on Blaise's face, Ed is willing to bet that if he were to touch the other boy's cheeks right now, they'd be warm from blushing. He wonders if Blaise thanks his dark complexion for allowing him to maintain his "I'm too cool to be embarrassed" facade and feels the tiniest bit irritated that his ears always give him away.
The Slytherin disappears shortly after the hug with a firm promise to meet at the agreed upon time and place.
Shortly after, Luna walks off to greet a man, with hair longer than hers and Ed's, with a curtsy. He returns with a bow and then offers her his arm, which she takes with a happy smile and together they leave the station.
"Have you ever read The Quibbler?" Neville asks as they watch Luna and her father disappear into the mass of people on the platform.
Ed hasn't read wizarding newspapers since he finally caught Sirius a few months back. "Nope. I'll have to check it out sometime."
"It's, er, it's definitely something," Neville says. He spots someone, who Ed guesses is Neville's grandmother. "See you around!" Neville calls, waving as he rushes off to meet Augusta Longbottom on the other side of the platform.
Fred slings an arm around Ed's shoulder. "Can't believe we won't be seeing you around."
"You're talking like we're not going to see each other at all," Ed says, snorting.
"How will we ever live without your sass," George adds, ignoring Ed's logic.
"Or your ass," Fred corrects. He takes a moment to think about it before announcing, "I guess we'll just die."
"When you speak at our funeral, speak of us fondly," George says.
"Make sure to tell everyone how madly in love with me you were!"
"And don't forget to say that you settled for the less attractive twin."
"We're identical! You're insulting yourself — ha!"
"Sure," George says dismissively, which only serves to further rile his brother up.
"You two need to hurry up and go home," Ed says. He can already make out the rest of the Weasleys waiting on the platform, a huddle of redheads who are completely pallid in comparison to Harry and Hermione's darker complexions.
"You should meet mum," Fred decides, already grabbing Ed by the elbow and directing him towards the Weasleys.
Ed doesn't want to deal with Harry, Hermione, and Ron so soon after their shared ride on the Hot Mess Express just two days prior, but he hasn't forgotten that Mrs. Weasley made him a sweater for Christmas and he's wanted to thank her for it ever since; it is quite honestly the only red article of clothing he has and it makes him think of his spectacular jacket back home.
"Fine," Ed grouches. "This is probably going to be a disaster."
"Your uncanny ability to be a natural disaster is the only reason we like you," Fred says.
Ed punches him in the shoulder for the comment.
"And it won't be a disaster," George insists. "Mum'll like you. She likes all our friends."
"What friends? Lee? Everyone likes Lee," Ed complains.
"Everyone likes you too," Fred says, a big grin on his face, "so you'll be alright."
"More like everyone likes to spread unfounded rumors about me," Ed says, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Including you two, now that I think about it."
"Only because we can say anything and everyone else will believe it." Fred smiles.
George pinches Ed's side. "Stop worrying about it and say hi."
The Weasleys have noticed them now for sure and Ed feels self-conscious under their stares. It's one thing to meet other kids, it's a whole other thing to meet your friends' parents.
There's also the fact that Ed has literally never had friends that had parents to meet.
In the back of his mind, he wishes he could take his gloves off for once so that the first impression he makes isn't so fucking weird.
"Mum! This is Ed," Fred announces, gesturing to Ed excitedly.
None of the Golden Trio are happy to see him, but the feeling is mutual.
"Hello Mrs. Weasley," Ed says after a beat of silence. He holds out his left hand for her to shake. "It's nice to meet you."
Mrs. Weasley is a plump woman with kind eyes and a face made friendly by laugh lines and crow's feet. She smiles at Ed and reaches out to pull him into a hug, startling him.
"It's good to meet you, dear, I've heard loads about you from Fred and George over Christmas."
"I wanted to thank you for the sweater, ma'am." Ed ignores Fred's restrained laughter at his out-of-character politeness.
"Oh, think nothing of it! George picked the color, did it fit you alright? I'm afraid I wasn't sure what size it should be, so I made do with some suggestions from Fred." Just by looking at Ed, he's sure she knows the sweater had been too large.
"It was perfect," he reassures her anyway. "I wore it often during the winter."
Mrs. Weasley smiles again. "This is Arthur, my husband," she says, "and I'm sure you know everyone else."
Mr. Weasley somehow manages to look even friendlier than his wife and has redder hair than her too. He shakes Ed's hand enthusiastically, commenting enthusiastically on Ed's "Muggle robes".
While Ed does know who Percy and Ginny are, he's never actually spoken to them. He waves awkwardly and Ginny returns it with a quirk of her lips. Percy raises an eyebrow.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione are still glaring daggers at him, which Mrs. and Mr. Weasley don't pick up on at all.
"I should get going," Ed says. "It was lovely meeting you."
Fred outright laughs and George snorts.
"He said lovely," Fred whispers.
"Who do we tell first," George whispers back.
Mrs. Weasley frowns at her sons, unable to hear their running commentary on Ed's word choice, but knowing it can't be polite. Ed continues to pretend they aren't being annoying right beside him.
"Alright, dear, take care now! And don't be a stranger," she says.
Fred slings an arm around Ed's shoulders. "Yes, don't be a stranger, you should come visit us at the Burrow this weekend."
Ed opens his mouth to refuse, but Mrs. Weasley speaks up. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Fred. Please feel free to visit! Merlin knows the boys could do with some good influence."
Mrs. and Mr. Weasley smile brightly, but all of the Weasley children glance dubiously at Ed upon hearing the words "good influence".
"That… sounds great," Ed replies lamely. "Thank you for the invitation."
The twins high-five and the Golden Trio glare and Ginny just waves again.
"Bye Ed," she says nonchalantly, "see you soon."
"Right," he says hesitantly, "see you… soon."
Ron mutters something about bringing nutcases back like they're feral cats and Ginny stamps on his foot. Ed pretends he didn't see it happen and grabs his suitcase.
"Don't forget us," Fred calls out as he walks away.
"I can't," Ed responds. "I'll be seeing you in less than a week."
"That's the idea," George says. "Bye!"
* * * * *
Ed doesn't know what he expected outside of the wizarding world, but he should have known Truth might have set him up like this for a laugh.
It's not like Ed could have missed the year — currently 1994 — written on every newspaper and every chalkboard in class, and somehow not realized that it is precisely eighty years in the future. The very first moment he'd been confronted by the date, he'd shrugged off the disparity, since he had already been thrown into an entirely new world anyway. Why would the date matter to him in a world with shitty alchemy and literal magic?
But he had noticed wizarding research avoids or outright dismisses Muggle inventions and achievements, which is why Ed hadn't realized just how different life outside of Hogwarts is going to be for someone who is technically a time-displaced Muggle.
Stepping out of a brick wall into the non-magical part of King's Cross, Ed immediately notices the sleek metal shape of the Muggle trains, a stark contrast to the Hogwarts Express and to the trains Ed is accustomed to in Amestris. Everything is metal and glass and some brick and it's vaguely familiar, but also somehow different. Some people are dressed in familiar clothes, like suits and whatnot, but other are wearing clothes that are far too loose and ill-fitting to really be proper. Some people are just wearing what Ed would consider pajamas.
Walking out of the station, he notices the cars are different too, and there are so many of them. They're a lot quieter and less clunky than the automobiles he's used to.
"I've got to catch up on so much research," Ed grumbles to himself as he eyes the cars passing by.
He hails what he thinks is a cab and gingerly gets in.
"Where you headin'?"
"12 Grimmauld Place?"
"...you sure it's twelve?"
"...no?"
The driver grunts. "That's gonna cost you."
Ed sighs. "It's fine."
The cab ride takes roughly twenty-five minutes, but eventually, the driver pulls the car over on a street filled with townhouses. After paying the grouchy driver with some (previously exchanged) Muggle money and climbing out of the cab, Ed realizes why the driver had questioned the given address to begin with.
There isn't a 12 Grimmauld Place. There's an 11 and a 13, but no 12.
At least the Muggle part of the street provides some sense of familiarity as it looks reminiscent of the buildings one might find in Central, although there's a lot of brick here, in comparison to the smooth beige stones commonly found in Amestrian cities.
As Ed wanders closer to the buildings to double-check the numbers, there's an incredibly grating sound and he watches in shock as an entire house squeezes itself out of the brickwork.
It looks exactly like its neighbors, by nature of being townhouses, but it somehow manages to impress upon viewers that it is an imposing building that is not to be disturbed or taken lightly.
Still beats military quarters.
The front door is unlocked, which means Ed walks in without a second thought and Sirius tackles him the moment he steps into the foyer.
"I was so bored I thought I was going to die," he groans, laying his entire weight on Ed.
"It's been less than forty-eight hours," Ed points out.
"Going to die," Sirius says again for emphasis, making no effort to get up.
"You complete child," Ed says, with a snort before rolling Sirius off of him.
The man lands on the floor with an undignified "umph!" and lays boneless on the floor, while Ed stands up and dusts himself off.
"I'm bored," Sirius says again, the sound muffled because his face is pressed into the carpet.
"That's disturbing."
"My boredom disturbs you?" Sirius looks up from his spot on the floor and sees Ed staring at the glass cases of embalmed heads. "Oh, yeah, my family had awful taste, wouldn't you say?"
"Are they real?"
Sirius nods. "Past house elves. My mother couldn't bear to 'part' with them, she said. If you ask me, it's more likely some sort of display of status, showing we had this many house elves around at one point."
"Is everything in here, like, well, like this?"
"I already told you no one lives here, what did you expect? I also wouldn't touch anything, you never know what's cursed in here."
Ed opens his mouth to retort, but is promptly overpowered by a shrill scream.
"FILTHY TRAITOR, WHO HAVE YOU INVITED INTO THIS HOUSE! YOU SHOULD HAVE —"
His hands are covering his ears. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?"
"MY MOTHER ATTACHED A PORTRAIT OF HERSELF WITH A PERMANENT STICKING CHARM IN THE HALLWAY BECAUSE SHE'S A MISERABLE OLD COW!" Sirius shouts back as he races down the hall.
Ed follows, hands still pressed to the sides of his head. "THAT'S YOUR MOTHER?"
The hallway is covered with portraits of unsmiling wizards and witches dressed in severe black robes; the largest is a framed portrait of a thin woman with sunken eyes and unnaturally white teeth, who's screaming at the top of her lungs.
"GET OUT, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!, YOU HEATHEN! YOU DESERVE TO —"
Sirius attempts to quiet the painting by yanking a strategically placed curtain over her image. The sound of her shrieking is slightly muffled and eventually, the string of curses and general threats to their well-being dies out.
"She's actually a great deal kinder today than she was when she first saw me walk in," Sirius remarks in a way that Ed knows, from experience, is an attempt at humor to temporarily bandage a bigger issue.
"Why was the curtain even open if she's like this?"
Sirius groans. "Kreacher."
"What?"
"It's 'who'."
"Who?"
"House elf," Sirius says, as if that is explanation enough.
Ed just lets it go. If it's important, he'll find out later.
Sirius nods towards a door off the hallway and Ed follows him into what appears to be a sitting room.
"Can't imagine what growing up with her must've been like," Ed says randomly.
Sirius shrugs, unbothered. "My family detested me and I left home the summer I turned sixteen."
"Oh."
"It wasn't a big deal at all," he continues, when he notices the way Ed's face shutters, "Prongs and his parents let me move in with them and my life became significantly better from that day onward."
"It didn't bother you at all?"
Sirius scrunches his nose. "Er, I guess I had some regrets about the way things ended up with my brother, but I think I didn't have anything left for me here. I mean, just look at the place." He gestures to the decor and general aesthetic of the house. "It's not really a place for a person like me."
Ed is pretty curious about Sirius' brother — about the fact that he had one and didn't mention it at all until this point — but he remembers that he'd also told Ed he's the only person alive to occupy the house now.
Which is depressing, really. The house itself is a soulless place, shadowy and dim and filled with creepy knick-knacks.
It's also haunted by the worst kind of ghosts: memories.
"Do you have any strong attachments to the physical appearance of this place?"
"Not at all, why?"
Ed glances at the wallpaper and the ornate fireplace and thinks about the preserved heads and the scowling portraits surrounding them. He remembers the goal he set out with when he turned his childhood home to ash. "I think it's overdue for a makeover."
A grin spreads across Sirius' face. "You know what? I agree."
"Alright, well, you and I can probably get started by doing something about the eyesore hanging on your wall."
Sirius is all too ready for that, but they run into the problem called Kreacher the second Ed even attempts to remove Walburga Black.
There's a loud crack. "What does friend of filthy traitor think he is doing?"
Ed nearly punches the house elf across the length of the hallway on instinct. "Fuck, you scared the crap out of me."
His crude language doesn't endear him to the house elf at all. If anything, Kreacher's wrinkled face puckers all the more for it. "What is you doing, friend of filthy traitor?"
"Who's this?"
Sirius sighs. "That's Kreacher, the one who keeps opening the curtain. Unfortunately, he comes with the house and he thinks the sun shines out of my mother's arse."
Kreacher scowls. "Mistress Black would not like you to speak of her that way," he snaps. "This house belongs to Mistress."
"She's dead, Kreacher. It belongs to me," Sirius says, and by the sound of it, not for the first time.
Kreacher points a knobby finger at the closed curtains in front of the portrait. "What has filthy traitor done to Mistress?"
"That's not her," Sirius says, "and stop calling me that, will you? I'm technically the last Black there'll ever be."
Kreacher's face crumples. With another resounding crack, the house elf disappears.
"He's not a fan, I take it," Ed says, staring at the spot where Kreacher had been standing moments before. Is that considered Apparating?
"He's of the opinion that the family line died when my brother did."
Ed takes a moment to decide if he's really going to broach the subject before giving into his curiosity. "Older or younger?" he asks quietly.
"Younger. We used to get on pretty well, before the Sorting happened and I was declared a traitor to my family and heritage and all of that nonsense about blood purity." He shrugs and gives Ed a gloomy smile. "Regulus couldn't even look at me after that."
Sirius turns to focus on the covered portrait of his mother. Ed follows suit as he reflects on Sirius' words.
Ed's favorite person is, without question, Al. To imagine a life where he could go from having Al's unconditional support to being scorned by his brother for superficial reasons — he doesn't think there could be anything worse.
The one thing he never asked Al is whether he resented Ed for the human transmutation.
He couldn't bear to do it, because he feels like he already knows the answer.
"I have–, I had a younger brother," Ed blurts out on a whim. "He thought the world of me when we were younger, but he'd always been more mature and a lot of people thought he was the older one." The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but quickly drops once more. "He is, was my best friend… and I let him down," Ed mumbles. "I don't think he ever felt he could say it to me, because he's too nice and considerate and shit, but I didn't need him to say it to know it was the truth."
Sirius glances at Ed, but doesn't turn to face him, for which he is incredibly grateful.
"You too?"
"Me too," Ed agrees, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
In the ensuing silence, he's overwhelmed by the urge to run away.
Run away to anywhere that isn't here.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sirius, thinking about Al, thinking about what kind of person Regulus might have been to abandon his brother over something so trivial, Ed wants to run away from his own honesty.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you open your fucking mouth?
He couldn't stand the idea of having this discussion with Al, why the fuck is he doing this now with Sirius? What in Truth's name had compelled him to do this?
"What's he called? Your brother."
Ed blinks a few times as he pulls himself out of his chaotic inner monologue. "I called him Al. Alphonse."
"Mhm. Reg never did like it when I called him anything short of his formal title." Sirius rolls his eyes. He pauses for a moment, and then continues. "You think about this a lot, don't you."
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
How can I not?
Sirius twists his lips to the side before reaching out to ruffle Ed's hair. He doesn't bother to stop him.
"You're still a kid, you realize? The world shouldn't rest on your shoulders." Ed can tell that Sirius is trying to keep his tone light and can clearly see the way the man is struggling to find the right thing to say. "I'm not going to ask what happened, because that's for you to share, but I doubt someone like you could let anyone down. You're far too annoying to let anything go. And I'm sure Al didn't say anything because he didn't actually think that you'd let him down in the first place."
Ed doubts that, has doubted it ever since he woke up and realized he might be missing a couple limbs, but Al was missing his entire body.
There are fingers pinching his cheek.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Ed jerks back.
"You looked like you needed some distraction," he says innocently.
"We both do," Ed grumbles. He rubs a hand over against his face. "Let's… let's just pretend this didn't happen."
"I can do that for now," Sirius agrees. "Merlin knows I have my own issues to work out. How about I make us something to eat and we can repress our feelings together?"
Ed's mildly surprised Sirius will even admit he has issues to begin with.
"What's the worst that can happen," he sighs, following the older man to the kitchen.
* * * * *
The worst that can happen is this: the kitchen is on fire and it's entirely Sirius' fault.
Again, the kitchen is on fire.
* * * * *
There's an awkwardness hanging in the air between them, which Sirius tries to change with a mix of sarcastic comments and well-meaning jokes that make the situation all the more uncomfortable.
What really pulls both of them from lingering on the honesty of their feelings is the atrocious manner in which Sirius commands a kitchen.
The first thing he does when he walks into the room is to set a giant cauldron, filled with a negligible amount of water, on top of the stove and promptly forget about it.
Ed watches dumbfounded as the man blunders his way around the cabinets and drawers, seasoning vegetables and raw meat with whatever he can find, like uncooked grains of rice and what is more likely sugar than salt.
"That's, ugh, that's just… have you ever cooked in your life?"
Sirius looks up from his increasingly disturbing concoction. "What? No. How hard can it be? I took my NEWT in Potions, I know what I'm doing."
"Potions aren't the same as food," Ed argues. "Potions don't necessarily have to taste good."
Sirius tosses something that looks vaguely like dried salamanders into the mix.
"Potions also are sometimes meant to kill people."
"Mind your manners, brat." Sirius adds a handful of miscellaneous round gelatinous things to the mix and Ed tries not to gag.
He's pretty sure those were eyeballs. Or frog's eggs. Either way, he doesn't care to find out.
"Maybe I should cook," he says.
"I'm perfectly capable of cooking. Don't underestimate me."
And that's when the cauldron of now completely evaporated water catches on fire.
In the chaos that follows, Sirius tries to swat the fire out with a rag.
The rag is quick to go up in flames and he shouts, throwing it across the kitchen onto a wooden cabinet, which immediately begins to burn.
Ed runs to extinguish the fire on the cabinet but slips on the tiles and crashes into it instead.
The cabinet tips over and smashes into chunks of burning wood and broken porcelain all over the floor.
"Use your wand!" Sirius yells. He's trying to fill a pail with water.
"Oh shit," Ed yells back, "I forgot!"
Ultimately, Ed does put out the fire with a frantic Aguamenti but there are several patches of charred tiles on the floor, a broken, smouldering cabinet, and a million pieces of fine china shattered to bits. The cauldron definitely needs to be thrown out and Sirius' inedible concoction still lays raw and unappetizing on the bare counter.
"You are banned," Ed says, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets as he takes in the damage, "indefinitely banned from cooking."
"This isn't only my fault," Sirius snaps. "I didn't break the cabinet."
"Banned," Ed repeats anyways.
In an attempt to further shame Sirius, Ed buries the uncooked chicken in the backyard and carves a rock to bear the words, "Here lies Sirius Black's competency".
And the heaviness of the earlier conversation is all but forgotten as they bicker over who'll be responsible for cooking for the rest of summer.
* * * * *
Life at 12 Grimmauld Place settles into something relaxed and domestic rather quickly.
Ed and Sirius are both up early each morning (neither sleeps particularly well at night) and Ed has taken over all kitchen duties, after that initial attempt on the first day. He isn't the best cook, but at the very least, he's capable of following a recipe and creating something edible.
Outside of meals, they spend most of their time going through different parts of the house, cataloging what's in which room while Sirius also points out various objects that may or may not be cursed for future reference. They start cleaning the place up a bit, but are more focused on what needs to be done in order to renovate the house, with the first order of business figuring out how to remove the wall Walburga Black had herself permanently adhered to.
Ed regularly gets into verbal fights with her portrait, whose curtains are opened vindictively by Kreacher whenever they aren't looking.
There's also a fair amount of paperwork happening in the background, sent to Sirius by Dumbledore. It's a bunch of formalities that state when and where Sirius should be at any given time, when he'll be able to have a trial to appeal against his conviction, and other bureaucratic nonsense that doesn't change from reality to reality.
Most of the paperwork doesn't actually matter, since Peter Pettigrew is in custody and awaiting trial himself, but it is physical proof of Sirius' upcoming emancipation and he's thrilled by the prospect.
Sirius can't leave the house until everything is finalized, but Ed can and he's basically a Muggle, so he never actually goes into wizarding London to buy groceries and other supplies; he usually just gets around the neighborhood by foot.
This is extremely confusing for Sirius, who tells Ed he can use the Floo if he wants to, but Ed turns him down.
"I like Muggles," Ed says plainly.
"Now that, I can believe."
Ed rarely uses magic, now that he's not required to do so for school. It drives Sirius insane, because he won't be allowed a new wand until the trial is over and that's not planned to happen until the middle of summer. Ed imagines it'd be like losing his alchemy, so he tries to be understanding about it, even though alchemy isn't nearly as pervasive in its everyday usage as magic is.
"This'd be easier if I had my wand," Sirius grumbles as they sit in the kitchen. He's not actually doing anything, he's just watching Ed measure out appropriate amounts of flour and milk to bake bread.
"Some things are better done manually," Ed replies, focusing on the task at hand.
"Ergh, I forget sometimes you had some kind of weird Muggle upbringing."
"Just means I can survive without a wand, unlike some people."
"Shut up, brat."
"Never."
Things aren't always so easy, unfortunately.
Ed had picked the guest room farthest from Sirius' childhood bedroom as possible, because he doesn't want to wake Sirius in the middle of the night. He's never stopped having nightmares and the grim appearance of the house has only aggravated the intensity of his dreams.
They both find out pretty quickly that neither of them sleep through the night, but they're both unwilling to talk about it, especially Ed, after feeling a certain amount of regret for sharing something so important to him on his first day here.
He has been working on being more open, although he's rather picky about what he will and won't share with other people. And it's not like no one knows he has a brother. George definitely knows, so Fred probably does too, and he'd told Neville about his family somewhat, so there's no way he doesn't know.
But all of that information had been shared after having been scrubbed clean of any compromising details — no mentions of childhood hardships or alchemical transgressions.
What he had said to Sirius… that had been a little too close. Maybe, a little too real.
Saying he has (had?) a brother is fine, because it's a statement of fact. Saying he'd let Al down and Al probably holds it against him is not so fine, because it's in the realm of sharing his feelings and Ed doesn't know if he's ready to actually do that.
Then again, if there's at least one person who might understand him, it'd probably be Sirius, right?
Sirius, who'd also had some family issues and who'd also been a disappointing older brother and who'd also endured something that fundamentally changes you as a person.
Maybe that's why sometimes Ed feels torn when he catches himself about to say something that reveals too much, because he doesn't know what'll make him feel lonelier: saying nothing or saying something.
It's something Ed thinks about every night he lies down to sleep and it's something he never quite resolves before he passes out.
He hopes he'll find the answer soon.
* * * * *
Ed gets a letter from Fred and George insisting he come to the Burrow on Saturday, complete with instructions on how to use the Floo to reach them.
When asked how the owl that delivered the letter found him, Sirius answers vaguely, something about the limitations of the Fidelius in regards to non-humans, mostly for the sake of mail delivered by owls and errands run by house elves.
"That's a fucking nightmare," Ed scowls. "Someone could send me a cursed object or something to kill me in the mail and it'll just show up? Even though they don't know where I am."
"Sounds about right," Sirius says. "What's the problem?"
"This house isn't secure, that's the problem!"
Sirius laughs. "Wow, you're really paranoid. Relax, alright? Purebloods have been living like this for centuries and most of them haven't been mysteriously murdered by post."
Ed widens his eyes. "Most? But not all?"
He laughs again in a dismissive way.
Ed swears under his breath that he'll research a means to patch the holes in the Fidelius' performance as a security system.
* * * * *
Saturday comes around and Ed steps into the fireplace at Grimmauld Place and steps out of the fireplace at the Weasley house.
First, the flying motorbike. Now, teleporting fireplaces, Ed thinks to himself.
He's already regretting his agreement to visit the Burrow and he'd only been welcomed inside seven minutes ago.
His main issue is the fourteen-year-old watching his every move as he sits between Fred and George at the kitchen table.
"So, Ed," Ron starts, eyes narrowed in suspicion, "where are you from?"
"Abroad," Ed replies vaguely. He can already tell Ron is going to scribble down his answers and send them off to Harry and Hermione as soon as he is able.
Fortunately for Ed, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley are busy, despite it being the weekend, and are out of the house, while the older Weasley siblings normally aren't home during the summer anyway.
"Bill and Charlie work outside the country and rarely come home. Percy is… an assistant? Or something like that, for the Ministry," George had explained.
So that leaves the twins, Ron, and Ginny at the Burrow with Ed.
"Where about?" Ron presses, leaning forward.
"Far, far away, where there are no wizards around and we live like the Muggles."
"So you're a Muggle-born?"
"Sure."
"Why do you wear gloves? It's summer."
"Ron, do you think you can leave the bloke alone? These aren't the witch trials," George jumps in. "He's a guest."
"I'm just saying! He doesn't take them off, it's weird!"
Fred tries to flick Ron on the forehead, but the younger boy immediately raises his hand to block him.
"Don't be rude to Ed," Fred says.
Ginny tilts her head from the end of the table. "Why do you wear them?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.
While it's true there were a lot of rumors about the gloves at Hogwarts, no one had actually ever bothered to ask him about it, because his friends knew he didn't want to discuss them and everyone else was too afraid. Ed isn't cagey about his reason for wearing gloves back home, but here, automail isn't easily explainable.
Still, Ginny did ask. And she asked pretty politely, all things considered.
He sighs. "My right hand's fucked up, but it looks weird to just wear one," he says to her while ignoring the look on Ron's face.
"Fucked up how?"
"Language."
She rolls her eyes. "Stop avoiding the question. What's wrong with your hand?"
"Ginny, don't—"
"Accident," Ed says, cutting George off. He hesitates and then pulls off the glove on his left hand and waves his unmarred fingers at her. "This one's fine, see? No battle scars," he snorts.
Fred and George are staring but pretending they aren't, because he hasn't taken his gloves off in public ever since he'd woken up on the Hogwarts Express. Actually, he hasn't stopped wearing all black and long sleeves even in the heat of the summer, which is plenty weird already.
Ron is also staring and strangely enough, he just seems disappointed.
They're all acting as if he'd stripped naked for them in some overly intimate setting. The thought almost makes him laugh.
"So you're not a gang-star?"
"Not a gangster," Ed says, slightly amused as he pulls the glove back on — better not get used to having it off. "The exact opposite, probably."
"What does that mean?" Ron asks.
"It means that if I were to have a job, I'd be doing something the complete opposite of being a gangster. Maybe I'd join the military or something," Ed says with half a smile on his face.
"Military? Wizards don't have militaries anymore," Ron points out.
"They should seriously consider it at this rate," Ed mutters.
"You don't seem disciplined enough to be joining any sort of organized group," Ginny says astutely.
"I'm full of surprises." That seems to be turning into his go-to phrase.
"And I'm rarely surprised," Ginny retorts, punctuating her response with a sip of tea.
Ed turns to George. "Are all Weasleys insufferable?"
Ron makes an irritated noise and Fred lets out a peal of laughter.
"Only the cute ones," Ginny answers with a grin.
The rest of the visit goes swimmingly. Fred and George show him around the house, Ron and Ginny trailing after them, and eventually they're outside on brooms (not Ed, who refused). He watches them play backyard-Quidditch for some time and then they're eating lunch and talking the way they normally do at school.
By the time Ed has to leave, Ginny declares he's one of the weirdest people she's ever met and that she's disappointed he's not a "gang-star" because that would be "funny", but is willing to let it go for the sake of being friends. Ron still has a suspicious look to him, but even he begrudgingly says goodbye when Ed steps into the fireplace.
Progress, I guess.
* * * * *
When he shows up at the house for the first time, Remus walks into Ed having a full-blown argument with a portrait while Sirius offers moral support in the background.
"You should really lock the door," he chides.
"Moony!" Sirius brightens up instantly.
Ed waves a hand, but is still talking angrily to the woman in the painting. "You're being fucking irrational, do you—"
"You!" She interrupts Ed, pointing at Remus. "You, you absolute, utter vermin — you dare to step foot in this house? YOU DARE TO BRING YOUR FILTHY BLOOD IN—"
Ed yanks a curtain over the portrait before she can say anything else, a murderous scowl on his face. It only slightly muffles the vitriol Walburga continues to spout.
"Ignore her," he says tersely. "She's fucking insane, she's insane. I'm going to set her portrait on fire."
"No fires in the house," Sirius says.
"Like you can talk," Ed snaps.
"I get the feeling I've missed something," Remus says wryly.
"Nothing important," Sirius lies.
"This idiot doesn't know how to cook!"
"I do know how to cook!"
Remus shakes his head as he watches the pair bicker.
"It's like watching children squabble," he mutters, just loud enough that they can hear it.
"Hey!"
* * * * *
It's not obvious on the first day, or even the second, but by the third time that Remus visits the house, Ed's pretty sure the two friends used to date back in the day.
Since it was impossible to miss, he'd known from the start that they'd been good friends who genuinely cared about each other and he could've guessed that perhaps they'd been involved romantically in the past, but he wasn't certain.
Until Remus' recent visits to the house, that is.
It'd been pretty uncomfortable the first day, where it seemed like Sirius didn't know what to do and therefore derailed any and all conversation with self-deprecating jokes and Remus looked like he was seriously concerned for Sirius' mental health (which is totally valid).
But just like Sirius and Ed managed to work out a natural rhythm pretty quickly, Sirius and Remus fall into old patterns just as fast.
If their current behavior is something to go off of, Ed is even willing to bet his remaining arm and leg that they're still in love with one another now and that they're both too idiotic to realize it or make a move even if they did.
They have some really bizarre inside jokes and are attached at the hip whenever Remus is around. Seeing them interact is like watching someone's parents make eyes at one another after decades of happy marriage: incredibly sweet, but also disgusting at the same time.
Ed only ever watches them in the same way most people can't help but stare at an accident they know is going to happen. Sirius will fuss over Remus and Remus will blush furiously down to his fingertips. Remus will be just a little too much of an ass to Sirius, because Sirius absolutely loves it. Ed even takes to marking down each time they share a prolonged look of any sort on a scrap of paper and ends up losing track after Look #47 in Hour 3.
"You know, I wouldn't have agreed to live here if I'd known beforehand that I'd be forced to watch you two flirt all summer," he says nonchalantly.
"We're not flirting," Sirius says, immediately.
"Denial is not a good look," Ed replies. He doesn't look up from where he's chopping vegetables for stew.
Remus is very quiet in his corner of the kitchen where he is preparing the meat. (At least he's an adult capable of cooking for himself.)
"We are not!" Sirius tries again.
"Sure you aren't. And watching two old men try to seduce each other is my favorite pastime," Ed deadpans.
"Are you sure you aren't the old man?" Sirius shoots back. Ed doesn't miss the way his ears color and tries very hard not to laugh in his face. Did he think they were being subtle?
"I might be," he grumbles in response. "Bite me."
"Woah there, I am not into you like that —"
Ed throws the first thing he can find at Sirius, who's now laughing so hard he can't be bothered to dodge.
"Children, behave," Remus says. The back of his neck and the tips of his ears are flushed.
"So, how long were you two together?"
Neither man responds and Ed snorts. "Might as well answer, I'm definitely not letting this go."
Sirius scowls. "That's none of your business."
"Actually, you're flirting in my presence so it is my business now."
"It's not flirting!"
Remus finishes chopping the meat and drops everything into the (repaired) cauldron before looking at Ed with a neutral expression. "We were together four years officially, seven unofficially, and then Sirius became a murderer and I decided that wasn't something I needed in my life."
Sirius groans quietly. "Don't tell him that!"
"Obviously, you can't just stop your feelings for someone the way you can end a spell, so I focused on working through my guilt about James and Lily's deaths while trying to convince myself that Sirius did actually murder all those people."
"But you didn't believe it."
Remus hums. "I'm not certain I ever fully did. But I did a fairly good job of training myself to think I did."
"And now that he's innocent, you're just right back where you left off?"
"Something like that," Remus says, noncommittal in his answer.
"You make it sound so simple," Ed says.
Remus shrugs and glances at Sirius before speaking directly to Ed. "It's not simple. I'm sure it'll take quite a long time for anything to ever be the way it once was, if that's something Sirius would be interested in. And even then, it wouldn't ever be exactly the same, we've got a pretty terrible decade to catch up on. But some habits die hard, I suppose, and I've been friends with Sirius for a large portion of my life—"
"It's only natural you'd be close," Ed finishes for him.
The werewolf smiles. "It's hard to forget your first friend," he says in agreement.
Sirius makes a small noise somewhere off to the side.
Remus clears his throat. "Normally, I wouldn't have said all of that, but the flirting—"
"Moony!"
"—did make it your business to a certain degree and I, at the very least, am not one to run from my feelings." He raises an eyebrow at both Sirius and Ed, who look away. "Now hand me those carrots — my Nan could finish mincing these faster than you." A clear end to the subject.
Ed's weapon of choice is a blade — any blade will do in a pinch, kitchen knives included — so he can't help the offended noise he makes at the thought of someone's grandmother handling knives better than he can.
At least his resentment makes Sirius laugh.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone