Chapter Text
Ed was rather tired of dealing with whatever cosmic bullshit Truth kept deciding to pistol whip his way. It was one round of fuckery after another, from crazed alchemists to the closest being to God ripping the souls out of the country.
Al was on his way back to Central, and Ed wanted a break. He was sure Al would roll his eyes and say something snarky about how Ed actually relied on the adrenaline rush that came from his assignments, and Ed would tell him to promptly fuck off. Not that made Al any less right, but Ed was sure a few weeks spending time with his brother wouldn’t kill anyone.
But, like always, god forbid Mustang actually allow him time off to spend with his brother who just got his body back. Which, really, wasn’t fair either. Ed had enjoyed a solid month of vacation following the Promised Day in order to help Al recover. He would have taken the time regardless of what any military assholes tried to say, but at least Mustang hadn’t openly complained, and that had to say something.
Still, a month later he was practically pushed back towards the military by Al—who he expected to be the last person to do so—and told to wreck a few cities. Apparently he was getting too antsy and mothering Al too much. Which, again, fair.
Ed had been battling or on the run or working through bullshit childhood trauma since he was nine. Staying still didn’t work anymore. He was basically wired to move, and he had the feeling the collateral damage he caused wouldn’t be as accepted if he wasn’t a well-known state alchemist. Plus, it was likely that there were quite a few military higher-ups that still wanted him dead even after the coup business, and it’s easier to pick off a target or his family when they have no military ties.
He was already infamous, so staying in the military's pocket seemed a small price to pay for possibly keeping his brother safer.
Then again he wasn’t quite sure, if Mustang was going to keep shoving different uniform restrictions at him. His own clothing had been fine earlier, but now that the bastard was going to be Fuhrer, there were issues? Rip off.
It had started simple with mild adjustments to how he wore his own outfits, a casual “Straighten your collar,” or Hughes stopping him to fix whatever nest his hair resembled. Then Hawkeye had handed him a stack of military-issue shirts.
“I avoided the more formal ones for you. They match mine. Tight-fitting, flexible, and short-sleeved. Perfect for field work.” She smiled in that rare motherly way and Ed knew he wouldn’t be able to say no.
Ed eyed the fabric before moving to take them, muttering, “At least they’re black.”
Havoc laughed from the desk over, “The day Chief gets you in a white shirt is the day I eat my own.”
Unfortunately, he didn’t follow through when Ed showed up in a perfect set of formal wear the next day out of pure spite. The photo, however, he was sure would live in Hughes’ wallet forever.
Regardless, Ed gradually took to the uniform tops Hawkeye had provided. She was right—they were easy to move in and shockingly comfortable. Also, they looked great paired with leather pants.
Pants that he refused to give up no matter how many times Mustang threatened him. Any other material wouldn’t last a week against a metal knee. He still hadn’t traded out his red coat, either. The only time he wore an official jacket was for more official meetings where Mustang required it, and that seemed enough of a victory for the team. For now, at least.
So, when Ed made his way to Mustang’s office with his own red coat thrown over his arm and the blue draped carelessly around his shoulders, it was with the normal amount of grumbling.
“Am I really needed at a fucking payroll meeting?” He questioned, throwing open the door to his office.
“Knock, Fullmetal.” Mustang drawled in an all too familiar way without looking up from the papers in front of him. “It’s about your payroll, so I expect you’d want to hear what’s happening.” He finished what he was doing, gave a quick scan over the form, and handed it to Hawkeye who quietly left the office.
“My payroll?” Ed moved to stretch across a chair like a lounging cat, “What, are they finally firing me?”
“It’s been nearly three years since you took down a false god and have been working faithfully since.” Roy sighed that I-don’t-understand-what’s-wrong-with-military-assholes sigh and rubbed at his temples. “They want to promote you.”
Ed felt his hand tighten around the arm of the chair. “What the fuck-”
But he was cut off by the familiar low hum of an alchemical reaction. For a moment he thought it was a flashback, and just as he started to recite the periodic table in his mind, his eyes caught the edge of a glowing line tracing itself around him.
“ What the fuck?!” He hissed, jumping up in his chair and throwing it to the side as quickly as possible. It hit the wall with a thud, and Ed heard a voice from outside question what happened. But he couldn’t form a response, too focused on the symbols stretching their way across the office floor.
Symbols he didn’t recognize.
Mustang stood with a shout to his team, gloved hand half-way through the motion of a snap. There wasn’t anywhere they could go. The arching lines covered the floor and stretched up the walls above their heads.
Whatever was about to happen, they had to accept it. Leaving a circle mid-effect without knowing the intent was the dumbest thing an alchemist could do, and something of this magnitude had the potential to level the building—and everyone in it.
So they waited, making eye contact, and Ed feeling his own panic rise at the fear in Mustang’s. The door cracked open, and everything vanished in a flash of white.
Too much white. The kind of white Ed had nightmares about and hoped to never see again.
Truth sat a few feet away, Ed’s leg extended in a mocking reminder.
“No,” Ed whispered, and felt Mustang close a hand around his arm. The man’s other hand was snapping, trying to defend himself, no matter how impossible. They had been here before. Seen too much to be anything less than deathly afraid. Mustang hadn’t even deserved it last time.
There would be time later to reflect on how Mustang seemed genuinely afraid and how this was the most honest emotion Ed had seen from him since the Promised Day.
A quick glance at least reassured Ed that Al wasn’t here.
“I didn’t expect you here.” Truth said, and somehow Ed knew they were addressing Mustang even if there was no physical indicator. “But hello, Little Alchemist.”
Ed shuddered. Was Truth here to rip Ed’s alchemy away from him again? He wouldn’t allow it. Ed fought tooth and nail to reaffirm his gate and wouldn’t let some see-through twink change that. He’d punched God before, and he’ll do it again.
“What the fuck do you want?” It was as close to a growl as he could get without some seriously illegal chimera alchemy. “We didn’t do anything! The circle wasn’t ours!” Not that it had stopped Truth in the past. Mustang’s nails digging into Ed’s forearm in response proved that point.
“No,” Truth agreed a bit too casually, mouth curling into what Ed supposed was meant to be a smile. “It was mine.”
“What?” Though he didn't think it was possible, Ed tensed further. "Is this to take my alchemy back, you son of a bitch?!”
“No,” Truth cut in, moving to prop their chin on a hand. The arm where Ed’s used to be.
“I have a favor to ask of you, Little Alchemist. And apparently you as well, Flame.” Their attention shifted.
Ed’s eyes narrowed then. “What kind of bullshit—you don't have any right to ask a favor! What shit show could even make you ask for one?!”
Truth laughed then, a cutting sound that chilled Ed’s blood and made Mustang’s idle snapping more frantic. “You haven’t even heard my terms yet!” Then Truth was closer to them than before and Mustang flinched.
“Equivalent exchange, Little Alchemist. I believe I have enough to offer.” Their face turned toward where they casually stretched out Ed’s leg again.
“Not fucking worth it, whatever it is.” Ed replied. “Not a single chance in hell I listen to your shit. You can kiss my ass. Now put us back.”
But Truth was closer again, standing before Ed with their head tilted. “Or perhaps I let you keep your alchemy in exchange? That arm you got back? I have missed it.”
Ed swore the white of the room dimmed in some sort of fucked up back-up threat.
“What do you want?” Ed forced out through gritted teeth. He wasn’t even afraid anymore. The worst this fucker could do was take a limb or his alchemy. But Ed would reappear in a military office with first-aid and take back his alchemy by force, again, if necessary.
No, Ed was pissed. This bastard thought they could intimidate Ed into—what? A shopping list? What fucking favor could an almighty entity even need? He heard the hype around those Xingese rolls and wants to try one? Wasn’t likely.
“It’s a simple task to someone so… accomplished.” Their gaze (or theoretical one) swept across Ed’s military jacket. “I need you to eliminate a terrorist regime.”
“I’m sorry, what? Didn’t we do enough of that already?”
“This isn’t in your world. Their leader is a man toying with godhood, but he’s close to defying death. Defying me.” Ed shivered at that tone. “You’ve proven to be… effective in eliminating these sorts of threats.”
It made a sick sort of sense, and Ed knew Al would go nuts when Ed confirmed his "multiple world" theories. His body had seen some shit while trapped in the gate, and Al thought it made sense for different worlds to answer to the same Truth.
“And if we can’t do it?” Ed questioned, like the smartass he was.
“Then I leave you on the other side to die.” They informed Ed, like the dumbass he was. Their voice was a bit too sing-songy for Ed to feel comfortable with the statement. ”You want to return home and keep your alchemy. Do what I ask and you get that.”
When Ed was about to protest it wasn’t enough of a trade, again, like a dumbass, Mustang twisted his arm and gave the smallest shake of his head.
“Who exactly is this leader?” Mustang questioned and Ed was impressed by how steady his voice was.
And Truth told them of a world with wizards , of all things. People who drew power from the gate and channeled it through their bodies to impact their surroundings. Truth had to stop multiple times for Ed to inform him how dumb that sounded and that he personally didn’t agree.
Then Truth spoke of a man called immortal (damn), who split his soul into seven pieces (shit), and branded his followers with a snake and skull tattoo ( fuck). It was some sick parallel of the Promised Day, except this asshole’s goal was to kill everyone who wasn't of ‘pure blood’. So, a racist too. Sweet.
Really, Ed was looking forward to kicking the bastard’s head in. ‘Lord Voldemort’. What a shitty name for an evil dictator. Though ‘Father’ or ‘Dwarf in the Flask’ didn’t exactly have a ring to them either. Where was the creativity?
But Voldemort split his soul and was now gathering forces while the government looked the other way and denied his existence. He was researching forbidden topics that would get him scarily close to opening a path to the gate, and his goal was to live forever. Truth didn’t seem to have an issue with immortals in their own world, but that was also in exchange for souls. This guy planned to do it for free.
Ed wished he could have Hohenheim teach this guy a thing or two about immortality.
“Is there a time limit here?” Ed was sure he would have bruises from where Mustang was repetitively fucking with his arm, but allowed it since Mustang at least managed to carry most of the conversation when Ed thought he was going to lose it.
“Not unless he manages to open the gate.” Truth answered.
That peaked Ed’s interest again. “Then?”
“Then time’s up!”
And Truth vanished without another word along with the white of the gate. Apparently they knew enough now, but Ed still had, like, a million questions at least. Rude.
But they were falling, Ed’s hands scrambling for a purchase and wrapping around what was either Mustang’s wrists or ankles in an effort not to be separated. The sensation lasted longer than normal before Ed found himself slammed against the harsh surface of what he was pretty sure was wood. One of his hands moved to brush against it and he groaned. Yup, a solid wooden table.
He would have been impressed it survived if he wasn’t frantically trying to catch his breath. “At least there weren’t any freaky hands,” He managed.
“ Fullmetal.” Mustang hissed and pushed away from him with considerable effort. The general froze again, hands shifting subtly, but obviously enough that Ed realized he was bracing for combat.
“God,” Ed snapped, pushing himself up. “What kind of bullshit did that bastard drop us into— oh shit.”
There was a circle surrounding them of what Ed assumed to be wizards, judging by the way they all had sticks pointed at him. Wands, he silently corrected himself.
He moved and saw a younger one with vibrant hair jump, a harsh light erupting from her wand. It collided with the arching alchemical energy still surrounding them and fizzled out not even an inch into the circle now scorched into the table.
“Tonks! Careful!” Another yelled.
Ed felt his eyes widen in a blank confusion. That… wasn’t Amestrian. But he fully understood it. It was like when he'd finally started understanding the Xingese that Ling would spout just to test him. This language… he didn’t know it, but he understood it.
No doubt some gift from Truth.
“Sorry, shit, listen-” Ed rushed out. They all turned their attention to him with furrowed brows, and Ed mimicked the expression. Taking a moment, he considered the sentence he heard from the man and forced his body to reply in kind. It was like drawing a basic circle—something he could do, but not necessarily explain.
“Okay, shit, sorry, we didn’t know where we would land.” While Ed spoke and raised his hands in a sign of peace he saw Mustang quickly realizing the same things about their language capabilities.
“I apologize for the interruption.” Any evidence of Truth’s influence was suddenly gone and Mustang flashed that ‘you’ll sell me your soul and say thanks’ smile. “There was a bit of an incident and it appears we didn’t land where we intended.”
“ How did you get in here?” One man with shockingly mangled hair fucking growled and were those fangs? Holy shit sweet.
“Ah, like I said. Complete accident. May I ask where we are?” Mustang stood slowly, keeping his hands open and visible the entire time he addressed them.
Ed remained seated, but kept his eyes trained on the wizard opposite him. His leg hurt anyways. He was fully comfortable staying off their threat radar for now.
“Wait,” Ed coughed, almost instantly cancelling out his previous plan of letting Mustang deal with this bullshit. Some knowledge he didn’t expect flashed through Ed’s mind, and he gestured towards the wizard before him.
“A-Albus? Dumsomething?” Because seeing the letters (and wow were those letters strange) spell out this wizard's name gave no hint at a pronunciation.
“Albus Dumbledore.” the man confirmed.
Judging by the way no one yelled at him for giving away that info, Ed assumed he actually was pretty famous around here and Truth wasn’t exaggerating. “Oh, perfect, okay. We were told to find you.”
Mustang sighed in that way he usually did when Ed had no concept of subtlety, and took over. “We’re no threat. We want to help in your fight. We just didn’t expect to get dropped on what appears to be your dining room table.”
This was the Order of Something that Truth had mentioned. They're allies, and most likely people they could actually trust with their identities. They were all working to take down Voldemort, just like they had in the first war.
In an instant Mustang straightened from his innocent civilian stance to the one that commands armies. “Fuhrer Roy Mustang of Amestris at your service. This is Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric.” He introduced while giving his most polite bow.
Ed gave a half-assed wave and stood, hands braced against his leg as the metal resisted the movement for a moment.
“How did you get in?” The fang-dog-man questioned again.
Appearing in their meeting must have been similar to dropping in the middle of the Fuhrer’s office, judging by their reactions. Ed counted his few blessings that they hadn’t attacked yet, since the electricity had stopped crackling. They were sitting targets, or standing targets, on their dining room table.
“I believe that’s a topic better discussed sitting down.” Thank god for once Mustang had the same train of thought. He just hoped Mustang’s dumb charm thing worked this time.
“You’re from the military?” Dumbledore questioned, wand away and hands clasped behind his back. He was the picture of open trust, but it only set Ed further on edge.
Mustang kept up that smile while directing his full innocence towards Dumbledore. “Yes, we were asked to assist with a certain dark wizard problem you have been having. We were informed that your government… wasn’t the most cooperative , and that we should seek out the Order.”
“Who sent that order?” Another man asked with a sneer that drew Ed into an immediate dislike of him.
“God.” Ed informed him with the most Hawkeye-deadpan look he could manage.
Mustang let out an audible sigh and slumped his shoulders, rubbing at his forehead. “ Fullmetal. For once, please, shut up .” He muttered in a rushed Amestrian.
Ed shrugged. Fine, he would let Mustang try to explain where their government could possibly be located that the wizards would never have heard of it. He flopped back down to sit on the edge of the table and swing his leg in an effort to relax the muscles there.
“We’re from a small community of magical folk, fairly hidden even to your world.” Mustang lied through that innocent expression. “I’m afraid most information is classified as our magic is… different, in a way. But You-Know-Who poses a threat to us all now.”
There was a pause where the wizards glanced at each other and seemed to have silent conversations. Which, was that a thing they could do? Could they read minds? Ed immediately dug through his mental folders for the most difficult equations he could comprehend and set that as a constant static in his thoughts.
“Not to sound like a bitch,” Ed broke the awkward silence and Mustang gave him a look that said very well that he did, in fact, sound like a bitch. “but we just traveled a long way and interacting with Truth is fucking exhausting. Do you have any snacks?”
That seemed to snap one of the witches into action. “Oh, you poor thing.” A woman that looked like exactly what he would picture if someone said ‘loving mother’ cooed, brushing a hand over Ed’s hair. If he wasn’t on such thin ice with these wizards, he would have slapped that hand away. He could see the amusement in Mustang’s eyes as the woman moved to adjust his jacket.
“You’re just a child! Skin and bones, too. Take a seat, dear, I’ll fetch some tea and lunch.” Her gaze flashed to Mustang with a malice he didn’t expect.
Everyone burst into action then. The woman rushed from the dining room into what was, assumedly, a kitchen, and a man that had ‘secret evil villain’ written all over his sneering face followed. The wizards around them took their seats at the table and every eye stayed perfectly trained on the two foreigners.
Mustang and Ed followed suit, sitting in the middle of the four empty chairs at the end of the table. In the time they waited for the two to return, Ed turned to Mustang with a pensive expression and commented in a calm Amestrian, “ At the start of that… I’ve never heard you that quiet before, and I’ve seen you asleep."
Whipping around to face him with frantic eyes, Mustang scolded, “ You told God to kiss your ass. What the fuck was I supposed to do?!”
Ed snorted out a laugh, leaning back in his chair casually. “ I’ve seen that motherfucker enough times. I’m pretty sure they’ve spent more time raising me than Hohenheim."
Mustang’s lips curled and the same fang-dog-man hit the table with his hand. “ English, please.”
“I apologize.” Mustang covered and Ed rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, you heard him, secret society and all. Not used to dealing with outsiders.”
“Pretty good English for a secret society. Not even an accent.” Okay, Ed was starting to get irritated with the fang man, even if he did look cool as hell. But Truth definitely could have given them some kind of heads up or an idea for a better cover story than forcing Mustang to pull ‘secret country’ out of his ass. No way would they buy that.
Ed narrowed his eyes, throwing his best East country accent into the words. “Studied for a while. ‘Sides, we got differen’ accents too.” Mustang gave him an amused look as he normally did when Ed let his accent slip.
“But,” Ed continued and any trace of the Eastern accent was gone, “You learn to fake it pretty quick when people will look down on you for it.”
He fondly remembered the time he and Havoc almost gave Falman a heart attack by speaking in their heaviest Eastern accents. But if he had shown up for his state alchemy exam slurring words together and using Eastern slang he probably wouldn’t have even been given the chance to participate. God, or he would have been called the Eastern Alchemist. The Accent Alchemist. The Can’t-Speak-Common-Amestrian Alchemist.
Honestly, Ed wouldn’t put it past Bradley to pull something like that. Hell, he was just lucky he wasn’t called the Halfmetal Alchemist.
“That doesn’t sound like a very kind community.” Another wizard with a mustache commented.
“Well, we don’t discriminate based on something as stupid as blood status, so…” As he spoke Ed held up his hands in front of him and examined his nails as if he wasn’t wearing his normal white gloves.
His words probably would have started a riot if the kind woman and evil guy hadn’t returned at that exact moment.
“I reheated some soup from earlier. I hope it’s okay.” The woman said, sending the guy a meaningful glance that Ed really didn’t care enough to decipher.
Grabbing the spoon eagerly, Ed felt Mustang put a hand on his knee under the table. He gave him a barely noticeable shake of the head, and Ed huffed. What, the bastard was worried about poisoning now? Fuck, Ed was hungry from that mess and if Truth wanted this job done then they can damn well protect Ed from anything or shove his soul back if he dies.
Ed jerked his leg away and tore into his soup like a wild badger. Mustang sighed, probably thought ‘why me, god?’ and joined Ed in eating.
“Now, what are your names?” Dumbledore asked from across the table.
“Roy Mustang.”
Ed, pleased that for once they got to ignore formalities (probably to try to seem harmless and worm their way into the wizard’s good graces), mumbled his answer through a bite of chicken. “Ed.”
There was a flash of something like confusion in Dumbledore’s eyes. “Where were you born?”
Ed stopped eating, a sense of dread slowly rising. “Uh, Amestris?” He prefered to stay vague and not give away his hometown when Granny was still living there.
Mustang nodded an agreement to Ed’s sentiment.
“What the hell…?” The witch with the pink hair questioned quietly.
“Is there an issue?” Mustang asked, the perfect picture of innocence with his hands folded neatly on the table.
“Why are you here?” Dog-man leaned back and crossed his arms. “Really?”
“Dude, we said we wanted to help. I get you’re suspicious of new people but we haven’t even tried anything yet.” Ed grumbled. It was quite hypocritical of him to expect immediate trust, yet never trust a figure in his life that he hasn’t known for at least ten years, but whatever. He had enough reason not to trust people.
“ Dude? You haven’t exactly made yourselves appear very trustworthy! Why the fuck isn’t it working? You can’t even do this right, Snivellus?” He gestured to them as he spoke and the last sentence was directed to the bat guy with a scowl. Mustang narrowed his eyes at that.
“What isn’t working?” Ed raised his hand in a questioning motion. The wizards shared glances like that time their mother found Ed and Al transmuting the fridge into a step stool to reach desserts.
Mustang was certainly content to ruin their nights further as he said, “I certainly hope you wouldn’t have tried to slip anything into our meals. We are, of course, trained with immunity to those sorts of things. Plus, that could start issues with our nation if our Fuhrer were to be attacked.” The wizards didn’t seem to know exactly what a Fuhrer was, but they could tell it was an important position.
Truthfully, Ed was disappointed by them. Truth said they were trusting to a fault, but they hadn’t even tried to restrain them aside from the one blocked spell that Ed saw. They let them sit at the table and eat with them after some half-assed story and hadn’t killed them or locked their asses in some dungeon? What the fuck was this, amateur hour? But damned if they weren’t gonna use the hell out of that, and it looked like Mustang was already well at it.
“Oh, please, I think we’re entitled to some veritaserum when two strangers drop into the middle of our warded headquarters. ” Dog-man scoffed.
“Verta-what?” Ed scrunched his nose. Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good, and Ed pushed his almost empty bowl away from him.
“Do you not have veritaserum in your home, Mr. Mustang?” The address from Dumbledore seemed to throw Mustang for a loop and Ed let out a snort.
“ Mr. Mustang.” Ed laughed into his arm and ignored Mustang even when he hit Ed’s side with his elbow.
“May I ask what’s amusing?” Dumbledore looked between them with a smile still.
“You called him Mr. Mustang.” Ed bit his lip to stop another round of laughter. “Pretty sure the bastard hasn’t been addressed that casually since he was my age.”
Mustang, the smug asshole, just kept his easygoing expression and returned, “Unlike some people, I accept my role in the military and address superiors with the proper respect.”
“You don’t have superiors anymore, you bastard.” Ed muttered.
The pink witch let out a noise. “Don’t have superiors?”
Instead of answering the question like a normal person, Mustang just switched the conversation around. “Yes, well, what exactly is veritaserum? Which I can assume you just tried to dose me and my subordinate with?”
Dumbledore released a heavy sigh, sounding every bit like the old man he appeared. Ed really didn’t get how this old guy was one of the strongest wizards. Then again—Bradley.
“Veritaserum is a potion that forces the drinker to speak the absolute truth. I apologize for going to such measures, but you must understand we are in a time of crisis. There is war building outside and we have children of the Order staying with us.” A few gasps rippled around the table.
“Albus!” Dog-man yelled, “Don’t tell them about the kids!”
“Like I said.” Mustang interrupted the brewing argument with that voice that said you will pay attention to him. “We are representatives from a foreign nation. We mean you and your people no harm. I can imagine how difficult it must be to bring in new fighters, but surely there must be some way we can prove we mean well?”
He put just enough charm in his voice that the pink one’s hair shifted to match her blush—and wasn’t that awesome? Ed was determined to learn her secret—and looked around the room. When no one answered Mustang added, “A diagnostic spell of some sort?”
“Yeah, roll up your sleeves.” Dog-man let out a short laugh that sounded more like a bark.
“Sirius, I doubt the Dark Lord would send in marked followers.” Mustache admonished with a shockingly gentle expression. Well, at least Ed got one name, as long as that actually was some weird wizard name and not a mistranslation.
Still, Mustang motioned for Ed to follow suit and both rolled up sleeves to reveal arms only marked by criss-crossing scars.
“Shit.” Sirius muttered at the sight. “Fuck happened to you?”
Ed just glowered in response because he didn’t think “Metaphorically punched God and had to deal with the consequences, and also my father’s immortal kind-of twin,” would go over very well.
“Well,” Albus cleared his throat to gain attention. Ed didn’t miss the way Mustang’s lips twitched because the bastard knew he didn’t even have to do that much to get the undivided attention of anyone present. “We can also cast a few simple charms. They would dispel any magic disguising your true forms. It would be a start.”
Mustang had barely nodded his consent when Dumbledore’s wand was out and a weird tingling sensation swept down his spine. There was no visible light to that spell, but it felt vaguely similar to when Al tried to teach him to sense the Dragon’s Pulse.
Tried being the key word there. Ed’s approach to alchemy was much less ‘feel the flow of energy around you’ and much more ‘force the energy to bend to your will’.
Whatever their magic truly was, Dumbledore cancelled it and gave a friendly expression. “It seems you are at least who you appear to be.” Ed felt a rush of relief that they weren’t all looking at him like he just stole the last pastry in a brass meeting anymore.
"I assume you were hoping to stay here with us?” Albus presumed. Sirius opened his mouth to protest that, but was stopped by Dumbledore raising a hand. “If so, I would ask you allow an Order member to stay with you at all times. Just until we know you a bit better.”
Even Ed knew that despite how kindly the offer was presented, it wasn’t exactly an option if they wanted to stay. Plus, now that they supposedly knew where the Secret Hidden Headquarters was, they probably wouldn’t be allowed to leave and spread that information.
“Of course. Thank you for the gracious offer.” Mustang replied in a sickly-sweet tone that made Ed give him a disgusted look. Sirius, on the other hand, was looking at Mustang with a tone so wildly different from his previous suspicion that it made Ed want to throw up on the spot.
He’s had his fair share of Mustang’s awful flirting, thank you very much.
Not that he was much better, but he thought sharing a fine boot meal with his first crush was a pretty good bonding experience. Certainly a time to remember, at least.
Letting out a long breath, Ed stood from the table. “Fuckin’ sweet. So, can someone show me where I can sleep or what?”
The wizards all looked at each other like they were drawing mental straws until mustache man stands up. “Of course.” He gestured for Ed to follow and cleared his throat awkwardly.
Ed glanced to Mustang and received a quick signal that he was clear to follow the man. Mustang would trust him to handle any threats himself anyways.
“So, Edward, right?”
Ed nodded. “Yeah, but call me Ed or Elric. Edward feels weird from most people.”
With a hum he replied, “Alright. I’m Remus Lupin, but you can call me Remus.” For a moment Ed was confused why he offered his first name in a joking way, but resigned it to some weird wizard culture thing.
Which, shit, now that he wasn’t on the bad end of a wand, Ed was fully ready to have a breakdown and pass out.
Fucking magic.