A/N: ．．．．．．．．．．．．

Honestly, I wish I could be in a better mood, especially for the ten chapter mark. An unbelievable amount of personal issues have jumped up, and fanfiction's not exactly one of my highest priorities right now :/ But still, thanks for all the support you've been leaving for the last ten chapters, and since this chapter was mostly written already I thought I'd finish it for you all. (I tried to spend more time on the editing this time since I was so lax on all those other important chapters, I really did, so hopefully you'll see an increase in quality this week.) I'll...get around to answering reviews soon; sorry about that ＞＜;;

This chapter, all my previous chapters and all the chapters until the end of the story are dedicated to my late grandfather, for being so unbelievably kind to me for all his years. *bow*

Immiscibility
by . NyghthawK .

Chapter Ten: Hell Week

Harry bit down the urge to curse as he left Umbridge's room for the last time that week, having suffered five days in a row of writing lines. And he could only wish for them to be ordinary lines, having experienced the flesh-cutting quill five nights too many.

The words 'I must listen when told' were sure to permanently scar, despite Ron and Hermione's best efforts to reduce the amount of pain he had to endure.

Hah, he scoffed, Defence Against the Dark Arts was nothing but a joke. What had once been one of the most respected subjects in the school had now deteriorated into a scam controlled by Voldemort's Ministry to ensure that the little kiddies at Hogwarts who would behave, now that Dumbledore had been taken care of.

Harry couldn't help himself; he punched the wall to relieve his frustration. Thinking about Dumbledore always reminded him of his helplessness when he ran up to the Astronomy Tower only a few months ago, watching the old Headmaster's lifeless body fall to the ground. It had been Snape all along, the treacherous bastard. Harry wasn't surprised when the man ran off with Malfoy after sending the Dark Mark into the sky, a terrifying omen that would be etched into the minds of all the people who had been present to see their Light's death.

And Umbridge...Umbridge was sent to ensure they weren't practicing anything that shouldn't have been practiced. Anything that would've put Voldemort at risk of the hold he had over the people and the population. It would've been laughably easy for him to use the Ministry's power to force McGonagall into hiring her as the Defence teacher, and far too easy for her to teach nothing but first-grade theory. Umbridge was probably reporting directly to the new Minister and then he to Voldemort anyway; she had shown how ruthless and cold-hearted she was during the trial for underaged magic last year.

A thought struck Harry's mind. Maybe that was why McGonagall hired Elric as well, the enigma. Other than helping him find a place to stay, she probably needed a way for students to still learn combative magics – he'd noticed that she and quite a few of the other teachers had surreptitiously changed their curriculums to be more about offensive and defensive manoeuvres, whilst still mysteriously staying within the Ministry-approved guidelines. There really couldn't have been any other reason for her to jump so quickly into human transfiguration, after all.

Harry scowled. At the rate his skills faired now, he doubted he could have even aided Dumbledore up on the Tower at all that night. If only he'd dragged himself across sooner, if only he'd warned the man about the uncomfortable feeling from his intuition; maybe he could have saved him then.

He shook his head to himself, resting his forehead against the cool brick walls. There was no point in dwelling over what ifs; he had to work on moving forward and changing what he still could.

...that reminded him. What was it that Elric—Professor Elric had unexpectedly told him whilst he was at Grimmauld?

"Don't concern yourself with saving the world. Make your own decisions, and don't follow in the footsteps others have created.

You should enjoy your childhood while it still lasts."

Was Professor Elric saying that his fight against Voldemort was just a joke? A joke that could have been stopped any time he wanted, and a joke that meant that Cedric wouldn't have sacrificed himself at the Graveyard and died? How could anything that happened to him be a joke?

Harry hadn't had a proper chance to think about the man's words until then, merely swept up in the daily on-goings in Grimmauld, buried within the deep discussion of the Order's meetings and caught up with his unofficial extended family in the form of the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. But now he remembered how Elric had seemed to be avoiding his eye contact even though they stared eye to eye, and recalled the slight tensing of the other man's hands.

Somehow, he knew that Elric wasn't just quoting some random philosophical-sounding garbage he'd spontaneously thought of or prepared beforehand. The look in his eyes and the almost tired slouch practically screamed that he was more than authorised to say words like those, probably being involved first-hand in those types of situations.

Harry stiffened when he felt some blood trickle down his hand, the words still bleeding without his notice. No – it was no good for him to stay down there and angst against the wall, he needed to return to the dormitories despite how tired and utterly spent he felt, where a worried Ron and an anxious Hermione were probably waiting with a bowl of Murtlap Essence just for him.

Besides, it would be Saturday tomorrow and the weekend, so he could think more later. Saturday, the date of their first Alchemy lesson. He could watch Elric then.

For his first lesson, Edward had miraculously been able to find himself a classroom on the sixth floor that was quite bland, devoid of any and all 'magical' objects around. It was a classroom that he'd grudgingly gotten approved with the headmistress and permanently assigned to for the rest of his lessons until he became dissatisfied or it was no longer serving the purpose it needed to serve, in which he would just find another one.

The room wasn't too shabby, either. An absence of 'magical' objects left the room devoid of distractions, and he'd added another chalkboard kidnapped from another room to the one already existing at the front; one of them would permanently be for the basic rules and laws of alchemy, and the other for his teaching.

And that was something he wasn't exactly looking forward to. Due to various, longwinded regulations he wasn't to teach them by inflicting bodily harm in any way, which meant Izumi's proven teaching method was out of the question. But not being able to train the body and then the mind by extension would make it slightly more difficult for him.

He opted for a more rigorous mental approach instead – the regulations only said that bodily harm and anything that would cause severe injury was not allowed, and in his boredom he'd read it so much that he could probably recite every loop and dot. It didn't say anything about nearly breaking their minds to the point of exhaustion, never actually moving but forcing them to concentrate so much that running a kilometre would've been far more pleasant.

Honestly, Ed had been pleasantly surprised when he'd received the sign-up sheets back at the number of people attending. He'd split them up into two classes, a class of sixth-years in the morning and seventh-years in the afternoon even though he would teach them all the same.

Only a few students had filed in when he glanced at the clock, and he wasn't surprised that it only said it was two past.

(Perhaps they'd gotten lost – his classroom was somewhere absurdly far from the stairs. Strategically so, out of childish rebellion, because he made sure to block off the closest staircase, knowing the other was stationed on the opposite side of the building.)

Soon though, eventually they'd all appeared, incessantly chattering and essentially taking forever to get to their seats. Ed waited for only a moment longer before hopping off the desk and slammed the door closed louder than necessary. Several jumped, and he mentally struck marks against them, noting their significantly weaker state of mind.

"Sit," he commanded, and his tone surprised himself. "'Quills' out, you'll be taking notes."

The students all hurried to place their things down and get everything they needed, and a flash of red hair alerted him to Harry Potter and his friends' presence.

Ah well, it was fine with him – he'd treat those so-called celebrities the same way as everyone else and keep his lessons interesting enough, anyway.

"Remember, this is a probationary period. Despite three of you having all three of the sufficient owls for this course, I don't give a damn."

There was a bit of hissing at his swear, and those students got mental strikes as well. He slapped the pointer he transmuted for himself against the edge of a blackboard and mentally smiled again at some of their reactions. Some students were already at three strikes.

"Alchemy isn't something that can be toyed with. In this course, each and every one of you will be treated the same. I am not lenient. I do not play favourites. If you wish, you may leave at any time, but if you do not turn up for one lesson without another teacher's word I will assume you have quit and will no longer accept you in this class. Is this clear?"

A few hesitant nods. Ed sighed; he'd never thought it would be easy. Reaching behind him and flipping the blackboard over, he showed them his list of three pre-written rules of alchemy.

He slapped the pointer against the first and hummed when no one jumped. Good, they were getting used to it. "Alchemy's first law: Equivalent Exchange. Can anyone tell me what this is?"

Under his deathly glare, no hands were brave enough to rise. He'd expected that, but he didn't like it – it wasn't fun talking to yourself when there were about forty other people in the room, after all.

"In order to obtain or create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed. That is the Law of Equivalent Exchange. By the end of this month I expect you to etch that sentence deep enough into your minds that you can repeat it word for word even if I put you in a straightjacket, tied you upside down to the bow of a ship and left you there for two hours over the open ocean."

He glanced around to see the large majority of the students either gaping cluelessly at his words or looking at him in shock.

Ed's eyes narrowed – Equivalent Exchange wasn't anything to joke with. "Well? Why aren't you copying any of this down?"

An unbelievably quick and synchronized flurry of feather and papers later and he had a class successfully scrawling down notes as fast as they could. However, one of the students had his hand in the air.

"Name and house?" Ed asked.

"Zabini. Blaise Zabini, from Slytherin."

The dark-haired kid gave him such a condescending smirk that he was reminded of Mustang, and he barely suppressed a growl. Not realizing the reaction he'd caused, Zabini contined on.

"Why do we have to follow this Equivalent Exchange nonsense? Hah, this is probably why Alchemy died out a long time ago and left magic to reign supreme." He kicked the underside of his desk, a sly smirk on his face. "This is pathetic."

Ed closed his eyes, almost wishing he could take back the words he'd said earlier about treating them all the same. Almost. But with all the lashing out he'd done in all his years, he liked to think he was skilled enough to avoid too bad of a confrontation – it was just that bastard Mustang's fault for being so damn...provoking to his not vertically challenged-ness.

"Magic." He said simply, finding an easier target to vent his frustrations at. "Do you know? I hate it. Magic is something that doesn't exist, and I hate how you do nothing but accept the freaking brainwashing they're doing out there."

Zabini laughed and placed his feet on the desk before lying back. "What are you saying? Of course magic exists; you're in a magic school, for Merlin's sake! How do you explain everything that's going on, anyway? Pheh, with the way you're acting I'd say you were a mudblood."

Ohohoho, the guy was really trying to incite him now. But no! He wouldn't fall for it, he was the Fullmetal Alchemist!

Easily slipping on the Fullmetal Alchemist's trademarked personality, Ed easily found himself a response. "Mudblood, schmudbud. If all you can do is call me names, then you've got nothin' for ya! And besides," he allowed his fourteen-year-old recklessness emerge again and he gave the kid his own goading smirk, as if challenging his pride. "I never said I had an explanation, did I? There's some form of energy there, but it's still pathetic against the abilities of alchemy. You know, I bet my little brother could defeat you in a duel anyday!"

Seeing the fire in Zabini's eyes, Ed allowed himself a grin that only infuriated the student further. Hook, line and sinker.

"How dare you—" Zabini growled, leaping up and reaching behind him. He thrusted his wand. "Confringo!"

Ed jumped down and used one of the many circles drawn on the inside of his sleeve to instantaneously transmute a wall from the stone, defending himself from the blasting curse – he hadn't realized how fast pre-made circles were compared to actually clapping his hands. Having learnt from the incident in the hospital that spells tended to reflect, he extended the wall into a dome and sealed the spell away within it.

"Twenty points from Slytherin for attacking a teacher."

"What—"

"Continue to disrupt the class and it'll become thirty. Don't forget, I'm still a teacher and I have all the privileges of a teacher. Be thankful that you're not staying for detention."

Zabini grumbled and sat back down, stubbornly crossing his arms.

"Right, then," Ed smiled. Inwardly, he cackled with delight, jumping around. Oh, he did know how to make teaching fun. "Let's move on then, shall we?"