As usual since his arrival in this world, Edward woke before dawn, around 5 am. He took a few moments to recognize where he was before getting up and rushing to shower without waking the other children who were still sleeping peacefully. He quickly went down to the common room and saw with satisfaction that no one else was up yet. Ed left the tower and walked towards the Great Hall, trying not to rely on the ever-changing paintings but the windows overlooking a mountain landscape. Finally, he arrived in the foyer without meeting anyone. Ed went outside the castle, to the glade he had caught a glimpse of the day before in his boat crossing. Once on the lake shore, he began a series of warm-ups, then began to run a lap of the lake at a steady pace.

He had missed jogging during his stay at 12 Grimmauld Place. He had repeatedly requested permission to run a bit in the small park in front of the house, even with an adult chaperone or Sirius in his dog form present ... but he always was denied and with little pleasure had to therefore be confined to small gymnastic exercises in his room.

Aside from flying on broomsticks, wizards seemed to have no understanding of the idea of sports or physical training. They were too used to using magic, preferring to use it for everything and anything, risking falling into laziness. They did not see any link between the training of the mind and the body, which was unfortunate for them.

But at least here, he could run at will, surrounded by a beautiful green landscape, and he did not intend to miss out. As the sun rose, he saw the mountains gain a pinkish glow, and he could hear the birds singing. The sound of wings made him raise his head and Aletheia landed on his arm, saluting him with a hoot, before returning to the aviary of the castle. This bird was a real comfort; it seemed very intelligent and could understand many of his instructions. Edward's run soon took him near the Forbidden Forest. Edward vowed to visit it at one time or another ... after all, what was forbidden was often the most tempting, right? And the woods were increasingly attractive to him.

He finally reached the end of his morning jog, a little breathless, but happy with his time. He turned and began making his way back to the castle, ready for breakfast. He was one of the first to arrive, although small groups of students from all the houses were arriving one after the other. Edward gave a slight nod upon seeing the trio of Harry, Ron and Hermione arrive. They waved him over happily. A swarm of owls arrived bringing the mail to the astonishment of Edward and the prefects distributed the schedules. The young alchemist felt depressed at the thought of having to attend classes with a bunch of kids, knowing that he understood magical theory better than any student here.

He began in Transfiguration with a class of first-year Gryffindor's. He gave a discreet prayer so that there would be no biological conversion before setting off to class, knowing that it was better to leave early in case one got lost in this place. After taking three hallways and getting yelled at by Filch when he asked for directions, Edward arrived in plenty of time to sit in the front of the class and debate proposing that every student get a map to Dumbledore.

A cat sat watching the assembling students on the desk in the front of the room; the boy wondered briefly if it was the professor's when it leapt from the desk and transformed into McGonagall mid-air, stunning the chattering first years. Edward immediately sought to know how the teacher had been able to do such a thing, comparing various theories of physics, biology and magic that would explain it. He thus missed most of the theoretical explanation of Transfiguration before McGonagall interrupted his thoughts by asking him to transform his match into a needle, with a stern warning to be careful. After attempting to restrict his magic to the bare minimum, he cast the spell and grimaced feeling immediately after the excessive force disperse in the classroom. Joyous exclamations rose up from the class when students found they had a needle without making any effort.

"Mr. Elric." sighed the Professor trying not to hide her face with her hand before turning all the needles back into matches.

Edward gave an apologetic smile before growling mentally on his inability to regulate his strength. He entrenched himself behind a book, indifferent to the gaze of other students staring at him again. The transformation of the match was not very difficult: in reality, there was a conversion of the elements on the end of the match, with antimony sulphide, manganese and potassium chlorate dioxide becoming additives in the metal and the wood of the stick becoming carbon…but the students did not seem at all to notice or care: for them, a match could turn into needle because the two objects had the same shape and the same size, with no questioning of this pseudo-principle. Edward wanted to hang himself, or at least to bang his head against the wood of the table.

The young alchemist left the classroom to go to History of Magic. Ron and Harry had described the ghost who had never changed his daily lecture except for the times when Hermione asked him information about the Chamber of Secrets. Yet the ghost seemed to pause often, looking at him as if he felt interference. Edward, however, did nothing other than writing his theories on how McGonagall had indeed been transformed into a cat. Nevertheless, the ghost's problem proved almost as interesting as the one on which he was working, as he put aside his work and began to consider what might disturb the spirit. If he were to make a guess, it would be that passing through the Gate or in its proximity frightened the dead. He would have to test this with a more talkative and helpful ghost than this one though...

After lunch, he walked reluctantly to the Charms classroom. He arrived a quarter of an hour before the start of the course. Professor Flitwick was already there and welcomed his pupil warmly: apparently the Transfiguration professor had made him aware of the difficulties of the student and he wanted to talk to him to find out what it was. Edward knew he could not talk about certain things, however, it remained undeniable that he needed to know how to solve this problem. He contented himself with saying that every time he tried casting a spell, he felt overwhelmed by power, which was why his spells went haywire.

Professor Flitwick looked at him gravely and asked: "Mr. Elric, Minerva told me that you had amnesia, however, I would still like to ask you: do you really not remember about your parents... a peculiarity in their physical forms, a sign indicating that they were not fully human?"

"I have no recollection of them, Professor," replied Edward.

"I see ... It's a shame because this could explain some of your difficulties. You see, Mr. Elric, creatures and beings of the wizarding world are largely related to the magical energy that runs through this world, one could even say that some depend totally upon it and therefore are much more open to magic than sorcerers who are mere humans. Some beings can have children with humans and even have offspring that the ministry will qualify as a half-breed. Generally, hybrids*, as I prefer to call them, inherit knowledge of how to use magic with the human side and use it as wizards do."

"Like you, sir?" asked the young alchemist carefully.

"Yes, as does Hagrid," replied the tiny wizard. "However, in very rare cases, children inherit their magic from the non-human side… that's when it becomes a problem. They do not know their own strength and cannot cast spells, which is why they are never sent to Hogwarts."

"What?" Edward exclaimed a little shocked.

"It's too dangerous," Flitwick said with a serious look before explaining. "They are usually highly ranked in the communities of beings from which they come, where they are taught to use magic in their own way. I probably would have advised Albus to do so in your case, even if he probably would not have listened to me. He believes in the principle of equality and thinks everyone, regardless of their origin, should receive the same education. A very noble principle, but sometimes what is best for one is not best for another."

"Clearly, you do not think I belong here," said the boy in a neutral voice.

"I have not seen what you are capable of, Mr. Elric," tried to appease the teacher. "But anyway, the question does not even matter: you do not know where you come from and right now the magical communities are very cold with wizards. Your best opportunity is here."

The discussion ended when other students entered the class in a deafening hubbub and the course began in joy and good humor. The little Professor was a decidedly good teacher, one who knew how to communicate with children and excelled in his field. The first, theoretical part was not interesting at all to the young alchemist who already knew it by heart. He contented himself to read a book and think carefully about the teacher's words. He was certain that he was a human being, however, he seemed to possess the common characteristic of other magical creatures in having a close relationship with the magical energy of this world. This gift he had been given by the Truth- or was it because of his capacity for alchemy that he was able to feel the Great Link? Maybe both ... Truth gave him the ability to use magic, but his use of alchemy, besides the experience at the Promised Day, had to make matters worse by making him more responsive to the huge current that ran through this universe"

Then came the practical section on Lumos, an extremely simple light spell. The professor looked at him attentively while he concentrated carefully to make sure that he used as little energy as possible but to no avail: his wand produced a bright light similar to flares Lan Fan used, surprising the students. Flitwick looked at him with great concern.

At the end of the class, Flitwick had Ed stay behind to discuss it with him and try a little experiment. He took a second wand out of his desk drawer and asked him to try the spell again, saying it could be a problem of a too powerful wand. Ed, remembering the strange story of his instrument, thought it could well be that but did not want to tempt fate. He asked the teacher to protect his eyes, which he did by casting a protective spell and summoning a pair of glasses. Then, Edward cast it. For a moment, the young alchemist thought he was back at the door as the white light was dazzling: no shadow, the colors faded even against the force of the spell. He stopped immediately. Flitwick rubbed his eyes and said:

"Your wand actually regulates your magic and there is little chance that others will work ... I have every reason to think you are trying to cast spells with the minimum force, given your concentration. I do not know what to do. I'm a former dueling champion and I can only recommend one thing: avoid fighting against those you love, you may seriously hurt by accident It'll seem very hard, but if it was up to me, I would ask you to go continue your magic training with goblins or other beings. It is not against you, you're a bright boy, but extremely dangerous in a classroom."

"I see," Edward sighed as he left the class.

He did not feel hurt, after all, it was not the teacher's fault that he was a special case. He walked to Greenhouse No. 1 for the Herbology course that had already begun. He knocked on the door and entered the classroom, gave a quick apology to the amiable professor then joined a table with a strange plant and two Slytherins. The teacher began by explaining that many plants known by Muggles had magical properties. She drew up a list of their properties for much of the course. Then Professor Sprout went to the practical portion of the course by presenting a Flitterbloom, a plant with small tentacles that was harmless, unlike its cousin Devil's Snare, however, its shaking branches sometimes made it difficult to treat. This was the first class where Edward really felt at ease: he had often helped his mother in the kitchen garden and the Herbology teacher reminded him of good memories, besides the plant seemed to... enjoy… him for lack of a better term. Edward did not know why, the teacher had just said the plant might have a sensitivity...

His day's courses ended, he rushed to the library to escape the crowd and moved to a table where he worked on his theories until dinner, where he ate quickly before working at a table away from the common room.

He did not really want to bond with others: those of his year were immature and those of his age treated him smugly because of his delay or with amazement because of his name. It was hard to talk to students from another house in the castle, except outside on the grounds and in the hallways or in the rigor of some clubs, but otherwise, nothing was done to facilitate friendship between the Houses, especially with the separate pass coded common rooms and reserved tables. And then they wanted the houses to act united ...

The week passed in much the same manner: Every morning he rose for one or two hours of exercise and then had breakfast and attended classes.

He had waited for Potions curiously because the group of Gryffindor's had spewed insults of all kinds about Snape. Edward knew that he was not the type to talk delicately. However, he had to reserve the height of his aggressiveness for Gryffindor's because he merely made sarcastic remarks against Ravenclaw's and gave simple looks to scare Hufflepuff's. Understanding his material proved extremely difficult for Edward. Of course, he could very well be content to follow the instructions exactly and perfectly succeed with his potion without trying to understand the theory, but it offended his way of seeing things. He would think for a long time on the property of an ingredient, wondering why it was necessary in this preparation, and leave it out. Generally, at that time, his partner would pull him out of the way of his exploding potion.

By the end of his first day, Snape, who had prevented his potion from exploding at least twice during the session, had taken him aside and ordered him to keep the potions theory to his writing and to do as all the other idiots and mindlessly follow the instructions in class; otherwise he would be put in detention until he understood that. Harry and Ron were outraged when Edward had told them about this, but admitted that the teacher was right. These materials were as dangerous as those in a chemistry class where one would handle nitro-glycerine and sulfuric acid, so he had to agree to follow the instructions.

The astronomy course was beautiful to Edward. He never tired of studying the sky, to see how they were both different and similar to the constellations of his universe, as if seeing it from another point of view. In addition, it was quiet, without magic, the ideal class for him.

In his flying class, Ed's broom tended to stay in the place where he knew it belonged, namely on the ground, and with him there too. Madame Hooch could not convince him to fly more than one meter above the ground and there was a safe bet that she would never change his mind as he was stubborn on the issue.

Defence against the Dark Arts proved to be a disaster. Umbridge did not like him and it was mutual: apparently, she considered him an undesirable element that had to be controlled at all costs. She was particularly good when it came to delivering veiled insults but the young alchemist had experienced enough not to snap in class. She was a specialist in snide remarks and constantly condescended to the class: her only purpose seemed to be ensuring that at the end of their schooling the young wizards would be content to leave things to the good hands of the Ministry without knowledge of their responsibilities within the community. Edward had managed to last an hour and a half before cracking and telling her all the good he thought of her and 'her books that I wouldn't give to a bunch of kindergarteners'. He was out of the class with a week of detention, which he realized was also the case for Harry.

That evening, he was therefore made to go to Umbridge's office with his friend. On entering the room, he had vowed that if one day he and Winry had a daughter he never inflict such a setting on her for fear of seeing the eye-gouging girly decor everywhere. Pink everywhere, porcelain trinkets and kitsch on each side table or small chest of drawers, with the pattern of kittens that could make even Alphonse lose his passion for cats.

When the woman held out with a sweet smile an unhealthy looking sharp black pen and indicated that they would have to copy lines, Edward immediately suspected foul play, but began the task. The acute pain he felt in his hand informed him of the little perverse game that she was engaged in. Edward had no intention of letting her win and said that even if he had to have something engraved on his hand it may as well be something in which he believed: so he changed his phrase "I must not tell lies' to "I will tell the truth.' By the time she noticed it was well and truly engraved in his hand. She couldn't complain because he could show this evidence to Flitwick.

By the end of the week, he had had the great pleasure of seeing the puffy face of the vile woman blanch when she saw what was written on his hand. He said as innocently as he could that he had misheard, but that if she wanted, she could always come with him to see Professor Flitwick or better, Professor Dumbledore, to discuss his punishment. Umbridge's face was twisted with rage and Harry, who was standing next to him, had struggled not to laugh in front of her; the two young wizards proceeded to do so in private once they were out of the office. He was invited to the grounds where Hermione and Ron were waiting with the essence of murtlap that soothed the pain.

Hermione shook her head upon seeing it and tried to convince them to tell Dumbledore anyway. But Edward had no illusions on that, if Umbridge was sacked, another would arrive, even worse, while there, he could blackmail her for a while before she felt confident again.

Harry thought that Ed definitely had a Slytherin side before he left for his duties that had been delayed. But with the heat of late summer, he unfortunately felt more inclined to laze than work. The grass was so soft... he fell asleep within a few moments ... and woke up as the other.

He was in a room lit by a few candles with a circle of people dressed as Death Eaters who were devoutly bowed to a tall, thin silhouette. Harry shuddered visibly, acknowledging that Voldemort had to summon his followers but he listened to what this was about.

"... the priority is the mission that I asked of you, Lucius, but nevertheless, if you find the information on this adopted son of Flamel, do not hesitate to tell me. Severus, my faithful servant, you have seen him during this week ... what do you think of this boy?

"He is several years behind and does not really seem to excel in learning," criticized Snape in a neutral voice. "From the reports I have heard, he has no control over his magic and he tends to cause disasters, including in potions. One would expect anything else from a pupil of Nicholas Flamel the alchemist. "

"I see ... and yet, he unravelled the secret of Nicholas Flamel …" Voldemort muttered coldly "Lucius, tell your son to continue to observe ... You never know what will reveal itself."

And Harry found himself suddenly lying on the lawn of the grounds with his friends looking at him worriedly and not in the middle of Death Eaters of all kinds. He felt ill, nauseous when he thought about this meeting and about the discussion. Edward stared, confused, not knowing what was happening. Harry had not made him aware of the visions he received from Voldemort and he did not want to tell him that he could become a target in this war. He tried to get up but Hermione told him to stay still for a while because of his discomfort despite his attempts to make her understand silently that he had a vision. He resigned himself to say it aloud, causing an increase in the level of concern and amazement of Edward, and of course, the whole group wanted to know what it was and finally he resigned himself to reveal what he had seen to everyone.

When he finished, they all stared at the boy with an air of pity, but overall, Edward seemed to take it pretty well- he had only sighed with a fatalistic air. But otherwise, no fear, but Harry knew that Ed did not really know Voldemort, he did not know what he was capable of and he could not be really afraid.

Ron was rather angry with Snape for talking about their friend but Edward seemed to not blame him at all and said casually:

"Because you think a spy will lie all the time when in the enemy camp? A guy who lies all the time makes a bad spy. To spy requires mixing truth and falsehood in the right proportions."

"But now you are a target," Ron raised insistently.

"There is a greater chance for him to take first shots at Harry and then me ... Nothing against you, of course," apologized Edward to the Boy-Who-Lived, who stared at him.

"But if he is still seeking the secret of the philosopher's stone, he will go after you," Hermione said, mortally worried.

"He won't get it from me." Edward replied flatly. "The secret of Nicholas Flamel did not concern his stone."

"So what was it?" Hermione asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

"I swore never to reveal anything," said Edward, very firm and final.

Ed's tone was final and the trio did not pry, knowing that they were more likely to convert Malfoy to the ideal of world peace than get Edward to change his mind. Now, this was what they would do: Hermione wanted Harry to go immediately and see Professor Dumbledore but Harry refused categorically; if he had been ignored for two months why would it matter now... but he had to tell someone. It was Ron who finally proposed telling Sirius, who would then forward the message to Dumbledore. And after that, maybe Dumbledore would finally agree to talk to the young wizard about what he saw …

The trio went to the common room, leaving Edward lying on the lawn, wondering if he had done the right thing by accepting the proposal of Flamel … He was really focused now, but fortunately it was not a priority. The boy wondered to what extent this scenario had been orchestrated: Dumbledore could very well choose to register him under the name of Elric despite his second name and not fanning his "relationship" with Flamel so that no one would be interested in him and he entered the mold as was originally planned. Instead, his name was shouted in the hall when he had all eyes on him. The old Headmaster - had he done this to create a diversion so that Voldemort became dispersed in his objectives? Or he was paranoid and his adoption required the school to use his new name?

On Saturday morning, Edward was again up early and instead of taking the path around the lake as usual, he walked to the Forbidden Forest, eager to explore. He had taken care to dress in anticipation of exploration: Muggle clothes of black color and strong enough to withstand a bit of sport and sturdy shoes. He also took a bag. He had filled a flask with pumpkin juice and some provisions consisting of cold sausages, bacon, bread and butter and jam and some fruit, (blessed be the breakfasts of England!), which would be sufficient for the entire day in case he got lost.

He reached the edge of the forest and followed a path at random, unworried about the dangers that these woods could shelter. After all, he had his alchemy and training and the magic in his hands was a weapon of unimaginable mass destruction... He hoped not to have to use it.

He advanced resolutely, leaving the path from time to time, seeing the trees of various species become increasingly tightened to the point that the darkness was becoming more prevalent as the sun was blocked out. Eventually, the inevitable happened and he was soon completely lost and delighted to be. He was too full of energy to spend and here there were no witnesses to report his use of alchemy.

The young alchemist quietly leaned against a tree, thinking maybe this forest was not so dangerous as they said... At least until he saw a small band of silver Gytrashes passing by. Some began to be interested in him but he simply demonstrated some simple transmutations to convince them that he was not harmless and that it was better to avoid him. In contrast, blood drinking goblins, very different from their distant banking cousins, nearly seriously injured him and he had to fight much more seriously with more serious transmutations and even some melee, which proved more dangerous than he had expected. He no longer had his automail arm and he had been too inclined to rely on it during his fights. Finally, the creatures fled, leaving him virtually unscathed save some scratches, one on his arm was rather deep but nothing serious. He took the time to eradicate all traces of his struggle, especially those of alchemy, then he ate a sandwich before heading back in the approximate direction of the castle.

He came around the bend of the path, startling a troop of unicorns who scampered off at the sight and thought he saw in the distance a centaur who seemed to watch him with a bow and a quiver. He came to a clearing brighter than the others and decided to locate himself by climbing a tree: he had to be about one kilometre from the castle, as the crow flies, and from the position of the sun, it should be between one or two in the afternoon. He had time for a nap ...

When he awoke, he was surprised to find himself surrounded by the same reptilian horses that pulled the carriages leading students from the station to the school. They seemed strange but not dangerous and their focus seemed to be on the blood from his arm, and one of them started to lick. He should request the name of these critters, one day ...

"These are Thestrals."

Edward sat up immediately when he heard the voice before him: Luna stared at him with her large clear grey eyes and blond hair, a little supernatural apparition in the dark foliage of the woods ... She stroked one of reptilian horses with kindness and a soft smile.

"I had never heard of or even seen these before …" Edward said, raising his eyebrows.

"Only those who have seen death and understood it can view them," Luna informed him in a dreamy voice. She said suddenly: "People think they are a bad omen but they never attack humans. They are very gentle and quiet."

"Normally, death is peaceful …" remarked the boy, smiling a bitter smile.

"Yes, 'We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep'", quoted the young Ravenclaw gently.

"It's not really my style, I'm more like 'Do not dream your life, live your dream.'"

"That's also good, I suppose," Luna smiled. "Anyway, you seem a little better than yesterday. There are fewer Wrackspurts around you."

"What are Wrackspurts?" Edward asked with a puzzled tone.

"A creature that scrambles your head and keep you from thinking," obligingly answered the girl.

"Yes ... I guess that pretty much describes my state of mind," the alchemist said, laughing.

Then he got up and followed Luna who had decided to return to the castle: he was beginning to like her more and more: she was nice, with an aura of gentle madness around her which made her special, but he appreciated it more and more. Besides that, she too had lost someone dear ... After all, she could also see Thestrals.

Thinking that this week had turned out to be very instructive, he hoped he could return here regularly.

Translator Notes: The word I starred with an asterisk is, in the original, the word métis, which according to Google and the Harry Potter wiki, is used mostly for referring to those of mixed European-First Nations ancestry in Canada, though the word can also mean half-breed. It isn't used in the French translation of Harry Potter, though, so I just picked a word that fit.

Luna is quoting 4.1.156-8 from the Tempest.