Author's Note: Welcome back, everyone! I always hope to get these chapters out more quickly than I do, but hey. At least they get out eventually XD. We've got some long-awaited action in this chapter; I hope it meets your expectations!

I also hope everyone is staying safe and healthy during this crazy year!

Disclaimer: WolfishMoon does not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. They are the respective property of Suddenly-the-Villain-of-Her-Own-Damn-Story and the lovely and mostly unproblematic Hiromu Arakawa. WolfishMoon makes no money from the online publication of this free-to-read fanwork.

Chapter 29

Dueling Day

The Saturday of the professor's dueling tournament approached quickly. Ed wasn't worried about it, though Al looked vaguely amused at his confidence. Still waiting on a response from Bill Weasley, Ed was frankly more worried about other things. He didn't have time to worry about a professor's tournament that he was going to win at anyway.

"I wouldn't be so confident, Brother," said Alphonse in Amestrian after his fifth-year class session. "We don't know much about Wizard fighting styles at all. And Mr. Lupin did successfully kidnap us to the Weasleys."

"Who?" said Ed. He knew full well who. He doesn't forget people who successfully take him out in ways that end up changing his entire set of immediate plans. But.

Al gave a weary sigh. "Scruffy," he said. "Scruffy successfully kidnapped us to the Burrow."

Ed smiled, dodged the light punch that Alphonse sent his way. "To be fair, we didn't know what, exactly, they could do with their sticks at the time. But I guess we should have been more wary of them."

"Just be careful, Brother," said Al. "I don't want you to hurt yourself because you're overcompensating." Ed sent him a dirty look. He was not overcompensating. But he did his best to take the advice anyway.

The other professors seemed to have mixed feelings about the whole event. Snape watched Ed with calculated delight. Ed could practically hear him thinking Elric's hardly older than a student! Finally, a kid I'm allowed to take my rage issues out on! And Ed really couldn't blame him. He felt pretty sure that he'd have similar fantasies after years and years of teaching this lot. (Ed was just lucky Ginny was both a poor alchemy student and a frequent sparring partner.)

McGonagall strode the halls with extra bounce in her step, excitement creeping over her usual stone. Her enthusiasm didn't seem directed at anybody in particular. She, along with Flitwick, just seemed eager to have an excuse to fight.

On the other end of the spectrum was Slughorn. "Oh, I don't plan to fight," he said. "A wizard my age, I'm quite happy with my creature comforts!" But still, he watched the people who'd signed up to participate with a calculating eye. Ed didn't care for the interest and kept his interactions with him short. Good things never came from people with calculating, watchful eyes. Yes, you. Colonel Bastard.

Alphonse and Ed began making a point to spar in the early pre-dawn hours. Ed still loved to sleep, but he didn't need as much of it, now that he wasn't supporting two whole bodies. "I know you have a lot of practical experience, brother," said Al, when setting up their meeting time. "But these teachers are complete unknows. You need to make a good showing. Besides. We don't want Teacher to think we're flabby when we get home."

As much as Ed wanted to dismiss wizards for useless, he couldn't quite argue any of these points. And it was a travesty that he and Al had stopped their morning sessions upon arriving at Hogwarts. That was a bad idea to begin with. It also wasn't in Ed to not take a fight seriously – even if serious meant only "for as thorough enjoyment as possible."

The first time Al threw a spell at Ed in a spar, Ed had to throw himself on the ground to avoid it. He hadn't been expecting magic bullshit from Alphonse. Ed dimly heard Al trying to make a teaching moment out of it, but he was too busy spitting out his mouthful of grass to pay attention to it. Al always beat Ed in fights, but they'd never involved alchemy in them!

Al was not to be swayed; Ed started adding alchemy to their morning spars. Al retaliated gleefully, and for the first time Ed found himself slightly afraid of his brother's prowess. The Hogwarts green was almost always torn to bit by the time they were done, and the last parts of their sessions were almost always devoted to restoring it. "Good practice," Alphonse said. "I keep trying to make sure we put each blade of grass back where it belongs. Reading the root systems that way is giving me good Alkahestry practice. I can't wait to show Mei what I've been working on."

The words might have been Amestrian, but Al carefully avoided referencing Headmaster Dumbass. That was probably for the best – people kept on popping up speaking German in England for no damn reason. (And there was the real fear that someone like Granger might throw themselves into German study for the sake of eavesdropping. Ed wouldn't put it past her. English and German – English and Amestrian – had many similarities.

So Ed didn't call Al on the doublespeak. Besides, the bit about telling Mei was probably true. "She'll be thrilled to hear all about it," Ed said.

Alphonse beamed from ear to ear. "I hope so! She's a master, and Alkahestry is such a new discipline for me."

Ed grinned. "Always good to try new things out! And besides, I'm sure she'll be as excited to learn from you as the other way around."

Not that Mei wasn't somewhat familiar with Amestrian Alchemy as it was. But. Alphonse wasn't just an Alchemist. He was one of the five best Alchemists in the whole damn country. A princess on a quest for immortality and political power (even if it seemed like she was losing in the race, last Ed checked, because Ling was a dumbass) would want to learn new styles from the best.

And then Al would gently place the last blade of grass in its rightful spot, and Pomona would appear from nothing to beam at them both, and the morning spar would be over. Ed exiled once again to his classroom, to the horrors of attempting to teach young wizards any sort of science.

Except Al. Al was technically a young wizard. Ed kept forgetting that.

Putting that disturbing thought out of his head, Ed would continue the rest of his days putting his attention on the question of Dumbledore's hand, on the question of Pandora Lovegood's notes.

Before he knew it, it was the last Saturday in September. It was a drizzly day in the Scottish Highlands, the sort of drizzle that set itself painfully in Ed's automail port, and in the scarring on his right shoulder. But Ed wasn't Colonel Bastard. The rain might hurt, but Ed was far from useless in it.

So he hauled himself out of bed early, got himself down to the sport field. Flitwick was already there, floating arranging a large sign with gentle flicks of his stick. Ed glowered at the casual disregard for the laws of physics, took a moment for his very sanity. "Need any help?"

"Oh no," said Professor Flitwick. "I wrote out a lineup last night – I just want to make sure everyone can see it. I wanted everyone to have a chance at fighting everyone, so it isn't set up like a traditional tournament. I don't think anyone will mind."

"Probably not," said Ed. All the professors who'd signed up to fight had the light of bloodlust in their eyes. Ed didn't think they would say no to the prospect of extra fights. Ed raised his arms over his head, stretched to the right. Then to the left. He wasn't gonna say no to the prospect of extra fights, either.

"I put you and I as the first matchup," said Flitwick, eyes gleaming. "Everyone is eager to see you duel, so you were the reasonable first choice. As for me, well. I figured I deserved a treat, for bothering to write out the matchups in the first place."

Ed blinked, feeling an almost pleasant sort of fear. "That's not worrisome at all."

"No worries, young Edward," said Flitwick. "A master duelist knows how not to fatally injure their opponent."

Now. There was just something in Ed's throat. A little something. He coughed loudly, and Alphonse coming up the lawn with his Ravenclaw scarf wrapped tightly around his thin neck must have heard the exchange. Because he was laughing even as he pulled his robes tighter against the chill of the Scottish September.

By the time the rest of the school had arrived on the lawn, teachers scoffing at their tournament placements, and the Woman with the Brooms (Ed wondered if her closest equivalent in England's normal school was a gym teacher, but gym teachers were not a staple of the education Ed had received in Resembool, so he truly was not sure) was flying over the tournament ring.

"Remember," she shouted to the participating teachers. "Each of you will be dueling more than once – don't hurt yourselves or each other more severely than Madam Pomfrey can fix on the field. We can't afford dead teachers, I'm afraid." She laughed then, as though that was any sort of joke.

Ed rolled his eyes, cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck.

"The first match-up," said Broom Lady, "is Professors Flitwick and Elric! If you'd step to the center of the field."

Ed did so, squaring up with a rare man who was shorter than he was. Flitwick smiled encouragingly at him. Don't worry, young Edward. I'll go easy on you. Ed barred his teeth. Flitwick might be reasonably sized, and (as a half-Goblin) reasonably minded, but it was on.

"Retreat ten paces each, turn, bow to your opponent," Broom Lady said from her perch in the cloud-gray sky.

Ed had recognized that the sort of dueling he was about to participate was considerably more regimented than his usual fights, but still. He snorted, did so. From what he could see of it, Flitwick took his paces naturally. He was practiced in these motions and he moved smoothly through them. Ed turned back to face him, the two bowed.

Before Ed had even straightened, a red light was lancing through the air at him. A roar rippled through the crowd, but it had nothing on the roaring in his ears as Ed threw himself to the ground. He rolled to the side, brought his hands together. He'd long discovered the primary chemical components of the Hogwarts soil. It was nothing to reshape it.

For Ed's own opening salvo, he sent a spike of dirt rippling through the terrain. He set the transmutation to complete itself – he instinctively knew that Flitwick's stick was ready to fire at him. He moved a split second before a fresh light issued from his opponent's wand.

He could tell, in the same way that he knew when to dodge, that the reality of fighting an Alchemist had taken Flitwick by surprise. Ed was going to take the advantage while it lasted. He wove closer to where Flitwick stood, dodging a charm here, a hex there. Clapped from a satisfactory position. Ed could feel his pulse accelerate as electricity crackled around him. His hair antenna frizzed; alchemical energy shot through the Hogwarts green. A hand reached up from the ground, socked Flitwick in the nose.

Flitwick tumbled backwards, moved fluidly into a roll. Back on his feet, he shot another spell at Ed, but Ed was moving himself. A spell shot right in front of Ed's nose, he reeled backward to avoid it but managed to hold his balance.

From his experience at Malfoy manor, Ed had been under the impression that wizards were mostly used to fighting solitary targets. But Flitwick's aim said otherwise. This was a man who'd been on the competitive circuit for a long time. Ed was going to kill something if wizard sport fighters were actually more competent than the professionals.

Ed felt the portion of his brain that wasn't focused on the fight wonder if Voldemort's cronies really counted as professionals, and with that moment of distraction he felt a burning sensation before promptly breaking out in boils.

"Fuck," he said, redoubling on his running. Flitwick looked smug, but he clearly had a broken nose. Ed stopped abruptly, Flitwick's next spell landing in front of him. He clapped, compressed the soil beneath Flitwick's feet before releasing the tension all at once. Flitwick shot into the air, mouth dropping briefly open. Ed was impressed to notice that Flitwick managed to shoot off another spell even as he was at the height of his momentum.

Ed crouched to avoid it, felt a boil burst painfully on the underside of his bent knee. He decided it was time to end this. As Flitwick fell back down, Ed prepared to trap him in dirt. He reached for it – alchemical senses seeking out the compounds. But they were somehow? Springy? Ed wasn't quite sure how to describe the effect – certainly not in the heat of a fight. His attention narrowed, following the alchemical flow to his target soil. It was markedly different from the soil around it!

And then Flitwick landed, bouncing up as easily as though the ground was made from especially springy rubber. Ed blinked, still connected alchemically to the patch of ground. It had returned to the composition of typical soil. He tilted his head, was hit in the chest by a spell that knocked him backward several feet. Several of the boils on his chest popped, oozing though his shirt. Shit. This is what happens when Ed gets too invested in science during a fight. Teacher would be so angry at him.

"If you were a wizard," Flitwick said dryly from across the field. "I think I would have collected both Elric brothers for Ravenclaw."

"Shut zee fuck up," said Ed, mind going briefly to his Ravenclaw students. As if.

Another spell was coming this way, but Ed dodged it, clapped again, and this time successfully swallowed Flitwick to the neck in the dirt. Got him. Flitwick had great and quick aim, but dodging was not his forte.

Seconds passed before Broom Lady swooped lower from her high vantage point. "Flitwick, do you yield?"

Flitwick yielded; his face as happy as Ed had ever seen it. "Just marvelous work, young Mr. Elric. Marvelous work!"

Ed clapped, sent the ground back to its rightful place. Flitwick dusted himself off and approached Ed with an extended hand. Ed eyed it, shook. "Zat was fun," he said.

"Wasn't it?" said Flitwick, eyes glittering with adrenaline. "I believe we are about to be roundly scolded. But I do believe this was worth it."

The school nurse – Madame Pomfrey, Ed reminded himself – was striding over to them from the medical tent she'd erected for emergencies. She eyed the puss seeping through Ed's shirt. "Boils," she said, and without any warning waved the stick in her hand. Ed blinked, suddenly not aware of the uncomfortable rub of fabric-and-boil. Assessing his body more closely, he realized that the movement of the fight had loosened the rain-tight muscles around his automail port and his shoulder. Good. He looked back up at Madame Pomfrey who waved the stick again, and his shirt was clean.

She looked to Flitwick. "You, on the other hand, I think I need to take to the tent."

"Vas?" Ed asked, English disappearing in the post-fight post-confusing-magic fuddle.

Flitwick looked suddenly sheepish. "I think I might have cracked a rib," he said. He was standing as straight as Ed had ever seen him, but Ed himself was no stranger to developing an iron pain tolerance. Flitwick looked to Ed, said, "I do hope to duel you again," before following Pomfrey off to the medical tent, hardly a wince in his step.

Huh. He's the one I should have brought to Malfoy Manor, Ed thought. 'Teachers Only' would have been a good excuse to leave most of the kids out of it. But dwelling on past action – especially past actions that had been successful – wasn't Ed's style. They'd all gotten out of Malfoy Manor alive, and that was what was important.

Flitwick was not gone long before the other teachers began to crowd around the board of matchups. Slotted next was the much awaited Slytherin v. Gryffindor, Snape v. McGonagall. Ed settled in to watch, happy for the break.

Almost everyone ended up fighting almost everyone. Flitwick, the first to sustain a somewhat serious injury was back in the ring before Ed could fathom was possible. "Skelegrow," he'd explained, nudging Ed gently. "It's not quite done with its work, but I'm patched up enough that I won't puncture a lung."

"Huh," said Ed. Not puncturing a lung was good enough for him! He really needed to find a way to recreate these potions with alchemy. That thought in head, he slipped his notebook from the breast pocket of his red jacket, noted the idea. He knew a persistent interest in the applications of Alkahestry was more Al's thing than Ed's, but magic. As fucked up as it was, Ed couldn't deny that it was giving him ideas.

Ed's next match up was with the maths teacher. She was taller than he was by a good margin – too many giants, seriously – with dark hair tied back sensibly. Ed tried to contextualize her in his memory, couldn't. But Broom Lady announced her from her perch in the sky. Septima Vector. It wasn't long before Ed had her in the dirt.

All these bookish wizards with no physical prowess. Teacher would be appalled. Ed was appalled.

But whatever Vector's faults, she didn't end up with broken ribs, so Ed wasn't going to complain. Ed matched up next with Snape, who'd already endured a long duel with McGonagall that he'd lost by an almost indiscernible margin.

"Recovered?" Ed asked from his position across the field.

Snape did not look even remotely phased. "I don't believe there was anything I needed to recover from." Ed grinned at him, because some of the hits he'd taken from McGonagall had looked a little painful. But whatever. He continued to grin as their fight was counted off, as they bowed.

He was not especially surprised when he found himself on the ground an instant after Broom Lady made her call. Snape looked like he'd have a quick hand. Ed managed to roll to standing. Two fights in with time in between for the adrenaline to fade had left Ed with a mild soreness. But being dumped in the dirt helped his adrenaline to spike again. Soreness or no, Ed set out from his crouched stance into a flat run. Hocus-pocus light scored the ground behind him. Ed grinned again, clapped his hands, backflipped.

He landed hands first, sent a spike of dirt and stone at Snape's face. He sidestepped it with only minor difficulty. Ed nodded slowly as he found his feet again. He began to run lightly backwards, eyed the ground under Snape's feet.

Another spell fired at him, Ed changed direction and avoided it neatly. Ed eyed his right hand, clapped. The ground sunk under Snape's feet, who responded by – flying? Floating? Snape's feet cleared the edge of the pit Ed tried to sink him in with delicate ease. "Always surprised by the things magic can do," said Snape. "How muggle of you."

"Oh, fuck you," said Ed, clapping again. A spike rose from the sunken ground, aiming right between Snape's legs. Snape dove right, fell to springy ground. Ed hated that trampoline effect thing. It just wasn't fair that magic could alter the way molecules held themselves together. Fucking with the dirt was Ed's purview.

While Snape was preoccupied with recovering from his fall, Ed made his way closer. By the time Snape had straightened his spine, Ed was there to punch him squarely in the face. Ow, he thought. It was the first time he'd punched someone's nose with his right arm outside of training since it had been restored. But the strength of the punch was apparently enough to send Snape reeling backward. Good.

Ed followed it up with a solid kick from his metal leg. Yes. Snape went down, and Ed took the opportunity to encase him to the neck in the dirt. It was the first fight where he'd had to fall back on his hand-to-hand skills the entire tournament.

Broom Lady's whistle blew; Snape glared through a sheaf of his dark hair. "Don't be a sore loser," said Ed. Snape delivered several interesting threats, but Ed just grinned at him as he clapped his hands and set him free.

The rest of the day continued, and Ed dueled every professor that wanted to duel him. His last matchup of the day was McGonagall, who miraculously stood before him bright-cheeked and energized. Ed was not even near the most tired he'd ever been, but McGonagall's energy level seemed impossible. Ed's right fist still twinged unhappily at him from when he'd punched Snape in the face earlier in the day.

Still. Ed's back was straight, his braid neatly redone. They exchanged pleasantries, Broom Lady's whistle blew, and suddenly, the world was huge.

McGonagall, always tall, towered. Something in Ed's whole psyche panicked. Why was she so big suddenly? Why was he on all fours? He closed his eyes, lifted his hands, clapped them. And suddenly, something large and warm was closing around his middle. "He's had too many fights today," said McGonagall's voice. It was close, and there was something odd about the way the sound registered in his ears.

Ed focused on the chemical compositions around him, finding purchase on the fabric of her sleeve. He searched his mind for possible equations. Fire? Take a page out of Mustang's book? That would be the easiest way to weaponize McGonagall's clothing. He placed his clasped hands on the wrist cuff – emerald, Ed was sure. Even thought the color registered differently now. He manipulated the oxygen in the air around it, wracked his brain for a source of ignition.

He ultimately worked it into the equation itself, superheating a pocket of oxygen and forcing the sleeve itself to generate a spark. Ed placed his hands on the wrist cuff, set off the equation, said, Put me down you giant! What the fuck? But while McGonagall's sleeve did catch fire, all that came out of Ed's mouth was a frustrated yowl.

"I think we've established that I won," said McGonagall, producing a stream of water out of thin air. "I won't have any nonsense from you." Ed looked down at himself, at the hands that had guided the combustion equation. All he saw were two golden-furred paws.

Broom Lady's whistle blew.

What the fuck? McGonagall tucked Ed under her arm. "I believe I'll leave you like this for the rest of the tournament."

And that was when Ed remembered to panic – his brain running straight at a horrifying picture of chimerism. He yowled and scratched at the arm holding him fast. McGonagall looked at him, puzzled, before she gently set him down.

"You're alright young Mr. Elric. I wouldn't call human transfiguration easy, but it isn't dangerous in the hands of an experienced practitioner." But Ed wasn't hearing her. His fur was up, and he did the only thing his instincts told him to do. Run, right for the wide-eyed blonde boy watching the proceedings with horror.

Alphonse, help!

Al gathered Ed up in his arms. "Oh, brother," he said. He looked at McGonagall. "Professor, really? I understand that transfiguration is not transmutation, but on a human?"

Ed began to ignore the conversation. Because there was just something about Al's smell, like this. His brother was a safe place to be.

Word Count: 3921

Posted 9/22/2020

This is a shorter chapter, but I swear to the gods I've been working on this chapter twice a week for the last three months. It was slow going. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programing (i.e. the actual plot) next chapter, with any luck!

Tell me what you thought, everyone!