Ch. 8- Thursday Catastrophes
The next morning was even worse than the previous; if anything, Ed had used more energy the day before, even though he went to bed relatively early. He hadn't felt the effects of his scrying lesson last night, but now it seemed to have caught up to him; he could barely get out of bed.
"Ed, we have to go!" Harry's voice cut through Edward's consciousness, quite rudely in his opinion.
"Shut up…" he growled, burying himself under the covers to stave off the noise.
"I don't care whether or not you get up, but if you don't you're going to miss breakfast," Harry replied indifferently.
This motivated Ed; he didn't like the idea of passing up a chance for food. However, he was so tired he accidentally took the wrong pitcher without knowing until he actually drank it.
"Unhg, nasty!" he exclaimed after presently spitting the cloudy, white liquid back into his glass and running his napkin over his tongue.
"Uh, Ed?" Ron asked with a raised eyebrow, "It's only milk."
"Unhng…" Ed groaned, his face gaining a greenish tint, "I hate milk."
"Come on, it can't be that bad," Hermione insisted.
"I just drank cow fluids…" Ed groaned again, holding his stomach.
"Well, when you put it that way," Harry chuckled.
"Here," Hermione said harshly, slamming a mug of coffee in front of Ed, "drink this to cover up the taste and get over it; our first class starts in ten minutes!"
Edward did so hastily, mostly out of caution; when she was worked up, Hermione could bite as hard as First Lieutenant Hawkeye.
The first class of the day was Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. The foursome rushed across the grounds and down to his hut just as the clock struck eight, signifying the start of class. Hagrid motioned the students closer with his burly arms so it'd be easier talking to them. He then began to inform them on the large, long-fanged felines behind him.
"Th'se here be Sphinxes," he told them, "Can anyone tell me where they come from?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air. The class rolled their eyes and Malfoy mocked her behind her back, jumping up and down with his arm up.
"'Ermione?" Hagrid asked.
"Sphinxes originated from ancient Egypt and were once worshiped as gods," Hermione rattled off.
"Very good; 10 points ter Gryffindor!" Hagrid said, delighted, then continuing, "As 'Ermione said, th' Egyptians used ter worship th'se wonderful creatures. They aren't now, a shame really, bu' they still think ter be better than us 'umans. Yer got ter treat them like royalty er else yer very much migh' be killed. These brutes 'ave dagger-like claws 'n razor-sharp fangs. 'Owever, they're an extremely valuable ally. Anyone know why?"
Again, Hermione was the first to answer.
"They have a sort of sixth sense; they can tell when something bad is about to happen before it does and will either protect or warn its servant in some way."
"Thank ye, 'Ermione," Hagrid said gratefully, "Another 20 points ter Gryffindor fer such a brilliant answer."
Malfoy and his goons sneered at this while Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors beamed.
"Now then, time ter get acquainted," Hagrid said jovially, "Come on, don' be shy; pick an animal 'n get ter know 'em. Remember ter be extremely polite 'n only refer ter them as 'th' Great One'."
The area around Hagrid's hut soon echoed with "Oh Great One", and "Please accept this humble piece of meat, Great One".
The lesson was going smoothly until Lavender Brown accidentally dropped her piece of meat on the ground. She brushed it off and offered it to the Sphinx in front of her, as it'd seemed fine. The Sphinx, however, did not find this to his liking. The great cat growled loudly and knocked the steak out of her hands with his head, nearly cutting her with his monstrous teeth in the process. Lavender shrieked and dropped the meat again, cowering in fear with her arms covering her head, too scared to run.
The feline growled again and was ready to pounce and teach the insolent creature in front of him some manners, until he found another human blocking the path to his pray. Edward stood, arms spread wide to obstruct the Sphinx's way, a defiant sparkle n his eyes and bravery set upon his face.
"I apologize, Great One, but I cannot allow you to kill her."
The Sphinx growled in malcontent, believing the one in front of him was mocking his greatness; surely it was his decision who should die and who should live.
"Please back away," Edward said calmly, keeping eye contact with the Sphinx to show he was serious.
His golden orbs burned into the other's yellow-green ones with a defiance that the noble feline despised. He rushed at Ed with an angry shriek, fangs bared and claws ready to slice him apart. Ed reacted immediately and blocked the attack with his right arm, wincing as he heard the prosthetic limb break, and kicked the creature as hard as he could with his left leg. The gigantic cat was thrown backward where it landed on its feet, hissing in rage, but discouraged from attacking again.
Edward held his crushed arm with his left hand so that he both supported the limb and covered the ripped material where the mechanics were exposed. He purposely ran his hand along a sharp piece of metal that was sticking out so it looked as if his arm was bleeding. He then winced again, pretending to be in pain, and dismissed himself to the Hospital Ward, hoping his ruse had been convincing enough. He left behind worried and confused faces.
On the way there, he wondered what he'd do when he arrived. What would he say? 'The truth,' he supposed, 'But will she be able to fix it? And how will I explain my hand to the others?'
It turned out to be better than he expected. Madame Pomfrey fixed both the mechanical and corporeal injuries with a wave of her wand, promising not to release any information about his condition.
Now Ed walked, very slowly, to Defense Against the Dark Arts with a repaired arm and hand, about fifteen minutes early. He would have liked to have used the extra time to talk with his father, but he knew for a fact Hoenheim had another class. He didn't have to worry too much about wasting time, because he took a wrong turn at one point and had to use his map for reference.
He scurried into the room just as class started to find his father standing next to a shaking trunk, a faltering look set on his face. Ed took his seat and shot Hoenheim a silent question, but was ignored.
"Today we'll be having a hands-on lesson," Professor Hoenheim announced, "So if you will, please put everything away except for your wands."
There was some shuffling as everyone did as they were told. All seemed excited except Ed, who, other than scrying, had not yet been able to use his wand. Mostly it was his fault for not practicing, but that didn't help with his lack of confidence.
"Now, can anyone guess what is in this trunk?" Hoenheim asked, the look from before returning full-scale.
To Ed, it seemed as if his father didn't know what he was doing, or what was in the trunk, for that matter. Luckily enough for the nervous professor, Hermione's hand shot in the air.
"That would be a boggart," she informed the class.
"Very good," Hoenheim praised, "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Relief washed over Hoenheim's face. Ed had to admit, his father was quite a good actor. The class, however, wasn't as impressed; they too figured out the Professor had no idea what he was doing, but were too sorry for him to tell him they'd already covered boggarts. That is, except for the slimy-haired, platinum blonde Slytherin in the back.
"We did boggarts in our third year," Malfoy declared loudly and without any concern of being polite.
"Well then, this will be a good review for everyone," the Professor replied, hiding any embarrassment behind a stoic face, "Now, please get into a line and take turns fighting it off."
The class did so, a few groans escaping as they tried to remember the details in subduing a boggart. Edward, of course, had no idea as to what to do.
"How do I fight this thing?" he whispered, nudging Harry, "I don't even know what a boggart is."
"Didn't you read all your textbooks?" Harry asked back, also in a whisper. Ed nodded and flipped through his mental Rolodex, trying to remember what he'd learned.
"I guess I forgot," he said sheepishly.
"Boggarts transform into a person's worst fear. You have to think about what you're scared of and then turn it into something humorous. You then say, Riddikulus while imagining the funny version of your fear," Harry explained.
"My worst fear?" Ed repeated in uncertainty.
"Yeah, what scares you the most?" Harry reiterated.
"I dunno…" Ed replied, searching for an answer, 'What do I fear? Dante? No, she's just evil…'
Ed's face dropped to pure unease as he figured it out. How he didn't remember it fast enough escaped him. There was only one person he feared: Izumi Curtis. Now he granted himself some fun. He imagined his former alchemy teacher hovering over his brother and him with her death look, dreadlocks floating on her ominous aura. Then he imagined one of them getting caught on the low hanging branch of a tree so she couldn't reach the pair. Ed chuckled out loud at this scenario; this would be fun.
The line moved at a reasonable pace with the usual fears being displayed: snakes, large animals such as bears and lions, spiders, and even Professor Snape. Each student fought off the boggart with little effort and emotion; to them, this was boring and a waste of time. For Edward, it was quite interesting; he could imagine a few students being scared of Snape, but compared to his teacher, everyone else's fears seemed childish.
Harry stepped forth and the majority of the class either turned away or closed their eyes. Ed, confused, wondered why his fear would cause such different reactions and how they knew what his fear would be in the first place.
The boggart turned into a dark cloaked, floating creature that was completely hidden except for a pair of clammy-green hands. The atmosphere around it grew immediately cold, and a shiver scurried down Edward's spine; he now knew what the other students' reactions were for.
The class tentatively opened their eyes and their reaction this time was that of surprise, which again sent Ed into confusion. 'Were they expecting something worse?' he wondered. It didn't matter now since Harry had already uttered the spell and a gust of wind had blown the cloak of the mysterious creature up to reveal a pair of frilly, bright pink, ladies' underwear.
Every student with their eyes open burst into laughter, and the few who didn't, opened them and reacted the same. Ed had to admit, it was pretty funny, until he remembered it was his turn. Still nervous from not knowing whether or not he'd be able to perform the spell, Edward stepped forward with is wand raised, the image of Izumi caught on a tree hovering at the top of his mind.
The first thing he saw was red, and he had to think for a moment before realizing the thing in front of him wasn't Izumi. The metallic smell hit him head on and he understood everything at once; the metallic stench was that of blood, red was its color, and the person drenched in it was—
"Al…" Ed whispered.
He blanched and stepped back trembling, unable to keep his wand steady or remember the spell, what he should be doing, or the fact that this wasn't real. All he could feel was the sickening hole in his stomach that the smell bored, the fear that numbed his senses, and the deep pain in his chest. He couldn't tell if it was heartache or if he was having trouble breathing. He was paralyzed, suspended in fear and consumed in confusion. All he could see was his brother, the person he'd died for, lying lifeless in front of him.
"This can't be right," he told himself, "He was fine yesterday! I checked—" Tears ran down his face and onto the floor now as he choked on his words. "No…no…this can't be happening! Al…Alphonse! Brother, wake up!"
He collapsed to his knees, vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder until someone blocked his view of Al and some of his senses returned. The room was dead silent as the students stared in horror at his ghostly white face.
"Edward! Ed!" Hoenheim called, half pulling him out of his trance, "Edward, it isn't real!"
Ed's eyes were glazed over and as emotionless as the rest of his face, even though the tears hadn't yet stopped.
"Come, get up," his father bade gently, "Let's go have a cup of tea."
Hoenheim pulled his son to his feet and guided him to his office and into a chair. He returned to the class and dismissed them, not caring whether or not this would ruin his promise with Dumbledore. He needn't have worried, because the students, even Harry and his friends, took the gesture of kindness as normal professor behavior; this wasn't the first time a student had been scared into tears by a lesson.
Hoenheim, however, thought nothing of all of this as he closed the door to his office, turning his attention again to Edward.
"Ed?" he asked quietly, "Are you alright now?"
Edward drew a deep breath, much like he'd been doing in the past moments to calm his nerves and numb his feelings.
"Somewhat, but…" he shivered and continued, "That's something I never wanted to see. I wasn't prepared for it."
"I'm sorry," Hoenheim said guiltily, "I didn't know what was in that chest, or what it did. If I had, I could have prevented this, but I didn't know it'd be this bad…"
"I should have been prepared," Ed disagreed, shaking his head, "I shouldn't have lost control like that. It's just…Al—" He broke off, not knowing what to say.
"I know," his father comforted, "Even if we know it's not real, it's still a terrible thing to see. It makes our fears a reality, knowing it could happen, and if it did, this is what it would look like. No one should have to witness that…"
Edward nodded; that was exactly what he'd been thinking in the moments he'd been left alone.
As promised, Hoenheim made a pot tea for his son while Ed sat in silence, still not quite recovered from his emotional breakdown. The tea helped, and after an hour, once Ed realized he'd totally missed Transfigurations class, he made his way to the library for some peace, as it was his lunch period.
The day continued and ended without further incident, however Edward's classmates had grown increasingly quiet whenever he passed by; they seemed to be acknowledging his unrest. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione refrained from asking him questions on the matter, as they too felt it was best for their friend never to speak of it again.