Neither Harry Potter nor Fullmetal Alchemist belong to me in any way, shape, or form.

Iambic Pentameter (eye-AM-bik pen-TAM-i-ter)

Dumbledore steeped his fingers in expectation, studying the entity who sat across from him with its legs crossed neatly in its chair. Slowly, he slid a list along the top of his desk until it rested right before his guest, holding its bored gaze unflinchingly.

A pause.

"I need you to transcribe these books for the Hogwarts library."

Golden, molten eyes gave the list a cursory glance before focusing sharply on the wizard. A short silence, like those burning irises were gauging him, and then the boy shook his head.

"These books don't exist anywhere anymore, old man," he stated evenly.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I'm not stupid."

"No, you aren't," admitted the boy with a shit-eating grin on his lips. Albus remembered that lopsided, incisive smile quite well, but never before had it looked as...weary as it happened to look today. Odd. The boy looked down at his hands as he continued. "I should remind you that I'm not stupid either," he stated softly, clearly enunciating each word. "Spare me the rhetoric, Albus. This is more than just books—I know it is."

The wizard frowned. His hand made for his wand.

(If he was to do this the hard way, then so be it.)

He opened his mouth to speak, and the boy's eyes popped up to him again. The startlingly bright gold irises, shrunken almost imperceptibly into smaller, more concentrated full-moon orbs, nearly made him stumble, and a crushing pressure took hold on his forehead. He quashed his panic as this invading presence phased past his mental defenses with infuriating ease, and began poking and prodding lazily at his thoughts.

"No. Stop that, Edward."

"I'm not a dog," the boy huffed, mildly annoyed. However, despite his words, the presence backed off slightly, still there, still threatening, just not as...bold.

"I seem to recall you saying that you hated doing that," the wizard stated after a moment's respite, readjusting his half-moon glasses.

The boy laughed—genuinely, before giving him a what can you do about it shrug. "True." The pressure ceased completely.

Dumbledore's face pulled into a tentatively amused smile. "Then why try it now?"

"Because I seem to recall you being a very proficient liar, old man," Edward said. "And I also remember that you're a very skilled Legilimens. I just did my thing before you could do yours." A pointed look at the hand Albus had been reaching for his wand with, just before the boy's mental assault.

The smile evened out at that statement. A part of Dumbledore wanted to point out that it was different, because at least Legilimency could be countered, but there really wasn't a point.

(Besides, Edward had always been, still was, and would likely always be, a shoddy Occlumens).

"Well, Albus? Equivalent Exchange: I won't use my brain tricks anymore if you don't use yours," the boy offered, before considering something. He hastily tacked on, "Oh yeah, and don't lie. No lies, from either of us, that is."

Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands upon his desk, and considered his options. Purely due to his nature, Edward took none too kindly to lying. Lying was too uncertain, unfileable, unknowable. It also happened to be a very big part of Dumbledore's battle plan. But if this was what it took...

"A deal well made then," he stated carefully, keeping his gaze even as he met the boy's eyes once again. "You speak the truth; this is more than just books."

The boy leaned back into his chair, giving him a warm, relieved smile, like he was trying to convey now that wasn't so bad now was it through his facial expression alone. "Thank you, Albus." His voice was calmer, more respectful.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts exhaled, sensing the tension in the air dissipate.

"Now that that's out of the way, do you still want me to transcribe those books in addition to keeping an eye on the students and protecting your precious golden boy?"

A look of alarm crossed the headmaster's face, but the boy simply held his hand up in assurance.

"It was an educated guess—a hypothesis, my friend. No fancy tricks."

"You will be the death of me, Edward," the wizard stated, rubbing at his temple. He paused, trying to recall the original question. Oh, right. "Yes, the books would be nice. Letting you take those old treasures to the grave would be a shame indeed."

"I have a lot of time before I die," the boy stated, humor laced into his voice. "Unfortunately."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at that little nihilistic twist. Edward just shrugged.

"How long is this little surveillance contract active?"

The wizard considered. "Two years."

"Huh." Edward scratched his temple, and mused, "That's not too bad, I guess."

"So you've accepted?"

The golden-eyed boy rested his cheek in his hands, his mouth in a neutral line.

"Depends. What're you using in exchange for my help?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. He had expected this, of course. It was another facet of Edward's nature: that golden principle that he had mentioned earlier—Equivalent Exchange. Albus blinked, nonplussed, and, with equal neutrality, slid a pass over to him. The boy glanced down at it for the briefest of moments, and then released a harsh bark of laughter.

"Albus, what makes you think I didn't already peruse the restricted library section when I was here the last time?"

"You underestimate me, Edward," chided the headmaster, tone confident. "Look on the back."

The boy turned the pass over, revealing a slip of paper with assorted candy names. A minute passed in silence. His brow furrowed. Another minute.

He looked up. "What the bloody hell is a 'Fizzing Whizbee?'"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "A pair of words that gargoyles like quite a lot," he stated cryptically. "I would know. I have a stone gargoyle guarding my office as we speak, and it quite likes hearing them:"

Edward looked momentarily lost, but then his brilliant golden eyes widened, and his lips pulled into a large grin as he waved his arms at the great oak shelves around them. His elation left him wordless, like a child pointing insistently at a new toy.

"You mean—"

"Yes, Edward, every book in here." Albus didn't miss a beat.

A pause—the boy was thinking. Hesitantly, he gestured to a particular case, filled with worn leather volumes, one-of-a-kind, written by one of Dumbledore's closest friends. The wizard blinked owlishly and smiled.

"Even the journals."

The boy's grin widened as he took the pass and tucked it away in his vest, into a pocket somewhere near his heart, and a disbelieving laugh echoed around the office as he rebuttoned his coat.

"Well, Albus, in this, as in many things, you've proven how persuasive you can be, even without your Legilimency trick." he complimented, and relaxed back into his chair. "You've got yourself a deal!"

Nobody uttered a word as the Great Hall's doors creaked open, nearly ten minutes into the sorting ceremony. Conversation puttered to a halt, and even the hat seemed to trail off at the pair that appeared against the rain, interrupting its rather good-natured bashing of some poor soon-to-be-Ravenclaw first year. A vein of lightning darted quick against the inky black, flashing two elongated shadows along the floor. The hinges creaked again.

It was Hagrid, having the good sense to shut the door behind him, and a hooded...boy who was accompanying him that, despite being soaked to the bone, seemed to stand with a certain unabashed dignity. Harry looked up at the stranger from his seat at the Gryffindor table, and cringed as almost everybody else in the hall did so as well.

Simultaneously.

Ron leaned over, narrowing his eyes at the stranger's almost comically confident air.

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "No idea." The two glanced immediately to Hermione, who sat with her chin resting on her hands as she studied the boy.

"He's just standing there, staring off into space," Hermione stated, curious.

Ron snickered. "Nervous. Probably a first year, eh?"

Harry snorted. If the boy was nervous, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, he barely even reacted when Hagrid finished with the massive front door and placed a hand on his shoulder. Hogwart's gamekeeper looked up at Dumbledore, a look of apology and bewilderment gracing the rough curve of his lips.

"Sorry abou' the in'erruption, sir. Somethin's got the creatures o' the lake in a right fit." He gestured vaguely at the figure standing to his right. "Kept dragging the transfer student in, and they held on tight. Jus' had to bring 'im around in the end."

Muttering permeated the crowd at that statement, mainly whispers of 'transfer student' and "wot" from some of the older students. The subject of all this attention simply stood there, dripping a mixture of rain and lake water onto the floor from the ends of his hooded robes. Now that Harry had the chance to study him, he noticed the small tears and scuff marks marring the cloth of the boy's robes. What exactly happened?

Dumbledore began to speak, likely to introduce the new arrival, but Hermione whispered under him.

"That's odd," she mused. "Why would the animals in the lake harass a student? They rarely ever make contact with people, and none of them are in any way malevolent if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, remember how Dennis said he fell in?" Ron paused, as if thinking. "Didn't he say the giant squid thing pushed him back on? Why would it save one kid and pull another one in?"

Harry frowned. "It's kind of suspicious, don't you think?" he questioned slowly, as if doubting himself. His two friends looked at him. "The lake animals freaking out like that? Aren't they, y'know, supposedly protecting us?" He paused. "Maybe the new transfer student is...I dunno," another pause; he knew this was highly irrational, "a danger to us, or something."

Hermione blinked. "Maybe I wouldn't go that far, Harry. It's definitely suspicious, but we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"You're just paranoid, mate," Ron added jokingly, but there was a slight hint of agreement in his voice. Who could blame the two of them? Tensions were still high from a certain Death Eater attack on a certain Quidditch tournament that happened to be a big deal.

The black-haired Gryffindor grimaced at that particular memory as the other students kept throwing curious looks behind them at Hagrid and the kid. Even a few of the professors looked puzzled, and Dumbledore apparently agreed with the oddity of the situation, for he raised a single thinning eyebrow above his twinkling eyes as he finished his short introduction. Harry had been paying barely enough attention to catch the words "fourth year" and "Germany."

"...for now, I'd strongly advise against morning walks around the lake," the headmaster quipped lightly, and chuckles echoed around the student body.

Hagrid nodded. The transfer leaned in and whispered something up to the tall man (for the boy was just a little short, and not even Ron could reach Hagrid's ear if he stood on his toes). "Oh yeah, jus' go sit wi' the firs' years fer now, Ed."

The boy, "Ed," nodded and walked towards the group of first years throwing him curious glances. A strange fourth year transfer from Germany; yeah, Harry would've been apprehensive if "Ed" had shown up in his first year (then again, he'd been apprehensive of a great many things in his first year). It didn't help that now everyone could hear the boy's steps were uneven, one considerably lighter than the other, and his gait was a defined limp. It tapped out a steady rhythm on the floor, like the beating of a heart.

Strange.

Harry quashed his curiosity as Ed disappeared among the first year students, and the hat, looking slightly displeased with the intrusion, continued its sorting of the very confused child beneath it.

"...RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table burst into applause as the new member took an empty seat near some friendly-looking second years. Professor McGonagall glanced down at her list and called up the next student. The sorting hat did a little wiggle to settle itself before its rim opened wide once more.

"...GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry cheered for the first year girl who scurried toward their table and stole the nearest seat, near the end, and the next name was called.

"...HUFFLEPUFF!"

"...RAVENCLAW!"

"...SLYTHERIN!"

The transfigurations instructor peered down at her list, adjusting her hat. "Heiderich, Edward," she enunciated clearly, and looked up, along with the rest of the student body. The fourth year transfer stood and walked his rhythmic heartbeat limp up to the hat—Was it just him, or did the boy's robe's look inexplicably dry?—where McGonagall stopped him. "Hoods off, young man."

The transfer paused and sighed as he pushed the hood down and shook out his hair. His blonde, very long, very strangely-well-cared-for hair that was in a neat ponytail. Harry heard Ron snicker beside him.

"Looks like a bloody girl when he's turned around, Dun'he?"

Harry was about to agree, but the Hermione rolled her eyes at them and shot him a 'really?' sort of look. That and the soft, wistful "oh"s he heard from a few of the female students around him kept him quiet and watching.

The boy put the hat on, and it sunk down over his face before yelping, yes, yelping, "O-oh dear! How am I supposed to sift through all of this?" Then, quieter, "I haven't seen a mind this extensive since...since perhaps Rowena herself!" Its audience began to chatter. The hat rarely spoke aloud, and with such a wild claim at that! The grim line of the boy's mouth gave off a displeased aura of please shut the bloody hell up, you moth-eaten second-hand rag, and the sorting hat abruptly silenced itself. Evidently, he wasn't very fond of such...public melodramatic hyperbole.

The hat took its sweet time, sitting stubbornly over the boy's eyes and wiggling every now and again as if incredibly uncomfortable. The transfer student's face pulled into a noticeable scowl, frustrated. Were they...conversing? Harry thought back on his own sorting, when the hat had given him his choice. Was that happening here as well?

He didn't know for sure, so he watched intently as Edward Heiderich's expression morphed from frustration to neutrality, to something that resembled a grin. The Ravenclaw table was visibly preening. That one comment about Rowena Ravenclaw nearly guaranteed that this boy, this "extensively" intelligent fourth year transfer was going into their house. Breaths were held as the hat began to shout something, but its voice froze.

It pretended to cough, and began again, already halfway off Edward's head before the word finally rang throughout the hall.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry frowned. Ron scowled beside him, and Hermione looked troubled, like she didn't know what to feel in regards to this development. The Ravenclaw table noticeably deflated, and a few Ravenclaws shouted indignantly at the ruling, but the Slytherin table was louder with its cheers. Its very smug cheers. Gryffindor groaned audibly.

Ron poked Hermione. "You've got competition."

The prodigy, surprisingly, looked thoroughly satisfied by that challenge. She sat and studied the transfer as he walked his special walk towards the table decorated green and silver, sizing him up. Harry glanced away briefly and noticed McGonagall had a defined frown on her face.

She must be worried, he reasoned. If the sorting hat really meant what it said, then extensive knowledge and Slytherin ambition could be dangerous. It would be very bad if the transfer student becomes a Death Eater. Another thought came to mind, and he grimaced at it. Maybe he already is.

Hermione seemed to have noticed the elderly professor's distress as well, and she caught onto Harry's vein of logic quickly. After a second, she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at Dumbledore. He glanced up.

The headmaster was smiling, as if completely pleased with that outcome.

"Well," Ron stated, nonchalantly tearing the two from their parallel trains of thought. "He may be a Slytherin, but at least he isn't sucking up to Malfoy." They all looked. In fact, the transfer had chosen a seat reasonably far from Malfoy and his little clique, even though it was clear that was where the "love" was. Harry glanced back at the head table just in time to see Dumbledore quietly discussing something with Snape as Professor McGonagall continued the ceremony, the previous uncertainty leaving her expression completely.

She cleared her throat to regain the students' attention.

"Jenkins, Matthias..."

And the sorting ceremony continued, but Harry paid little attention to it. Edward Heiderich was in his year, and so far first impressions left him suspicious. The boy pulled his hood back on as he slumped into his seat and Harry had to wonder why. Nobody else in the hall, not even the other Slytherins, wore their hood up; it was just plain disrespectful. He vaguely remembered Dudley wearing a dark hoodie when he went out with his gang, as if the hood made him any less conspicuous. He shivered. It also reminded him, vaguely, of Death Eaters.

The raven-haired Gryffindor's thoughts were interrupted as the final first year was sorted and Professor McGonagall grabbed the hat and the stool, carrying them away. Ron sighed in relief.

"About time," the redhead announced grumpily, readying his silverware. The thought of food reminded Harry of exactly how hungry he was, and his stomach gave a distinctly displeased growl at his ignorance.

The hall fell into a respectful quiet as Professor Dumbledore stood and smiled at his students, his arms open in a welcoming gesture. "I have only two words to say to you," he said. "Tuck in!"

Harry grinned at the thought of food, shouting an enthused "Hear, hear!" with Ron, and food popped into existence on the previously empty plates. The three Gryffindors dug in.

The meal was mostly uneventful, except for Hermione getting into a tizzy about the school's use of house-elves, of course, before she flat-out refused to eat another bite. Harry resolved to not get involve in that little spat in the future.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward getting dragged towards Draco's crowd with his hood half on and half off, hair down and looking very "fiddled with" by Pansy, who had firmly latched onto his right arm. Harry thought the boy would be thrilled about being "chosen" to meet Malfoy, but he seemed wholly reluctant in the way he dragged his feet. The raven-haired Gryffindor thought back again on Dudley, on the many nights when he was dragged into something he didn't want to do. Yet he noticed that Edward was at least visibly cordial when speaking to Malfoy.

Draco looked pleased with whatever Heiderich had stated, and a devilish grin crossed his face as he glanced briefly at the Ravenclaw table in triumph, and then at the Gryffindor table (particularly Hermione). The platinum blonde waved Edward's attention towards the red and gold table (likely telling him about "typical Gryffindor incompetence") and the transfer student turned, throwing them a long, cocky smirk that fit perfectly with the Slytherin image. Harry looked back, and Hermione frowned in disapproval at the display. Ron scoffed.

"Shpoke too soon," stated the redhead around his pudding. "He is sucking up to Malfoy."

Harry shook his head. "It's too bad, really."

Ron shrugged, shoveling more pudding into his face as Hermione shot him a baleful look over her own rumbling stomach. "Think his parents were with...y'know," he leaned closer and whispered, "You-Know-Who?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the slightest."

"Well, he's got that typical Slytherin face," the Weasley announced, taking an instant disliking to Ed for his stupid little cocky smile. He put his empty bowl of pudding down with finality. "Smug and sarcastic. Not to mention ugly."

Hermione let out a snort at that and almost opened her mouth to say something before pausing and returning to her not-talking-to-Ron-ever-again default state. Yep, Harry thought. Don't ever get involved in that.

He watched as Edward said something and Draco laughed, causing Ron to shake his head in annoyance and turn towards the student sitting to the other side of him (since Hermione was giving him the silent treatment and all). Only Harry caught the boy bringing a hand under the table while coughing, briefly flashing the bird at Draco's leg. He blinked. That had to be his imagination.

"So!" The student body turned and looked at the smiling Headmaster Dumbledore as he stood. Chatter ground to a halt, and only the sound of silverware on plates could be heard as attention focused on the wizened old wizard. "Now that we are all fed and watered," (Hermione glared at the headmaster and gave a huff of indignation. Fed and watered indeed, by slave labor!) "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

It was usual policy-related things. Filch added George and Fred's newest creations to his list of items that you weren't supposed to have but really that only made people want them more. The Forbidden Forest was, of course, forbidden, as per usual. Hogsmeade policy, etc., etc.

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing on, "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?"

Now this got a rise out of the crowd. Harry knew he was horrified, and a good majority of his year looked utterly and definitely heartbroken. The quidditch teams themselves were especially outraged. The headmaster simply raised a hand at the general unrest of the students, waiting for them to quiet down.

"This," he stated when the Hall had calmed a respectable degree, "is of course due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

The grand double doors of the hall slammed open. Again. Harry's gaze immediately snapped back towards the second intrusion that night, and everyone in the hall did so too. Well, except for Dumbledore of course. He just looked slightly amused.

Framed against the rain and lightning stood a man with a long mop of motley salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in dark brown and black hooded leathers. As the rain pounded down onto the floors of the Great Hall, the scraggly figure made its way towards the teachers' table, and this one had a worse limp than Heiderich, so bad that he had to use a mottled staff as a cane. Heavy clunks rang off the walls with every other step, but they seemed to come from the man's foot itself.

The man paused, as if considering his next action, before turning and limping towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning, and Harry heard Hermione give an audible gasp, for the light had drawn the man's face from the inky darkness.

His face was weathered, much like the leather coat he wore. Scars decorated every inch of his skin. What wasn't scarred seemed to be simply missing—a modern mural to suffering and war—and the tight frown affixed to his lips spoke of a man who had seen his share of violence. But none of that mattered so much, as the dark set in again, and made the main feature of the man's profile ever more obvious.

The intruder's eyes were mismatched to say the least. The right was dark and weary, belonging to a man who had lived this world fighting, as to be expected. However, the left was...different.

It swiveled to and fro, a bright, artificial blue. It was a good two or three times larger than the other, and a strap or mount of some sort crossed the man's forehead, seemingly to hold this wild eye in place. Around it, angry scar tissue puffed unnaturally against the edge of the eye. It never focused on one place for too long, never blinked, and it never moved within reason of the right eye. It fixed on Harry for only a brief second, and he felt shivers crawl up his spine.

The man conversed with the headmaster for a few moments, the conversation indiscernible but undeniably grim. When the man finally sat, he even checked his food, as if it could be poisoned, before taking a bite.

Dumbledore turned to the students once more, a sunny smile on his lips. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Silence. "Professor Moody."

Only two people clapped. Understandably, everyone else (Harry included) was too occupied by the man himself rather than his appointment. The Boy Who Lived finally brought himself to whisper to Ron, "Moody?" He was incredulous. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," Ron said, his voice far away and distracted.

Hermione must've been shocked out of her silent treatment, for she finally spoke to ask, "What happened to him?" She sounded horrified. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," replied Ron.

And the entire hall was sitting there staring and muttering as both Moody and his wild eye found a single focus point for the first time since he had entered the hall:

Edward.

Of course.

The transfer student seemed unfazed as he turned and stared right back, and Harry caught the barest flash of gold from the Slytherin's irises. The two odd-eyed males were unwavering, until Moody moved his hand to his waist as if to draw his wand, and then Edward abruptly broke his gaze. The weathered man paused, his good eye flickering blank for a second and his mad eye lolling to the side before returning to its roam, having rather uncharacteristically forgotten exactly what it was he had been trying to do to exactly whom. Moody returned to his meal as if nothing had happened. Heiderich flipped up his hood again.

In sync, the trio's eyes narrowed.

Definitely suspicious. Golden irises, almost reminiscent of last year's charismatic werewolf Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore said, acutely aware that he was being ignored, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century." He paused for dramatic effect. "It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

A beat of silence.

"You're JOKING!" Fred Weasley nearly shouted, his voice cracking rather embarrassingly at the zenith of his statement.

That certainly got everyone's attention. The Hall's uncomfortable silence broke like a dam, and laughter filled the vaulted room. Malfoy looked on in tangible disdain.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore assured, his eyes twinkling and his voice filled with appreciative mirth. "Though now that you mention it..."

The headmaster went off on a small tangent before Professor McGonagall got him back on track, and he explained the requirements and history of the tournament. Harry heard whispers of wonder, of students contemplating the thought of entering and winning fame and fortune. He just wanted a nice, quiet year for a change, but his peers were practically shaking in their seats at the prospects. Until, of course...

"Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older, will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration."

There were groans of outrage and disappointment. Well there goes that, he thought, grinning.

Hermione couldn't help herself. The hat had been oh so very impressed with the German boy, she could feel her competitive streak biting at her mind. She could not, in good conscience, be outsmarted without a fight. Throughout the announcements, throughout the meal, she kept glancing at the Slytherin table, at the confident figure that had abruptly switched between quiet, hooded recluse to smug, sarcastic jackass, and then back again. She wondered which side was truly the one worth competing with.

Before they left the hall, she threw one last look his way.

He looked back.

He didn't smile, didn't snarl, or do anything she expected. He just glanced at her, and then at Harry and Ron, and then at Dumbledore, before an expression of recognition crossed his face underneath the hood. He gave her one last hard look, as if to say it's not polite to stare with his eyes alone, and then Snape grabbed him none too gently by the shoulder, whispering something briefly into his ear before ushering the boy out the Hall, in the opposite direction of the Slytherin dorms.

Hermione blinked in confusion, and then once more in worry.

A/N: So it's been a while since I've done...uh...anything in the Pit of Voles, really. I just recently remembered why: the damn document manager keeps destroying my indentations and m-dashes! My beloved m-dashes! So yeah, I went through and redid them manually, which was a pain. Then I remembered that it didn't do indentations, period. Ugh. I might have to commit the ultimate taboo and just do my writing directly in the doc manager.

...

...

Actually, you know what? It's not worth it. I'll just suck it up.

Chapters will update sporadically, and it might be an "aban" if people don't really care, so yeah. I legitimately have the books open on my lap while writing, so dialogue starts off pretty much the same as J.K. Rowling originally wrote it. Many things are paraphrased, or rephrased to make them more humorous and fast-paced, but that's just my writing style I suppose.

Criticism is much appreciated! Although, I would like legitimate solutions to the faults displayed in my amateur writing. "Fix the 'flow'" and "work on pacing" simply do not cut it. Things like, "In paragraph...where so-and-so states...the pacing is off. Please build up the tension more before he/she speaks by doing (this)," now that's criticism gold. I would metaphorically kiss you if you gave me criticism like that. :D

Thanks for clicking!

~Promelius

Edit 9/29/16: I've found a Beta Reader/Editor who has helped me with improving this chapter—the wise Abigaming. There have been a few changes, some of them quite notable, so for anybody who read this chapter before this date, you could skim through the chapter real quick. Next update? Probably October 3rd. ;)