Author's Note: Sooooo… how many years has it been?

Edward was unaware of the time passing till his stomach gave him a not-so-kind reminder. Still, by the time he looked up from his papers, the bell tolled to signal the end of lunch hour and his stomach grumbled once more at the missed meal. He was ready to ignore it and continue with the lesson plans when the door to his classroom swung ajar and Albus Dumbledore stepped in all his purple-robed glory.

"Not a fan of lunch, Edward?" Said Dumbledore with some amount of mirth.

"No… err… I just got caught up," and his stomach choose this moment to give him yet another reminder, loudly.

Dumbledore smiled and said softly to the largely empty classroom, "Dobby, would you please send Professor Elric something from the kitchens."

With a loud CRACK, a plate of steak and kidney pie with boiled potatoes and glass of pumpkin juice appeared on his desk.

"Thank you, Dobby," said Edward, having required the house-elf's services twice in as many days.

"No need to thank Dobby, sir. Dobby is happy to do what Professor Dumbledore asks," said a disembodied high-pitched voice.

"So, to what do I owe this visit, Professor?" asked Edward as he turned his attention back to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled and pulled an old leather tome from his robes. "I meant to give this to you at breakfast, but alas, my memory has become lax in my old age."

When it was laid on Edward's desk, he recognized it as the book Dumbledore showed him the previous night. In the aftermath of the whole mind-reading thing, Edward left in a huff and the left the book on Dumbledore's crow-footed desk.

"But, I haven't said if I was going to join your Order," said Edward, eyeing the book with a mix of suspicion and longing, then with a sudden flash of defiance. "I'm not joining."

"I am disappointed, but the book is still yours," said Dumbledore. "It was always meant to be yours."

"Seriously?! Why the hell are you being so… so… nice?"

"Your father, Nicolas, and I were good friends," said Dumbledore. "He often talked about you and your brother with a wistfulness I know well. Never in my life did I imagine I would be meeting Hohenheim's son, thirty years after his death. He worked with Nicolas on this book for you, I believe. It's the least I could do to honour his memory."

Edward, for the second time in Dumbledore's presence, was lost for words.

"I am truly sorry for last night. These are Dark times, and I have a responsibility to keep my students safe. It is, perhaps, my only responsibility."

A stray thought entered Edward's mind and he blurted. "Harry especially?"

"Harry," Dumbledore reaffirmed. "His friends, and all the students at Hogwarts. They are the future of Wizarding society."

Edward twizzled his quill between his fingers and, to his irritation, was feeling something akin to respect for the wizard.

"You can be too, if you choose. You're sharp, which will serve you well in both worlds, but you have a knack for understanding the ebb and flow of magic," said Dumbledore. "Out of an old man's curiosity, before I probed your mind last night, Edward, did you know anything about the Order?"

"No," said Edward, trying not to focus on the memories that were brought up. "But it was all that you thought about."

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore. The tone of his voice prompted Edward to ask.

"Was that not supposed to happen?"

"No," he said with a tone of finality. "Better eat your lunch before it gets cold, Edward."

The magic bubble of respect and admiration popped as soon as Dumbledore went out the door.

''Old man' my ass,' thought Edward as he put the thoughts of the Ishval War and the Homunculus behind him. The last thing he needed was the deaths of Dumbledore's friends weighing on him added to his own.

Harry met up with Ron and Hermione at the foot of the stairs leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He had approximately one of the worst days ever in Hogwarts. He was becoming increasingly concerned by Hagrid's absence at the staff table. Double period with his most hated Professor ended with him receiving a zero in Potions in the morning and the afternoon began with his second most hated classes, where once again, he was predicted to die multiple, horrific deaths, or he would've if it hadn't been for Umbridge coming for an inspection. Really, it was almost preferable to being called a liar and a lunatic. With that outburst, he's just earned himself a week's worth of detention from Umbridge.

"But she's not even a Professor," said Hermione, having just been caught up by Ron. "She can't give detentions."

Ron shrugged. "What did McGonagall say?"

"She gave me biscuits," said Harry, continuing after seeing the confused looks on his friends' faces. "And she said she'll see Umbridge about it. But she didn't look to hopeful."

"Of course not," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "You've read the papers this morning. She can't be trying to overstep the Ministry's authority. It'll just give them more ammunition to send more people like Umbridge. But oh, Harry. You really shouldn't have yelled at her like that. You're in enough trouble already."

"Yeah, like I don't know that," Harry scoffed, pushing the door open to the classroom.

Professor Elric was reading at the teacher's desk, tucked between two large piles of books. When the last of the stragglers filed in, he carefully bookmarked the page he was on and closed the doors. Elric was not in wizarding robes. Instead, he had on a pair of dark trousers and a simple black jumper.

"Fifth years, right?" He scanned the classroom without focusing on anyone in particular. There were few nods and mumbles of "yes".

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, leaning casually against the edge of his desk. His arms were crossed in front of his chest with white gloves in clear contrast against his black jumper. "Right, a couple of things first, Dumbledore tells me you're on the brink of war. So it's my responsibility to prepare you for this war. That being said, my job is not to train you to be soldiers, but merely improve your chances of survival."

The room was silent, save for the rustling of robes as Seamus Finnigan raised his hand.

"Is it true? That You-Know-Who's come back?" Harry turned to stare at Seamus, who was steadfastly avoiding his gaze.

Elric frowned. "And you are?"

"Seamus Finnigan," answered Seamus.

"Well, Seamus, I don't know if it's true or not. And in the context of this course, it's irrelevant," said Elric, waving his hand in dismissal. Harry felt an inexplicable sense of disappointment, but he couldn't decipher why he thought if anyone were to believe him, it'd be Edward Elric. He was, after all, the one who vindicated him about the invisible horses – thestrals, he called them.

"But outside these walls," he continued. "There are things you can't fathom. As someone once said to me, there's no such thing as no such thing.

"Your learning shouldn't be based on if there's some crazy psychopath out there on the streets. I can teach you how to fight, how to defend yourself – I can teach you the techniques, but the feeling you get when you come within an inch of dying is not something I can reproduce in this classroom. I'd rather leave you with tools to never get into a situation like that."

The class fell silent again. Seamus was still refusing to look in Harry's direction.

"So, the second order of business," said Elric, adopting a livelier tone. "You have exams. Ordinary Wizard Levels. I've been told you've had a different teacher every year with, um, various levels of competency. Err… I'm probably not the best person to rectify this, but I'll try to prepare you for these as well. But first, leave your bags here, we're going outside."

There was the shuffle of feet as students put away their parchment and quill and followed Professor Elric out to the grounds.

"Blimey! Is he mad," Ron whispered as scrambled to shove their books in their bookbags. Harry sped up to catch up to Elric down the marble staircase.

"You were mocking Lord Voldemort," said Harry, half expecting a gasp or a cringe.

"VOL-duh-more," he pronounced with deliberate slowness, "so that's the name nobody would say." He nodded absentmindedly as they walked down the stairs. "And hello to you too, Harry."

"What? You didn't know his name?" asked Harry, incredulous. He had never met a witch or wizard who did not know the name of the most evil wizard of the century.

"It's long, and nobody would say it," he said, by way of explanation. They had reached the grounds and Elric was pulling away. "I'm not good with names."

Harry went to join Ron and Hermione but before he could say anything, Elric spoke again.

"Alright. First rule of defense: don't get caught. You have a much higher chance of survival by not being in the enemy's clutches. The simplest way of avoiding capture is out-running your enemy. So out lesson for today is running, two laps around the castle should suffice."

"But – but it's raining!" cried Lavender.

"So? You think anybody after your life will care if it's raining or not? Now get out there before I give you all detention!" He pointed in the direction of the lake and the Gryffindors reluctantly started a slow jog.

"Since when did running count as a class," Ron grumbled.

"No matter how fast we can run, there's no way we'd be able to out run spells. I wonder what he's planning," said Hermione, pulling back from the rest of the class.

"I almost wish we shared the class with the Slytherins," said Ron, "Imagine Crabbe and Goyle, running." Harry couldn't help but burst out in laughter.

The rain was not as forbidding as Lavender made it sound. It was a fine mist when he stepped out to the ground and it had stopped completely by the time they made it to the lake. As Harry, Ron and Hermione rounded the greenhouse, they saw the rest of the Gryffindors stopped around spot of pink in front of the castle entrance.

"Umbridge," Hermione hissed, slowing down almost to a walk. Elric was still far behind, running alongside Neville, who was having much more trouble keeping up. It was only then he noticed Elric was had a slight limp to his run.

As they neared the castle, Umbridge made her way toward Neville and Elric.

"Hem, hem," she began in her sickly sweet voice. "What is the meaning of this, Professor Elric?"

"Running. Exercise," Elric answered flippantly as he passed Umbridge without stopping. Whether was because she was too stunned or Elric already flew past her, Harry never heard her reply.

As they neared the group at the foot of the castle, Elric yelled. "What are you standing there for? I said TWO laps!"

The startle students looked at each other before Dean Thomas raised his voice. "But she – ah, Ms. Umbridge said –"

"You are?" Elric cut him off.

"Dean Thomas."

"Let me remind you, Mr. Thomas, that I am the instructor of this course. So you listen to what I say," Elric said, pointing a thumb at his chest. "When Ms. Umbridge becomes a teacher of this course, then you can do as she tells you. Now, go."

"But there's only fifteen minutes left in class" Lavender added when Elric looked at her inquisitively.

"Then you shouldn't have been standing around! 10 points off for anyone who doesn't finish," Elric barked. "And I want an essay on different methods of escape. Their advantages, disadvantages, in which situation is one preferable over another. Due Monday."

There was a collective groan before everyone set off again. Neville managed to take all of five steps before collapsing on the grass. His face was a brilliant shade of red as he struggled for breath. Harry dropped down pretending to tie his shoelace as Umbridge caught up.

"Mr. Elric, you have a classroom within the castle where instructions are to – " said Umbridge, with a huff.

"I give instructions when I feel they're most suited – sit up on the stairs Neville, it'll be better – Last I checked, it's still my class."

"A class that is to follow a ministry-approved curriculum. This is hardly – "

"Normal? Sure. I've made my reasons perfectly clear at the beginning of my lesson. You would know, had you shown up on time," he said with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "When the Ministry is late, it doesn't bode well for these young minds to set such a poor example."

Umbridge looked as though she'd been slapped in the face. Harry thought Umbrige's eyes grew so wide that might pop out of their sockets. Looking at her toad-like body, Harry couldn't help but smile. His mirth was short-lived as Elric noticed his linger presence and shooed him away.

Elric did not join the class for the second lap. He sat on step to the castle as the class filed in. When Harry asked about Umbridge, Elric told him to hurry back, else he'd miss dinner.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Elric. Even as a Slytherin, he didn't seem totally biased toward his house if his reaction to Malfoy was any indication. He was by far the youngest professor he'd ever had at Hogwarts and class with him was most unconventional. His refusal to wear wizarding robes, and an almost carefree attitude toward Voldemort all together made him seem like an outsider.

By the time he showered and changed, dinner was well underway. The staff table was once again devoid of the Gatekeeper. Elric was already at the staff table, chatting with the diminutive Professor Flitwick. He got up abruptly and left just as Umbridge entered the Hall.

"I wonder what that's about," Harry said to no one in particular.

"Inspections." He was surprised it was Neville who answered.

"What happened?" Hermione asked. Both she and Harry put their forks down.

"Our class was supposed to be inspected, but she was late, was stopped by McGonagall she said." Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. "Umbridge wants to personally approve the lesson plan for every class," he said. "I don't think Professor Elric likes her all that much."

"Well, that's no surprise. I can't imagine any of the professors like the inspections," said Hermione.

"Did you notice he was limping?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, he looked like he was in pain sometimes, during class," Neville replied. "He said it was the weather."

"Yeah, and I'm sure that's why Mad-Eye Moody limps," said Ron, swallowing a large bit of ham.

"Ron," Hermione hissed, both to remind him of the secrecy of everything they saw at Grimmauld place, or a reprimand for his insensitivity.

"What? It's not like I'm saying he has a wooden leg. I mean he walks fine," said Ron.

Harry was just about to point out Elric acts nothing like the ex-Auror when a loud and angry voice said, "Oy, Potter!"

"What now?" he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.

"I'll tell you what now," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What?" said Harry. "Why . . . oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers!" snarled Angelina. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there!" said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. "I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who – "

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," said Angelina fiercely, "and I don't care how you do it, tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"

She stormed away.

"You know what?" Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because she seems to be channeling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday? Or McGonagall working something out" said Ron skeptically.

"Not likely," said Harry glumly. "Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno. . . "

"At least it's stopped raining," said Ron, having finally finished his apple pie.

"What does that have to do with anything?" said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Nothing."

Edward spent the evening buried in Flamel's book. He still had his suspicions of Dumbledore, and their exchanged at lunch on piqued his curiosity about the whole mind-reading thing. Edward needed to stay at Hogwarts just a little longer. He was making progress here. Just over dinner, Flitwick had already given him some clues.

This book, which was without a title in so far as he found. Flamel may have penned the book, but the words definitely came from his father. When he had lived in his father's cottage, he tried to find clues to what brought him this world, and how to get back. Like his study in Resembool, his father's cottage in England held many books. Most of which were of little use. The few that contained real information were buried in so many layers of code and used references so bizarre that he could make little progress. The first breakthrough came when he met Sirius and was introduced to 'magic'. It became instantly apparent that his father knew about wizards and the wizarding world. The bags of gold, silver and bronze coins in the safe started to make sense. It also became apparent that if he was to have any hope of deciphering his father's diary, he'd need more information. That was what pushed him to travel to London. To a place called "Diagon Ally". There, the goblin's at Gringott's gave him his father's vault, which contained, among other things, a copy of 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. Edward thought it must be the 'Bard' his father keeps on referencing in his diary.

Despite the wealth of information London offered, he still could not break the code. There was still information missing.

He found several places in his diary referencing Nicolas Flamel, which prompted Edward to visit the Flamels in Devon. Edward ended up finding himself at Flamels' funeral, and unbeknownst to him, where he had his first meeting with Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore immediately recognized Edward for Hohenheim's son, despite Hohenheim being dead for 30 years, and Edward was (still is) in his teens. He did not linger in Devon (in part, to avoid Dumbledore's inquisition), but returned to London, where he worked on deciphering his father's diary, as well as learned more about 'magic'. With the clue 'Nicolas' being a dead end, pun intended, Edward focused his efforts on finding the 'Bard'. This, after being refused by Olliviender for an apprenticeship, eventually led him to find Gregorovich in Bavaria. His trip could only be financed with Hohenheim's gold, so as much as he'd hate to admit it, Edward was in Hohenheim's posthumous debt.

Gaps were beginning to be filled in his father's diary, though the code was still not broken. Regardless of his feelings toward his father, Edward grudgingly admitted Hohenheim was brilliant. He didn't know the message behind the code, but the code itself was enough to show his genius. There was much for Edward to learn, but he was definitely making progress in Hogwarts. It was well past midnight when he finally put his research away and head to bed.

Edward had barely enough time to grab two slices of toast the next morning before running to his class. It was the first years again. He took them out, just as he had done for all the other classes, but challenged then to only one lap around the lake (and another lap for homework). His next class were the seventh years, with Fred and George Weasley, the twins he met on the train. They walked in with a swagger only those in their last years could possess. Edward caught the twins' eyes and with a mischievous smirk, started a lecture on what the wizards called 'wandless magic'. Umbridge once again dropped in his class. He purposely brought up the most complicated theoretically aspects of magic to lose Umbridge, though he thought he probably lost all of his class too. Oddly enough, Umbridge seemed much more satisfied.

By lunch, the weather had cleared, putting Edward in a much better mood that his auto-mail has, for the most part, stopped hurting. He was about to head to the library when Flitwick asked.

"Edward, you used to work involving wand wood didn't you?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he sincerely hoped the diminutive man wasn't going to ask for details about the elder wood.

"Wilhemina," indicating the elderly woman with cropped gray hair, whom Edward recognized as the other new-appointee. "And I were just talking about the bowtruckles she found in the Forbidden Forest."

"There seem to be especially high-quality wand trees in the forest," said Grubbly-Plank, "Filius tell me you are something of an expert in those."

"No, uh… I was just interested, for a while."

"You are welcomed to come to class to examine them yourself," she said in her crisp and concise way.

"Yes, I think I will. Thank you." Edward gave the woman a small bow before excusing himself from the table.

Beneath his messy blonde braid, Edward was somewhat excited to have the chance to study bowtruckles without one trying to gauge his eyes out. Even since the first encounter, when he tried to pick a branch off a willow tree, Edward had been wary of the twig-like creatures that always inhabit the trees he was wanted to examine.

Having only learned of 'magic' a little more than two years ago, Edward took almost every opportunity to devour as many books as he can. Granted, most of it was rubbish – magical folk had little understanding of their art, Edward was disappointed to find. His understanding of alchemy granted him the ability to intuit the basis for most spells almost immediately. But there were still some that worried him, the Legilimens mind-reading being one of them.

A search of the general sector of the library revealed nothing. The head librarian, Madam Pince, directed him to the restricted section, where he found a couple of promising texts. Flipping through the first book, Edward was so engrossed that he walked straight into a student. In the comedic fashion only found in TV shows, books went flying in several direction. Only his reflexes prevented the student from hitting the ground.

"Professor Elric," gasped the brown-haired girl Edward recognized instantly.

"Sorry about that, Hermione," said Edward, setting her back on her feet. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," said Hermione brushing invisible strands of hair out of her face. "T-Thank you."

"Ahh, no. I should've been watching where I was going," said Edward, picking up the scattered books. "'Enchantment in Knitting'?" he asked handing it to Hermione.

"Oh yes," She said, with a slow blush creeping up her cheek. "With school is starting and the homework and OWLs I don't have the time to make all the hats, so I'm trying to find spells to enchant knitting needles."

"Knitting needles? If you're going to use magic, wouldn't it be easier get a ball of yarn and transmute it to the shape you want?"

"We wouldn't really learn conjuring charms till seventh year, though I suppose – "

"Not conjuring, just rearranging the yarn – ah, never mind. Good luck with your knitting project." The concept was elementary to Edward, as an alchemist. Then he remembered the students here never learn the alchemic basis for any spell they cast.

With that, he waved goodbye to a confused looking Hermione. He saw Harry and Ron at another table, bent over a book. He gave the pair a slight nod, but they seemed not to notice.

When the bell sounded signaling the end of lunch, Edward shelved Occludding the Mind and headed to the Forbidden Forest. He found Professor Grubbly-Plank some ten yards from an uninhabited, though well maintained, Edward noted, wood cabin. She was counting the twigs on the long trestle table in front of her.

"Are these the Bowtruckles?" Edward asked, getting his answer immediately as the twigs started to move.

"All ten of them."

Grubbly-Plank handed some wood lice to Edward, who gingerly picked one the bowtruckles up with his right hand. English bowtruckles, Edward noted, were darker and smaller than the ones he saw in the Bavarian Alps, which were in turn smaller than the bowtruckles in Albania. He was trying to examine it long forefingers when he spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione coming down the lawn. Followed by the Malfoy boy he punched on the train, laughing with his two goons. What were their names again? Crab and Boil? Their laughter came to an abrupt stop as he caught Malfoy's eyes. Edward smirked as Malfoy nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, ignoring the curious glances the student were sending him. "Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. The pug-faced girl wrapped around Malfoy's arm gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the bowtruckles on the table leapt into the air. The one in his hand took a swipe at his arm and ripped the fabric of his sleeve. Edward moved quickly to drop the bowtruckle and hide his exposed auto-mail.

"Oooooh!" said a couple of the girls.

"Kindly keep your voices down!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of wood lice. "So - anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are bowtruckles and, as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Wood lice," said Hermione promptly. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will gouge out human eyes with their fingers " - Edward cringed involuntarily – "which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few wood lice and a bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson."

With everyone distracted as the class surged forward to the bowtruckles, Edward tried to discreetly repair his sleeve. It was the first time he used alchemy at Hogwarts. The surge of energy was stronger than Edward expected, and he had to concentrate to make sure he didn't end up with a bell sleeve. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Harry circling around the back of the trestle table and ended up right next to Grubbly-Plank.

"Where's Hagrid?" he asked her.

"Never you mind," said Grubbly-Plank repressively.

With a smirk plastered all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest bowtruckle. He said something to Harry that made him still. Putting his efforts at discreetly fixing his sleeve on hold, Edward inched closer to catch what he was saying.

".. got himself badly injured." said Malfoy in an undertone.

"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," said Harry out of the side of his mouth.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift."

Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who suddenly looked sick. He hurried over to Ron and Hermione, who were squatting on the grass some distance away, trying to hold a bowtruckle still. Edward was beginning to get the feeling the animosity Harry between Malfoy involved more than school.

"Who's Hagrid?" asked Edward Grubbly-Plank, who sent him a strange look before answering.

"He's the Gameskeeper. That's his cabin behind us," she said, pointing toward the over-sized wooden cabin at the edge of the forest. "He's taken a leave of absence, so I'm taking on his responsibilities."

"Something big," he muttered and was just about to ask Grubbly-Plank another question when Malfoy's clear drawl flittered through the wind.

"Yes, Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."

"OUCH!" a cry came from Harry, whose bowtruckle had taken a swipe at his hand, leaving two long deep cuts. Malfoy's goons laughed harder still as the bowtruckle set off at full tilt toward the forest.

"Five points from Slytherin for insulting a staff member, Malfoy." the laughter abruptly stopped. Edward saw blood flowing from Harry's cut and said. "Come, I'll taking you to the Hospital wing."

"Er… I'm fine, Professor Elric," Harry said.

The bell rang in the distance and Harry hastily rolled up his blood-stained bowtruckle picture and headed toward the greenhouses. After a brief thanks to Professor Grubbly-Plank, Edward too headed back to the castle. As he passed the greenhouses, he caught the dreamy wisp of Luna's voice.

"I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him."

Edward shook his head as he felt himself getting distracted once again by the politics of the Wizarding world. He was beginning to get attached. Always a bad idea here. The only reason he wasn't having nightmares about Elicia's heartbreak when he left is the unlikeliness of finding a way to leave in the first place.

Author's Note: Sooooooo who's ready for 8 years till the next update?