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Chapter Text

The Truth had told them that they needed to get to England. That was all he had told them, even as Ed glowered and held to Al's emaciated shoulders. So when Ed and Al woke in Germany, slumped against the red-brick side of a bar in the disreputable part of Berlin, Ed's first instinct was to get Al to a hospital and damn the consequences. 

"Brother," Al said, weakly brushing long hair over a - human! - bony shoulder. "We don't know how long a hospital visit will take. And you know what the Truth said!" 

They'd never had reason to find out before, but it seemed the younger Elric was just as disregardant of his own health as the elder. Ed's shoulders sagged. "Fine. Priority, however, is food and clothes. Then sleep. Fast." 

Al nodded tiredly as Ed pushed himself to his feet. "Can you stand?" he asked. 

"Yes," Alphonse said, putting a hand beside his jutting hip bone and pushing at the ground. He slumped. "No." 

Ed sighed. "I didn't think so." He pressed his hands together, feeling out the components of concrete, and of the earth below it. The equation balanced, and he put his hands to the pavement. The patch of sidewalk Al sat on sunk into the ground. Alphonse looked up, gold-brown eyes a question.

Ed took the concrete and smoothed it over the hole, leaving about three inches open for air. 

"It should hold, if someone walks over you," he said. "Stay here, Al. I'll bring you clothes and food." 

For a moment longer than was reassuring, there was silence. Then, "Be back soon, brother." 

"Of course, Al."

Inside the bar, Ed found a dialectical difference that was more than usually annoying - more difficult to comprehend than the mushy Amestrian he'd found in Liore, even. It might have also been that most of the chatter around him was, in fact, drunk.

"Go get yourself back to the university, kid." This from the bartender. Normally, Ed would have blown up at casual infantilization, but he rolled his eyes and put his elbows on the bar. He was a bloody, sweaty mess and surely that was influencing the bartender’s assessment of him, but at least his exposed arm was made of flesh and blood. Even if it was stupidly thin. 

"I'm not from the university," Ed said. "I need directions to the closest twenty-four hour store." Because the Truth didn't have it in him to send Ed somewhere at midday.

He was given directions along with 'shorty' comments and was told to stop reciting the periodic table. Bullshit. He was only at Beryllium, and he still felt full ready to punch the man in the face. 

The convenience store was hardly better. There were a few cheap t-shirts in offensive colors piled in a corner, and the food was bad. He could transmute the t-shirts. And maybe rework the food a bit too. It would have to do. He grabbed a few cans of chicken soup, and enough t-shirts to make two full sets of clothes. An atlas was added to his armload as an afterthought. He glanced to the counter, felt in his pocket for his watch and cursed. He supposed there was no such thing as a State Alchemist's tab, wherever it was the Truth had seen to put him. He scowled.

In the end, Ed just transmuted a door in the back wall and hoped to hell no one noticed. 

The walk back to the patch of sidewalk under which Ed had hidden Al was quiet and nerve wracking. He'd transmuted one of the shirts into a rucksack for the pile of cans and shirts he'd acquired, but he still felt awkward and naked. It was the middle of the night and he was covered in blood and dirt, basically shirtless, with one weak and shriveled arm. But he was better off than Al, completely naked and unable to even walk. 

He found the patch of sidewalk and transmuted himself inside. Alphonse blinked at him, clearly drowsy but too wired to succumb.

"I brought soup. And transmutable fabric." 

"Thank you, brother." Alphonse said. And rolled his eyes when he was presented with black, more black, and a bright red coat. 

It only took that one eye-roll for Edward to sheepishly remove the red dye, and transmute everything to a sensible brown. He'd use the red for his own clothes. He alchemically brought the soup to a boil inside its can, wrapped a spare shirt around it before handing it to Al. He was relieved to see that Al could support the weight of it. Barely.

"Start slow, Al. This is gonna be really tough." 

"I know."

It only took a day for Ed to get his bearings. They were in Berlin, Germany, and soon enough he'd get them to England.

Three months later, they were in England. They had a rented flat, paid for with the meager savings Edward had accrued from working at the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. Also from the discrete sale of transmuted gold, but you didn’t hear that from Ed. Nope.

Finally, they were in the country the Truth had wanted them in. But despite being on an interdimensional mission for a cosmic entity, Edward and Alphonse needed to provide themselves with the necessities. So Edward was waiting on a job interview, resume filled with fake credentials and an even faker age. 

Edward nervously fingered his trench coat. It was a plain beige, and he found himself desperately wanting to transmute it. The chair was red. He could swap the colors if he wanted. Before he knew it, he found himself feeling the fabric chair upholstery. The coat was cotton, so that was, of course, mostly carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. The dye of the upholstery was... ah got it! 

He had just brought his hands together when Al hissed at him to stop. He was here for a job interview. In a world where no one knew about alchemy. They wouldn't appreciate him stripping the chair of its dye, and he chose the beige strictly because it was boring and mature. 

A woman in professional blacks came out of the office and called out his name. "You're up next," she said when he looked at her. "Good luck."

Al clasped Ed's shoulder. "I know you'll get the job, brother," he said. 

"Thanks," Ed said to Al in Amestrian and again to the woman in English, stood, and walked through the door, hoping that his false paperwork would hold up.

The office was plain, almost spartan in its furnishings. The wooden desk was sturdy and serious, the few chairs were hard-backed and sensible. Oddly, the walls were lavender, with a soft swirling pattern. "Edward Elric?" asked the woman behind the desk. She fit the spartan furnishings, but not the lavender wallpaper. Not at all. 

"Zat is my name," he replied. "Ms. Jenkins, correct?" He extended his hand, and she shook it firmly.

"Sit,” she said. Edward sat. “You're rather young to be a Chemistry teacher."

"I am,” Ed agreed, because that was the simple truth and not a shot at his competence. “But my credentials are in order, you vill see."  

She inclined her head, said, "Yes. Your resume is quite impressive. Humboldt University of Berlin, specializing in science education."

Edward nodded. He'd worked at the University’s Campus Nord Branch Library during his stay in Berlin and his supervisor had an abundance of contacts and very few scruples. She and the Head Librarian had helped Ed and Al with all sorts of shenanigans, in Equivalence to alchemically redoing their shelving units.

"Indeed. Had I extra funding, I vould have liked to continue in academia. As it is, I am more zan qualified. Just young. I graduated high school at sixteen, and completed my college courses two and a half years avter zat. Vas too easy. Am here now."

"I take it you've had trouble getting hired. Why is that?" Ms. Jenkins twirled a pen between her fingers as she looked at him. Ed found himself looking away from her gaze. 

"Age. No von vants teenager teaching teenagers, but I am a legal adult," Ed said, twiddling with a button on his beige coat. What a lie that was. Ed felt his sixteen years very sharply. 

"Well," Jenkins said after a moment of silence. "I don't really have any other options. Lots of people want the job in the English department, but no such luck for Chemistry. I'll hire you. Conditionally. You'll teach a summer school chemistry class. If I like how you teach it, you stay. I know you won't want to deal with the students who take remedial summer chemistry, but, tough."

Edward grinned. "Is Equivalence. You give me chance, I teach your delinquents. Sank you."

"Equivalence, you say," Jenkins said; a puzzled, but amused, smile came to her face.

"Conservation of Energy and Mass," Edward said. "I've turned it to somezing ov a philosovy." He extended his hand, and again they shook.

"Sank you again, Ms. Jenkins."

"Don't thank me, Mr. Elric," she said, looking over purple rimmed glasses. "Classes start on Monday."

Fuck. Ed's eyes widened, but the stakes were high and technically he was a military man. He took the news exactly opposite of how he would take an order from Colonel Bastard, maintained his professionalism and gave a firm nod. 

"I vill be zere," he said. "I trust you have textbooks for zee children? Goot. Give me von of zem, so I may plan my lessons." 

She gave him directions to the school bookstore and a note, as well as a pile of paperwork to fill out. This time, Ed couldn’t stop an image of Colonel Bastard from superimposing itself over Jenkins. He swore aloud, definitely breaking his professionalism. But Jenkins just laughed at him.

"Get a Miss Erica Carlan for me," she said. "I'm interviewing her for English."

Edward stood from his hard wooden chair. "Before I leave, I have custody ov my younger brozer. If I’m starting in zee summer, I’ll have to bring him to class until vee are settled.” 

Jenkins gave him a hard look. “Fine,” she said, then ushered Ed out the door.

Alphonse was already standing when he looked his way. Ed smiled at him, and called out for Carlan. She nearly leaped from her seat, but took a measured breath and walked into Jenkins’s office with a collected calm.

Ed turned his attention back to Al. 

"How did it go?" Alphonse asked in Amestrian.

"Surprisingly well," Ed said, switching to the same. "I actually have the job." 

"That's fantastic!"

"Well, there’s a catch." Ed scratched at the base of his braid. "I have to teach remedial summer chemistry first." 

Alphonse laughed, then grew more serious. "I'm sure you'll do well, Brother. And I'm sure your students will too. They probably haven't ever been given the chance to push themselves." 

Ed laughed and ruffled his brother's now-short hair. "You always see the best in people, Al. I hope you're right.”

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger was sorting through muggle school supplies while attempting to ignore a gnawing guilt in her stomach. Her mother fluttered over her shoulder as she went through her list and counted notebooks and folders and pencils - Merlin it was an adjustment, relearning how to use a pencil every summer.

"I feel like we never see you," Jean said. "Boarding witch school in the winter, regular school in the summer!" 

"You know I like to stay current, mum," she said. "The closest I can get to a good maths class is Arithmancy!"

"That's divination, but with numbers, right?" her father, John, asked from his corner of the room. He was attempting to appear nonchalant and relaxed, clear brown eyes looking over yesterday's newspaper. In reality, he'd been out of the chair three times in the last five minutes. He also knew very well how Hermione felt about divination, and his comparison was absolutely targeted to enrage. "No loss. I always hated maths." 

"Well," Jean said in the sort of tone one might admit they shared their child's drug habit, "Maths was my favorite subject in high school, so I can understand your frustration."

"And it's not just maths." Hermione frowned, "Science, too. The closest things at Hogwarts are potions and herbology. The potions professor is absolutely abhorrent and herbology is only once a week!" Frustration was welling up in her throat again, so Hermione forced herself to look back at her course list. Maths, Chemistry, English Literature, French. Was that all she was taking? Yes, it was, she decided, going over her schedule. In that case, she did have enough notebooks. 

"You'll be leaving for the Weasley’s house in two weeks, too!" John said. 

Hermione looked at them, desperately wanting to tell them everything. My life is in danger, Mum, and the longer I stay here the more your lives are in danger too. "It's hard," she finally said. "I've grown accustomed to magic, and trying to stay away from it just hurts." 

At this, her parents' faces took on a solemnity. "Was it a mistake, sending you to Hogwarts?" John said. It might well have been a mistake, but Hermione loved being a witch and was not about to say so.

"It's taken over our lives!" said Jean. 

Hermione winced, said, "I know. But Hogwarts was the right choice. Soon, I'll be seventeen, and this won't be quite so difficult. I'll be allowed to use magic outside of school, then." 

Her parents gave her the sort of look that she knew meant We know you're hiding something, young lady. Give it up . 

But she wasn't going to give Death Eaters a reason to kill them, or the Ministry a reason to Obliviate them. 

Hermione shook her head. "We'll be fine, Dad, Mum." And for the time being, that was the end of the conversation.

By the time Monday rolled around, Ed was ready to swallow his co-workers in cement. All of them doubted his capabilities and made short jokes. They were nice enough beyond that, but those both were huge slights in Ed's book. He would prove his competence, though. He always had to and he always did, so he stood before the dull eyes of twenty delinquents, gripping a mug of coffee and wishing he could wear short sleeves in the summer heat. But his right arm wasn’t entirely recovered and there would be questions. A still-thin Alphonse sat in the front row, to the right side of center, grinning at him, and that had to be enough.

He wrote on the chalkboard "The Conservation of Energy and Mass." Chemists might not know Alchemy, but Alchemy was what he knew, and he would structure the class accordingly.

When the bell rang, Ed started by asking, "Is anyone villing to pass out zee periodic tables?” Twenty students blinked at him. “No? Vell fuck you zen. You zere in zee back row, pass them out." 

"Brother!" said Al in Amestrian. "Language!"

Ed responded in the same language. "Do you want to pass out the periodic tables?"

"I could," Al said. "I don't mind."

At that a bushy haired girl ran into the classroom, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I'm sorry I'm late, Professor!" she said, fighting for breath. He looked at her and motioned the other student, who was half standing, waiting for Ed to finish his exchange with Al, back into their seat.

"Professor? I vish. Mr. Elric iz fine.” Ed decided that this was an opportunity. “Pass out zee periodic tables? Equivalence for being late, no?"

"Of course Mr. Elric!" She took the tables from his desk and brought them around. Ed said nothing and instead began to write out, as far from the conservation note as possible, the states of matter. 

When she finished, she took a seat in the center seat of the front row, next to Al. It was otherwise vacant. Ed raised an eyebrow at her, turned to the class at large. 

"My name is Mr. Elric,” he said. “I don't really care vhy you flunked zis class last year, but I assure you, any tomfoolery and I vill fail you. You vill have to take zis class over yet again , but zat iz not my problem. On zee right hand side of zee front row, vee have my baby brozer. He iz probably better teacher zan I am, to be honest, so treat him viz zee same respect you vould treat me." He turned to the blackboard. "On zee board I have written headings for two separate notes pages. I vould ask if any of you knew vhat zee first meant, but..." 

Ed took a sweeping glance around the class, not expecting any raised hands. To his surprise there was one. The girl who was late, and sat front and center. He nodded at her, bangs falling into his eyes.

"The Law of Conservation states that energy and matter can neither be created nor destroyed," she said.

A student in the second row took this as her cue to speak up. "Well, except when someone has a baby.”

Edward blinked. What? Was she kidding? "I heard you'd somehow passed biology," he said. When she made no move to correct herself, Ed continued. "Evidently, you should not have. During gestation, zee food zee mozer eats gets converted into zee matter zat makes up zee resulting child."

"What? Babies aren't made of food ," the student said, in a tone absolutely intended to fluster. Alphonse turned pink.

"Yes they are," front-and-center-girl said, turning in her desk to face girl-who-needs-to-retake-biology. "We all are. The food we eat is converted both to energy and into the matter that makes up our bodies. It's how we grow and function." She then went into the mechanics of it all, and Ed was sure at least half the class went red-faced. Needs-to-retake-biology slid lower in her chair. 

Not quite sure how this classroom dynamic would play out, Ed continued the lesson. Front-and-center-girl, or Hermione Granger, he learned after taking roll, raised her hand at every question, though he only called on her about half the time. 

Each class was about two hours long, for the sake of the shortened summer semester. In those two hours, he managed to get them past the introductory lecture and into the adjoining laboratory. They were just evaporating the water from a saline solution, but even the hardest of the delinquents seemed excited by the work. Ed found himself relaxing. Kids do love labs. 

"See, brother?" Al said, sidling up to him at the front of the room. "They're not so bad!" 

"Go help them, then," Ed said. "You take half, I'll take half." 

Alphonse nodded, and weaved through the lab benches, calling out in English. Ed did the same, striding to the closest bench on the right side of the room. He’d let the students pair themselves, so he was moderately surprised to find front-and-center and needs-to-retake-biology at the same table.

"Vat are your names again?” Ed made a point to ask, “ I’m terrible vis zem, and I somehow don’t sink my usual strategy of unflattering nicknames is appropriate for a classroom.” 

With one eye still on her lab packet, front-and-center said, "My name is Hermione Granger."

The other girl, who was bent over the first's notes, straightened, flipped a sheaf of wavy black hair over her shoulder. "Samantha," she said. 

She then launched into a half question, half complaint tirade about how hard chemistry was and how her previous teacher had just been awful. 

Granger, Elric noticed, snorted somewhat smugly into her sleeve before saying, "I think I have a decent enough grasp on the concept of compounds to help you through this, Samantha. Let the Professor help a group that needs it more." 

"How do you get it already?" Samantha said.

Granger gestured to the textbook she had open to the second chapter. "I read through my textbook before classes started, and have it here for reference, too." 

"Vas? Really?" Ed said in vague disbelief. In summer school? Why hadn’t she done that the first time she took the course?. "I've only read srough zee first five chapters!" 

Granger tilted her head, judgment in her eyes. "Really?" 

Ed shrugged at her.

"I couldn't do that," she said. "But, I'm sure you know your Chemistry?" 

Her voice had a questioning note that Ed did not appreciate. "Vell," he said, tersely, "Do you need any help? Or can I move on to a group zat needs it?"

Granger patted her lab packet. "I've got it covered Professor." 

"It's Mr. Elric," he reminded her. She nodded, suddenly cross. Ed inclined his head toward the pair and walked away. Alphonse was off on the opposite side of the room, laughing wildly with students at a table of four. Really. If Al's health was any better, Ed would have had him be the teacher. Al was clearly better at it. 

But the day went on, and Ed felt that he was getting somewhat better at answering their questions. He tried not to swear at occasional inanity. His paperwork said he was nineteen, but really, these kids were a full year older than him!

Logically, he knew that age wasn’t necessarily an indicator for life experience. And even vast life experience didn’t necessarily translate to competence in chemistry. He was the absolute worst person to judge how far behind these students were. As class ended, Ed examined each of them closely. None of them were bad kids, he decided, even if they had flunked high school Chemistry.

With that in mind, he had a much easier time, trying to teach second period. 

Chapter Text

The next day, and on all of the days following that, Granger arrived a good fifteen minutes early. Edward snorted and generally ignored her as he graded the previous day's lab work. The labs reflected a general laziness and a certain amount of inaccuracy. Generally. Granger somehow managed to write out her reports with a certain elegance that Ed had not seen since Hawkeye's military work.

He hadn't been expecting even a single perfect lab. He shook it off, but then as days went on he began to seriously wonder what the hell she was doing in a summer class. The Ed of old would've asked her straight out, but he'd gotten better at subtlety. Or, Al had gotten more assertive, anyway. After two weeks of Alphonse's restraint, the two went to the principal first.

"Vat gives?" Ed asked Jenkins. "Vhy do I have actually intelligent student in my class?"

"Bruder!" 

"Now Mr. Elric," she said. "Every student has special strengths and weakne-"

"Oh cut zee shit. You know vhat I mean." Ed glared at the two of them and crossed his arms.

"Vat mein bruder means to say," Alphonse began, "Iz zat zee girl in qvestion - aces? - aces all ov her assignments. Vee cannot believe zat she vailed zee class vonce alvready." 

Jenkins sighed and looked from one brother to the other. After a brief moment, she sighed again. "I'll look up her transcript. What's her name?"

"Hermione Granger," Edward said, and Jenkins nodded, typing into the computer that sat at her desk. Edward was still amazed at the thing. Imagine if Winry saw one of those!  His chest tightened painfully at the thought. Jenkins glanced at the file.

"Oh, that's who you're talking about," she said, peering over her lavender rimmed glasses. "She doesn't actually go here during the regular school year. She's asked to just take the bare minimum classes to graduate and take them in the summer."

"Vas? Really? Vhy?"  Ed leaned forward on the desk, ignoring Alphonse's grip on his sleeve.

Jenkins shook her head. "I've no idea. I get the feeling that she takes some sort of specialized classes during the usual school months that neglect the more usual academic pursuits."

"Every student I know of who's done zat eizer finished high school first, or else swapped it, pursuing separate studies in zee summer," Ed said, rubbing at the automail port on his left thigh.

Jenkins shrugged. "I don't know her personally," she said. "So I don't know anything beyond that. Apparently, she did the same thing in junior high."

"So iz she taking her classes zee summer after she should have alvready, or iz she taking zem zee summer before?" he asked, forcing himself to stop rubbing at the port. Jenkins was already suspicious, he knew, and this world was far, far, behind in prosthetic science. Of course they were far ahead in almost every other pursuit, so Ed didn't really understand the hold up, but regardless. Someone sussing out his automail would be more than an inconvenience. 

"The summer before, so she would be going into her Third form," Jenkins said, glancing at the transcript. "That much I can tell you." 

"So she iz year younger zan zee ozers. Iz all really veird. I vonder vhy."  Jenkins nodded in response to that, and Ed took it as a dismissal. He stood and gave Al a hand at standing. Together, they surveyed the room. After a moment, Ed looked at Jenkins and finally asked what he'd wanted to since first entering the office. "Vhy zee hell iz your vallpaper lavender?" 

Alphonse tilted his head apologetically beside him.

Jenkins laughed. "Apparently it puts people at ease," she said. "Everything else is too spartan for a schoolteacher." She gestured at her lavender glasses, "You can see I use the effect liberally."

Ed nodded. He could understand that, putting out a soft exterior so as to hide steel. He looked at the pant leg that hid his automail. Yes, he definitely understood that. He settled on a simple "Understandable."

Jenkins nodded and dismissed him. Formally, this time.

Hermione was in English when she realized she'd left her Chemistry textbook in that classroom.  And it was Friday too. She'd absolutely need it for the weekend. "Oh, for the love of-" she cut herself off before she could say 'Merlin,' glancing nervously at the muggles around her. 

"What's wrong?" the girl next to her asked. 

"Nothing, Jessica. I just left my Chemistry textbook at that class," she said. Jessica nodded. 

"You can get it after this class. I'll go with you." For a girl who'd flunked Third Form English, Jessica was very sweet. 

"No thank you, I'll be okay," Hermione said, flushing deeply when her teacher told her to stop talking. She didn't like her English teacher all that much.

Though Al had put her textbook to the side, Ed had not actually thought Granger would come back for it. But she did.

"Hello, Hermione!" greeted Alphonse, as she stuck her nose around the door frame. 

"Hello," she said. "I forgot my textbook." 

"On zee counter," Alphonse said, "Vee had to get it out ov zee vay." 

"Right," she said. "Thank you."

As she put her textbook into her rucksack, Ed stood from his desk chair. 

"Bruder," Alphonse said, warningly. Edward looked at him, sighed, and turned back to Granger.

"Equivalent Exchange. Mankind cannot obtain anyzing vizout first giving up somezing of equal value. You tell me vhy you only go to school in summer, I teach you somezing more complex zan basic Chemistry." He was reaching and he knew it, but his curiosity was through the roof. Granger looked up from her bag and her eyes hardened in a way that Edward wasn't expecting. Her hand slipped into her skirt pocket, he noticed, and he wondered what she'd hidden there.

Alphonse admonished him in Amestrian. "Are you crazy, brother?" But Al's eyes trained themselves on Granger's pocket. They'd seen the maneuver too many times from Hawkeye with her holster for them not to know. 

Granger looked to Alphonse briefly before she shook her head and refocused on Ed. Her hand remained in her pocket. 

"The Law of Conservation," she said. "I'm afraid I cannot accept the deal."

Ed raised an eyebrow. "Vhy not? I can tell you for zee erudite you are. You vant knowledge."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and brushed her hair out of her eyes. The few centimeters she had on him seemed huge now. She was not intimidating, really, not after the Truth and the Father and throwing a massive coup d'ètat, but Edward found himself wondering what she'd seen and what had hardened her. Hermione was silent for another moment before she said, "It's not something I can tell." 

Ed sighed, sat. "Zat, I do understand."

"Does that mean you'll teach me anyway?" she asked, slowly backing to the door. Her hand was in her pocket still, knees bent. 

Edward snorted, surprised at both the child's spine, and her fighting stance. "Nein."

"Equivalent exchange, I guess," Hermione said, smiling. She straightened her shoulders and exited the classroom. "Have a good day, professor," she called over one shoulder in a rather sorry attempt at seeming casual.

 Ed had no idea why she called him 'professor,' but he suspected it had to do with all of the other oddness that surrounded her. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement and picked up his own bag. 

What was the cause of her sudden rigidity? What was in her pocket? He hadn't seen that maneuver applied to anything other than weaponry, and he hadn't seen such surety of movement since Amestris. Since Hawkeye and her gun, Alphonse, Mei, and their chalk. What the hell was the girl into?

"Brother," Al said in Amestrian. "Stay out of it." 

"But I want to know!" he said. 

"You're like a dog with a bone," Al said. "But I'll admit I want to know too."

Hermione struggled to keep herself from running. She knew that only going to school in the summer was suspicious, but her teachers had never confronted her about it so blatantly before. She walked out of the high school as quickly as she could. Her mother caught her shoulder. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. Hermione looked over her shoulder to see the Elrics walking out of the school, smiling and joking with each other. 

"Later," she said.

"It's one of those blond boys, isn't it?" her mother smirked at her, as though Hermione had a silly little crush. Hermione gave Jean an incredulous stare but realized that she was just trying to lighten the atmosphere. 

"Man and boy, actually," Hermione said. "My chemistry teacher and his brother. They're asking questions about my unusual enrollment." 

Hermione's mother looked at her with bright hazel eyes. "You're worried." 

Hermione nodded. "They're both mad smart," she said. "And it would be disastrous if they found me out. And not just for me." 

Jean didn't respond to that. She probably doesn't even know what to say, the teenaged witch thought.

When she got home, Hermione packed up her robes, casual, formal, and uniform, bringing along only two sets of muggle clothing. It was time to leave for the Burrow. A month with her parents was wonderful, but the day was here, and it was time for her to go back to the relative safety of Order protection. 

Ed cursed. Clearly, he'd been a little too bold in that whole ploy. He rubbed at his atrophied wrist. He had a feeling that Granger would not let anything slip now that she'd been warned. 

"You have to lay off, brother." 

She'd also clearly alerted a parent, and if the girl was into something dangerous, but still got picked up by a parent, then the odds are the parents were involved too. 

He shared this with Alphonse, who sighed and said, "You need to stop obsessing, brother." 

"Come on, Al!"

Alphonse sighed. "Fine," he said, before sharing his own speculations. "I don't think her parents are involved." 

"What?" 

"You saw the way Hermione reached for that weapon in her pocket," he said. "She was as ready to draw as Hawkeye on a bad day."

"So? What does that have to do with her parents?" Ed asked, fiddling with the end of his braid. 

Alphonse readjusted his shoulder bag. "Her mother wasn't like that at all. In fact, though she seemed nervous towards the end of what we saw, she didn't channel that nervousness in the same way a soldier would - the same way Hermione did." 

Ed was forced to concede the point.

Chapter Text

Due to the acidity of...

It was Sunday night and Hermione was writing out a lab conclusion when Ginny hurdled up the stairs to their shared room. "The Death Eaters finally made good on their threat about the muggle killing."

Hermione's eyes flew wide. "What?" She pressed her quill too firmly against the notebook paper, tore clean through it. The mark of ink swelled to an ugly blotch. Shoot. Next time she'd use parchment for her lab report too and damn the consequences.

"The Brockdale Bridge collapsed." Ginny said. Hermione relaxed. Her parents lived and worked on the opposite side of London.

"Ron's downstairs with Fleur trying to get more info out of Dad."

Hermione ignored the squelching of jealousy that welled in her throat. There is no reason to be jealous of Fleur, she reminded herself. "Right." Hermione unfolded her legs and got up from the floor. "Let's go down to the kitchen. I'll finish my homework there."

The tension in the kitchen was thick and heavy when they walked in. Even Fleur had an uncharacteristically serious look on her face. Hermione grimaced. "How many?"

Arthur looked at her, and though the room had all the hallmarks of an argument, he didn't try to avoid answering. "Two hundred and fifty dead," he said, pushing his thin rectangular glasses up his nose.

Hermione nodded, felt in her pocket for her wand. She would call her parents from a payphone by the school - just to be sure. "I'm going to finish my Chemistry homework in here, if you don't mind."

Arthur lit up. "You don't mind if I look over your shoulder, do you?"

And that was precisely why she'd wanted to do it in the privacy of Ginny's room. She sighed and took a seat at the scrubbed table. "Go ahead. Once I'm done with it, I can try to explain some to you, too."

Arthur nodded and pulled a chair up next to hers at the table, eagerly bending to look at her papers. By the time she was done explaining pH, she was tired enough to fall into a dark and almost dreamless sleep.

The next morning Mr. Weasley insisted on escorting Hermione to the muggle high school. "It's quite alright, Hermione," he said. "You have to be at that school just before I need to be at the office, so it just makes sense. I'll have another order member - probably Remus - pick you up in the afternoon."

It took a little wheedling to get him to leave fifteen minutes early so that she could use a phone. But it was worth it when her father's voice came through the receiver.

"I heard about the Brockdale Bridge," Hermione said to her father almost before they could exchange pleasantries.

"Terrible business," he said.

"You weren't anywhere near there, where you?"

"What?" Dr. Granger said, "Of course not. Office isn't anywhere near there."

But there was a high pitch to his voice that Hermione found instantly suspect. Her stomach dropped. "You were!"

"Well," her father sounded sheepish. "There's that jewelry shop on that street, and your mum's birthday's coming up. But I had just left the area when the bridge went down - was headed back to the office."

Hermione felt the sudden urge to vomit as she realized that her parents might not be spared in a wizard war.

"Oh," she said. "I'm sure Mum'll like whatever it is you bought."

"Thanks, Mione," said her father. "It's her favorite color and everything." The conversation did not last much beyond that, but at least Hermione knew they were alive.

That very same morning, Ed walked into the high school alone. Alphonse was out interviewing for jobs and Ed felt oddly exposed without him. He also relished the opportunity to poke around his most mysterious student without Al’s restraining influence. Hermione, Ed noticed, was especially on edge that morning. Maybe she lives near that bridge, he thought. That would make anyone tense.

When she walked into the classroom, her right hand kept going to her pocket. Her shoulders were hunched, eyes shadowed and darting. He decided that the bridge theory had merit. She made her way from the door to his desk. "Professor," she said, hand going once again to her skirt pocket. "I couldn't type up the lab report."

He looked up from the book he was reading. "Nein? Do you haff it written?"

"Yes," she said. "I just couldn't get to the library."

"You don't haff computer?" Most of his students didn't, of course, but Hermione, he'd noticed, always brought in her assignments typed.

"No. I'm a little short on any technology, at the moment," she said. She left-handedly pulled her lab out of her book bag and handed it to him. Hermione was clumsy with her left hand. Her right hand stayed at her pocket, sure and steady. She looked even more ready to draw a weapon than she had the previous Friday.

The report wasn't even stapled. She'd poked a hole in the corner and tied it with ribbon. It was on normal paper, but the scratchy, pointed writing was clear.

"You wrote vis a - oh vhat's zee vord? - a dip pen?" he said, looking up to meet her eyes. She nodded, slinging her bag back over her shoulder.

"Does it matter?" she asked. "Anyway, it's almost time for class to start."

She was right, damn her. He slid off his perch on the desk, placing the lab in the inbox. It was already half full of reports put in by the entering students.

The bell rang. "Alright," he said. "Today, vee vill be continuing our discussion on Avogadro's number and zee reason vee use it."

Ed watched her closely, but Granger hardly participated, opting instead to ward off an apparent headache - she pinched the bridge of her nose, her fingers gently moving to rub at her eye sockets. Something had happened. Not anything especially catastrophic to her psyche, but something had happened. Again, he revisited his theory about the Brockdale Bridge. He doubted she knew anyone who had died there, but the entire class was a little tense about it.

He walked to her desk when the students began to file out. "Granger," he said. She turned her head away from the backpack she was zipping, bushy hair falling to one side of her back.

"What?"

"Come talk to me after school," he said.

"Why?" she asked, eyes bright and defiant. "I have things to do later that rather outrank this in importance."

"Vell. I could try to get zee voman who picked you up on Friday arrested for neglectful parenting, but I don't zink you much vant zat."

"Good luck with that," she said with a sharp, cold laugh.

"So, you're off zee grid?"

She looked down at him sharply. "That is quite enough, Mr. Elric." Her voice was hard enough to cut steel. "Besides, if I was completely off the grid, how on Earth would I be enrolled in school?"

"Fake documentation is not so difficult to find," he said.

She recoiled, lips thinning to a hard line, and it hit him that he may have given away something he didn't quite want to. Her hand was in her pocket again. "And how would you know that?"

"Vell, vee both have somesink to hold over each ozzer."

"Right," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Don't push me professor."

Paying attention in English and French was a lost cause and Maths was little better. Hermione walked through school in a daze. Getting Harry out of Number Four was annoyingly difficult to orchestrate, or at least the Order refused to do anything too risky. It would be days before they could move, but Hermione was desperate. And now Mr. Elric was getting out of hand.

She leaped from her seat when the bell rang, hastily stuffing her geometry notebook into her backpack. Professor Lupin would likely bring Tonks with him, to try and cheer her up, she knew.

They stood just outside of the main entrance, Professor Lupin nervous and taught, Tonks pale and drawn. Lupin noticed something was wrong immediately, and promptly questioned her on it.

"I've a professor looking into me," Hermione said. "He's too damn curious for his own good."

"Are you sure he's a muggle?" Lupin asked, rubbing at watery yellow eyes.

"Definitely," Hermione said. "Have you ever heard of a wizard who taught muggle Chemistry?"

He shook his head. "I suppose I haven’t. Tell me about him."

"Well," Hermione began, "He's from Germany, I think - "

Professor Lupin cut her off, said, "That might do it. We don't know how segregated the magical and non-magical communities are over on the continent."

"The Statute of Secrecy is international," Hermione said.

"Yes," Lupin said, "But the continent seems to have a looser definition. At the very least, there's more mixing between muggles and wizards. You'll find a potions shop hidden in the basement of a pharmacy, over there. A continental wizard might not be so ignorant of muggle things."

Professor Lupin was clearly born to be a teacher, Hermione realized. The simple act of explaining something that Hermione might not know brought a light to his eyes and an animation to his body that Hermione had not seen in him since Sirius’s death. She wished that his sudden, simple, joy would rub off on Tonks.

Hermione smiled slightly, said, "You raise a good point. But there are other things that make me fairly certain he isn't."

"Like what?" said Tonks. It was a break from her now-usual silence, and she seemed genuinely curious. Maybe Lupin’s teaching joy was rubbing off on her.

"For one, he treats the Conservation Laws like a religious doctrine. Magic contradicts them at every turn. Even the most scientifically literate wizards wouldn't take Conservation all that seriously."

Both Lupin and Tonks had affected a sort of glaze over their eyes. Hermione sighed. "Basically, he practically worships muggle science. And the idea that matter and energy cannot be created from nothing. Which most spellwork completely contradicts."

"Oh," Lupin said. "Thank you for translating, Hermione."

She pursed her lips together. "Of course, Professor."

Tonks swapped her weight from foot to foot, considering. "Should we meet him?"

"Statute of Secrecy," Hermione said.

"Right." Tonks's short brown hair grew longer as she seemed to wilt in on herself - long hair did not suit the shape of her face. It made her look wan and sickly. Oh, Tonks.

Ed, meanwhile, was hiding in the bushes. Two people picked up the Granger girl today, and neither was the woman from Friday. He couldn't hear them, but he was pretty sure they were talking about him. Their fast glances back at the school certainly made it seem so. After a moment, the haze of pretended understanding crossed their faces. Hermione, ever the erudite, was confusing them somehow.

After a moment, the mousy woman's shoulders slumped. Her hair slumped too. Shit. Ed leaped out of the bushes.

"Envy!" he said, transmuting the ground to swallow the 'woman' up, leaving head and shoulders out. "How the hell are you here?" He didn’t bother with English. Envy’s Amestrian was as native as Ed’s.

Ed put himself between Envy and the other two, because damnit he wasn’t going to let Envy hurt them. Envy just watched him with wide, questioning eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me!”

Ed stumbled to the side, realized that Hermione had shoved him. Both she and her shabby adult had pulled the weapons from their pockets; Hermione had hers thrust under his chin. They were not the guns or knives that Edward had been expecting. Sticks? As tense as Granger was, her hand did not waver. Shabby, a few paces back, had his own ornately carved stick leveled at his head. His hand did not waver, either. Sticks? Really?

He turned away from them, refocused on Envy. Envy, who feigned fear and confusion better than Ed would have expected. "Give it up," he said. “I want answers.”

Envy's fear faded to realization.

"Let her go, professor," Hermione said. "I will not hesitate."

The shabby man sent Granger a quelling look and turned to Ed, said, "You've attacked an auror, and while Hermione is underage I am not."

"Stop." Envy said, in native-sounding English. He looked at the rock encasing him with awe. Awe? "This is really an impressive bit of magic, kid. How did you do it? What spell'd you use?"

"Tonks!" Hermione and Shabby said together. Ed studied the shape shifter. The eyes were big, sad, and exhausted. Wrong. All wrong.

He slapped his palms together, brought them to the stone. The blue light he loved so much carried the rock back to its proper place. Shabby and Granger's sticks began to lower. Their arms were stiffly pointed at the ground to Edward's right, clearly ready to spring back up at any moment. Ed registered this all with a fragment of his brain. Mostly he saw the woman who seemed to share Envy's power.

"You are not him," Ed said, switching back to English with difficulty, the language leaden on his tongue.

"You've met a metamorphmagus before," she said, touching her hair. She screwed up her face and the length came up an inch or two. It took her more effort than Envy had ever needed. "And that metamorphmagus hurt you."

"A vat? I've met somevone who changed his appearance at vill, zat's true."

"Maybe the word doesn't translate? I dunno how to say it in German. Anyway, I'm Tonks. Are you the professor? Or are you his brother."

"Edward Elric," Ed said, wondering how the woman was so calm. “Chemistry teacher.”

"Wotcher," she said.

"Vat?"

Hermione was looking between them, and she deigned not to let Tonks respond. "Why didn't you tell me you were a wizard?"

"Vaz?" he said again, wanting desperately to switch into Amestrian. "Vat do you mean, vizard?"

"A wizard, you know, person who performs magic. Like Professor Lupin - " she gestured to Shabby " - like Tonks and I!"

Now that statement just simply refused to compute. "Magic doesn't exist. Here I sought you vere of scientist stock."

"But you just did some." Granger said, her eyes were turning hard again, her arm was starting to raise. This Shabby Lupin character eyed her carefully.

"It vaz applied science," he said. "Nozink more zan science."

Shabby tilted his head. "I don't know as much about muggles as Hermione, but I have to admit that looked like magic to me."

Ed was incredulous. "I am physicist. And chemist. Perhaps it vould be described more on zee quantum scale. But alchemy, zee science of decomposing zee molecules and atoms in an object and reforming zem into zee shape or item you vant is not magic. No hocus pocus involvt."

Shapeshifter's eyes widened, hair growing longer again as she slumped in on herself. "Bugger," she said. "This is all my fault. Again."

Chapter Text

Alphonse wasn't expecting to find his brother in a hostile situation when he went to the school to pick him up. But there it was. Miss Hermione and a shabby man had sticks pointed stiffly to the ground, as though they were handling guns. Ed looked ready to slap his hands together. At the center of it all stood a woman with hair the color of a softly glowing light bulb.

Al knew better than to run at them, he decided. So, with hands held at his sides in a clearly non-combative posture, he walked over. He was not quite recovered, he knew. His muscles might be able to withstand a fight, but Al wouldn't bet on it. And his fighting style was still the suicidal form of a being that could not bleed or tire or die. There had been so much to learn since he and Ed had arrived in Germany that there had simply been no time to completely reimagine his fighting style. Especially not since he might have been strong enough to actually do it.

"Brozer!" he called out, giving them fair warning that someone else was walking into the fray. Both Miss Hermione and the man jumped a foot in the air, shoving their sticks into their pockets. The golden-haired woman froze mid head shake. And unless Alphonse was very much mistaken, the ends of that light-bulb hair were going subtly pink. "Vas going on?" he asked, nose crinkling at the effort of English. The Truth may have crammed the knowledge of all alchemy into his head, but it had not crammed all the world's languages.

"Alphonse," Ed said. "I sink some introductions are in order."

Miss Hermione looked from Ed to Al and back again with a deep suspicion. "We can't trust you," she said.

And for the first time since Ed had started this teaching madness, he looked at one of his age-peers as an equal. "I vouldn't expect you to."

Al approached the group, hands still stiffly visible. "Vee know a sing or two about zat."

The man in the group looked exasperated above all things. He was clearly as paranoid as Miss Hermione, and there was something about him that spoke to Al of experience. It was clear that he was used to taking point. It was he who managed to diffuse the situation. "Why don't we take this to a tea shop, or something. Sort it all out, perhaps over some chocolate."

"That sounds good," the woman said. "Hermione, do you know any good muggle spots around here?"

Miss Hermione nodded, hackles finally beginning to lower. "I do."

"Let's move this there, shall we?" the man said. He then turned very pointedly to Ed, clearly unwilling to look away. "Lead the way, Hermione!"

They began to walk to wherever it was she had in mind - Al hoped that it wasn't the tea shop he'd just interviewed for a job with. This would not look good to a potential employer.

The man was clearly bent on continuing to diffuse the tension and talked with an easy, pleasant smile as they walked, "My name is Remus Lupin," he said. The smile was clearly forced, but it was soothing all the same. "I was a teacher once too, so I suspect we might have things in common."

"Mein bruder is still quite new at teachink," Al said, voice high and nervous but with a smile as pleasant as Mr. Lupin's on his face. "You might be able to give him some gut pointers."

"I am gut enough at it for sees delinquents," Ed said. "I don't need any pointers," he spit the last word, but Al could tell that his brother was venturing toward the good-natured side of him. Wary and caustic, always, but friendly.

Miss Hermione sent Ed a withering look. "They're not that bad," she said.

"Yes. Yes zey are," Ed said. Mr. Lupin laughed.

Al slowed his pace to match the woman. "What's your name?" he asked.

She smiled - grimaced, really - at him. Her hair, he noticed had slipped into a mousy brown. "I'm Tonks and never you mind the first bit. You?"

"I'm Alphonse, Ms. Tonks," Al said.

Ms. Tonks blinked. "I'm having trouble believing you two are related."

Al smiled. "Vee do get zat a lot, but vee are quite alike once you get to know us."

"Right," Tonks said, gesturing ahead at Ed who was yelling angrily over something Mr. Lupin said.

Al shook his head and laughed, said, "He has trouble vis authority."

Ms. Tonks was clearly preoccupied and proved it when she turned to Al and said, "How much did you see?"

Al shook his head. "Not much, Ms. Tonks." It was true, but... "Mein bruder vill tell me vat happened, if you are sinking zat I vill not know if I did not see."

Ms. Tonks blinked, gave a forced laugh. "I think I knew that," she said. "Anyway, drop the Ms. It's just Tonks."

Al smiled at her. "I'm very used to - vats vord? - assuaging zee ausority my brozer pisses off. It might be hard habit to break. Vill try, sough."

Here, Tonks's laugh was real, and Al grinned.

As they settled down in Hermione's before-school regular, the ball of dread in her stomach was not getting lighter. She looked to Professor Elric, analyzing his expression. It was tense, and Elric the younger was hardly better. Al was more open, with traces of a genuine smile lingering, but it was almost as tense as his brother.

"Vat happent?" Alphonse asked.

Everyone began to talk at once. Hermione was attempting to make her voice heard over the din and failed.

"Stop," Alphonse said. "Vone at a time. Ms. Tonks first."

Professor Elric looked surprised at Alphonse's sudden assertiveness, and Hermione privately agreed. Even in class, Alphonse wrangled respect and quiet obedience simply through his kind and patient nature.

But he may not be as kind or patient as all that, Hermione reminded herself. Something was clearly happening. And the way the Elrics held themselves reminded her uncomfortably of Professor Moody.

"It's just Tonks, remember?" Tonks said, brushing now-brown hair over her shoulder. She really was having problems morphing, Hermione realized. Tonks continued. "And fine. Your brother is clearly traumatized, and at the sight of one of my abilities, he panicked."

Professor Lupin sighed. "He basically attacked her."

"With a form of magic none of us have seen before," Hermione added.

"Bruder!" Al said. Following it up with a string of fast-paced German that Hermione had no prayer of following.

Professor Elric replied in indignant tones. Alphonse's eyes went wide and flew to Tonks guarded and slightly fearful.

Tonks seemed to understand immediately. She gave a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know he was watching, and I didn't know that he would react that way."

"Please understand," Alphonse said. "Zee shapeshifter vee knew vas very, very bad man. And vee did not know zat it vas power here zat people could haff. So my brozer assumed zat you vere him and zat he'd somehow survived and found us."

Oh. Hermione found that she could understand that. Her English teacher was a man with long, ice blonde hair. Every time she looked at him, she saw Malfoy at the Department of Mysteries.

"I guessed as much," Tonks said. "Moody gets like that sometimes."

Professor Lupin looked up sharply at that. And Hermione thought she knew why. The Elric brothers were too young to be reminding anyone of Professor Moody, but the comparison was hard to avoid. And Alphonse was only fifteen.

"You have clearly told your brother of Tonks's power," Professor Lupin said. "And that leaves us with a conflict of interest. Ordinarily, we would take ministry precautions and erase your memories on the spot. But given Edward's display and your prior experiences with metamorphmagi, I think you're wizards."

Alphonse's eyes went wide. "Vizards? Brozer said nozing about vizards."

And then there was that fast-paced German from Professor Elric again that Hermione could not keep up with try as she might. German was not a language she had studied. But Hermione could guess, based on the widening of Alphonse's brown-gold eyes.

And with that, she made a decision - at roughly the same time Tonks did. Two wands were slammed on the table and Lupin looked about to puke.

"Wizards," Hermione said. "Well. Tonks and I are witches, really. But it's the same thing."

Tonks picked her wand back up and turned her glass of water to a glass of firewhiskey. The metamorphmagus swirled the liquid for the Elric’s viewing pleasure, downed it before screwing up her face. Her hair paled a shade with the effort.

Alphonse looked to the elder Elric. "Zere vas no equivalence," Alphonse said.

"You don't hav zee stone, do you?" Professor Elric asked.

Tonks tilted her head. "What stone? It's just basic transfiguration."

"Wingardium Leviosa," came from Professor Lupin's corner and Tonk's glass rose.

A resigned look came over Professor Elric's face. "Not even zee stone could do zat."

"And ven you eliminate zee possible," Alphonse quoted.

"Vizards," Edward said. "Alvayz knew zee Truss vas bastard, right bruder?"

"Bruder! I sought I hid zee English svear book from you!"

Of course Professor Elric had an English-German swear dictionary. Of course, he did. Only part of her reacted to that revelation, though, because most of her brain was preoccupied with trying to navigate this whole set of happenings. She looked to Professor Lupin, because never let it be said she didn’t turn to other minds when hers could not provide answers, and said, "How do we handle, this?"

"We ask Mad Eye," he said. "Because hell if I know."

When they stood up to leave, less than half an hour later, Hermione managed to surreptitiously ask Tonks the same question. Tonks gave her a devious smirk, looking more alive than she’d looked since Sirius died, said, "Already on it. Sent Mad Eye a patronus an hour ago, and he says we take them to the Burrow and check them for magic once we have them secure."

That was probably the best course of action. Hermione nodded, steeling herself. She knew she was in for it when Tonks and Professor Lupin fired twin stunners while passing the first alley they saw.

The Chemistry teacher and his brother dropped like a stone, and while Professor Elric was considerably heavier to carry than he should have been, Alphonse was considerably lighter.

Chapter Text

Edward woke blearily to the sight of red hair and a voice speaking in a language that he could not quite place. It was the voice of one clearly used to being obeyed. "What did you do, Tonks? Remus? Are you insane?"

"We didn't know what to do!" Shabby’s voice came from somewhere out of sight. At the familiar voice, Ed abruptly remembered his English. Shabby kept speaking. "Tonks had an idea and we went for it."

"They're just boys! Muggle boys!" said the mass of red hair. Abruptly, Ed’s vision focused, and the mass of red hair resolved itself into a plump woman with red hair to her shoulders. She was livid. "And the taller one is unspeakably thin!"

The Envy-type fucker – Tonks, he remembered, edged into his line of sight and extended her arms plaintively to the redhead. "Please, Molly. I'm not so sure they're muggles," she said. "I've never heard of a muggle who can do what the older brother can do."

Ed fought to keep his breathing as he listened, not quite willing to give up his position yet, but he knew it probably sped up a little when Granger's voice sounded behind him. "Here it is!" she said, "I've got the spell."

"Thanks, Hermione," said Tonks. "I know Mad Eye went over it with me at some point, but I could not for the life of me remember!"

Granger’s hair suddenly blocked Ed’s view, but he heard the distinct sound of a book changing hands. Granger stepped to the side, and there was Tonks, one hand holding an open book and the other hand holding her stupid (dangerous) magic stick. She took a breath in preparation to speak and it was then that Ed rolled off the kitchen table and squatted beneath it. "Don't you dare, bastard!" he said in Amestrian.

Tonks lowered her stick by half – stilling her current action, but ready and willing to fire if necessary. She muttered something under her breath, then more loudly said, "Aaand he wakes,"

“Shabby, get vis zee ozers,” Ed said, just knowing there was a stick thingy pointed at his back. He knew he had no bargaining power in this situation, but Shabby still appeared in his sightline. Surprisingly, his hands were empty and open. Almost placating. Ed scowled.

The redhead – Red, Ed mentally dubbed her – bent to his level. All traces of her earlier anger were carefully wiped from her face. She looked the very picture of motherly concern. "Mr. Elric?” she said, voice soft. “It's okay, we're not going to hurt you.”

Well, that was just bullshit.

"Not goink to hurt me?" Ed asked, wrapping one hand around a table leg to keep it steady. Alphonse was still on top of it. He couldn’t forget that Alphonse was still on top of it. "You haff already hurt me! Knockt me out somehow and brought me and my bruder to zis place! I’m pretty sure zat kidnapping is still a crime here in England!"

He thought so, at least. Who knew when it came to this stupid world with its stupid magic that didn’t require equivalent exchange? But Ed must have hit his mark, because Red, Tonks, Shabby, and Granger all blanched in unison.

"Well," said Tonks, hair drooping lifeless around her heart shaped face. "When you put it like that."

But Shabby apparently refused to be shamed. "We didn't have many other options," he said quietly. "We're supposed to erase the memories of muggles and we couldn't be sure if you were one, given what you can do. Besides, you’ve clearly dealt with wizards before, so we had too many questions to sort out over lunch.”

Shabby had said it like kidnapping people was reasonable, but Ed had hardly noticed. He was stuck instead on erase the memories. What the fuck? "Erasing memories? Supposed to? Vat sort of shitty government does zat?!”

Somehow, somewhy, the Red woman managed to look offended at his language. They had kidnapped him and his brother with the intention of erasing their memories memories and Red was offended at his language. What kind of hellscape had the Truth landed them in? He forced himself to look away from Red, because if he continued staring at her she was going to say something, and Ed would feel very compelled to hit her. And that would mean giving up the relative safety of under the table.

He looked at Tonks instead. She looked almost sympathetic, which wasn’t really any better. "It's policy," she said. "Not much we can do about it."

"Policy? Zat's crazy."

All the crazy Englanders looked up to the tabletop, for it was not Ed who had spoken. Al was apparently awake and determined to startle all of them.

Ed poked his head out just far enough to get a look at his brother, making sure to keep his back covered and belly protected. Al was sitting up, amber eyes accusatory. "I've herd everysing. Pretty sure I voke up before brozer."

"Vhy didn't you say somezing, Al?"

Al huffed without looking down at Ed properly. "Same reason as you, brozer."

Damn. Al was perhaps becoming a little too much like him. Ed wasn't sure how Al managed to get through the troubles in Amestris unchanged just to start emotionally morphing now that they were practically safe in comparison.

Before Ed had a chance to formulate a response, Al continued speaking. "Anyvay. Bruder and I did not trust you, precisely, but vee had agreed for at least truce. And vee expected it to be respected. Now you zay you vant to erase our memories?"

"You heard Tonks," said Shabby. "We don't have a choice. And we were going to test you for a magical core before we obliviated you."

“Because we only deserve to haff our minds intact if vee are like you?” Al’s voice was quiet, but it was almost as angry as Ed had ever heard it. Ed shuddered – partially at Al’s tone, partially at his message. The line of questioning was probably valid, but Ed couldn’t bring himself to linger on it. At least their kidnappers all looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Zis obliviate is zee mesod for zee erasure of memories?" Ed asked, shuffling a little further out from under the table and looking directly into Shabby's yellowish eyes.

"Yes." It was Red who answered, arms folded under her breasts. "And while I think they're crazy for approaching you children at all, it would be the best option moving forward for your own safety if you turn out to indeed be muggles."

That just wouldn’t stand. Ed glared at her. "I am scientist. My mind iz most important asset. I vill not see it tampered vis. Zat goes for Alphonse too. Vee haff studied chemistry und physics since vee vere four."

"It wouldn't hurt your memories of your ordinary life," Granger said. "Only remove and replace the magical ones."

"Unacceptable," said Ed, crossing his arms, left hand closing over his emaciated elbow. Who knows what he would lose? What would their spells even quantify as ‘ordinary’? It was impossible to know. And no matter who it was or what they would lose, tampering with a person’s mind was just unethical. The mind was the closest thing Ed held to sacred.

Al stood from his perch on the table. "You said you vere goink to test us?" Granger nodded, and Alphonse said, “Do it."

Ed looked at his brother sharply, but when Al nodded at the window, Ed understood the plan. If these wizards tried anything else untoward, they would alchemically blast themselves through the outer wall and out of the building.

Tonks was still holding the book, her finger holding the correct place. She opened it, and after a moment raised her wand, hand steady despite her obvious nervousness; her hair had turned a sort of pea green. “If you’re really wizards,” she said, “you’ll start glowing.”

“Get on vis it,” said Ed.

Tonks gave him an uncertain nod, and the entire room held their breath as she said the words, firmly, clearly. Alphonse lit up golden. Ed did not. To hide a certain amount of horror, Ed smirked.

Hermione stared at Alphonse. His glow was. Well. Beautiful. Beside her, Tonks let out a delighted laugh. "Never seen that one done before," Tonks said, eyes glittering. "Didn't reckon it'd be so pretty!"

Alphonse looked down at himself, clearly just as captivated as everyone else was. The spell was so beautiful, if fact, that it hardly registered with Hermione that her teacher, the elder Elric, wasn’t glowing at all. He did, however, look very self-satisfied.

"Told you it vasn't magic," he said, raising his hands for display. And that was enough to wrench Hermione's attention from Alphonse.

"Your brother's a wizard and that's all you have to say, Professor?" She assumed her sternest stance and stared him down. Looking more closely now, she could see that under his flippant performance, Professor Elric was watching Al from the corner of his eye.

"So he can do zis magik hocus pocus," Ed said, voice blazing with certainty. "It vould be like a certain bastard vee know. But mien bruder and I are men ov science. It doesn't change anyzink."

"Are you so sure about that?" Hermione asked, jerking her head towards the younger brother. Alphonse hadn’t even noticed Professor Elric’s outburst. He was still looking at his glow like he’d never seen himself before. He raised his hands – the only uncovered skin on him aside from his face and neck – to eye level. Hermione could not help but see as Al’s long sleeves rode up his wrist. Even through the glowing she could see skin resting just atop bone. What? Hermione blinked, trying to clear her vision.

Alphonse started when he seemed to notice her watching. He brought his hands to his sides abruptly, tugging the sleeves back in place - but it was too late. She could see it now, the protruding tendons in his neck, the sallowness in his face. Alphonse didn’t have sharp features. He was just emaciated.

Al visibly squared his shoulders. "I am scientist," he said, proving that he had been following along with the conversation. "My life is based on zee principles ov equivalent exchange. I von't change now." Hermione was almost certain that he was reassuring himself, as well as asserting it to the room.

Mrs. Weasley bustled over to him, taking bony shoulders in her hands. By the way her thumb landed on a jutting tendon, Hermione was sure she’d noticed the emaciation, too. "You must at least learn some," she said. "It'll go out of control on you if you don't."

"It's amazing it hasn't done so yet," said Professor Lupin. Tonks flicked her wand to dispel the spell; the glow faded.

"Out ov control how?" Alphonse asked, clasping his bony hands together and tracing his knuckles.

"People have died," said Professor Lupin. Mrs. Weasley removed her hands from Alphonse's shoulders and shot Lupin a glare, mouth suddenly pursed very thin.

Hermione decided to interject. Nervously tugging on a bushy lock of hair, she spoke up. "Disregarding that, magic is incredible to use. And a scientific eye makes it all more fun. Not less."

Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione an approving look for that - Hermione felt certain that Mrs. Weasley did not appreciate Lupin's bluntness with one as young as Alphonse. Hermione wasn’t sure where she stood on that. She wasn’t much older than Alphonse herself. But she didn’t want his first idea of his magic to be one of death.

Professor Elric, on the other hand, seemed to be in Professor Lupin’s camp. He shook his head, said, "Don't veed us bullshit, Granger. Iv not learning is life zreatening, zat is vat vee need to know." His next sentence was muttered. Hermione only caught snatches. But it ran something along the lines of damning the trust - or truth? - and of course the bastard would.

Professor Elric was the most vulgar professor Hermione ever had and it was starting to wear her nerves thin. But while a part of her brain was wondering about the mutters, the larger part of her understood his point. She was no Umbridge, and distracting people from imminent danger was an Umbridge thing to do.

"Understood, Professor. Sorry." But Professor Elric was done with her. He had turned to Lupin, Tonks, and Mrs. Weasley.

"You say Alphonse could die vrom zis magic stuff. If he does not learn it."

The three of them nodded. "He could," Lupin said. "He would not be the first."

"Zen I schould learn," Al said quietly. "Avter everysing vee did? I von't loose zis body now. Not vrom pride."

That had Hermione wondering. The Elrics walked like Mad-Eye for a reason. What had they been into? Al's sentence and the look on Ed's face were viable clues - she just needed to figure out in what direction to look.

"Ja, naturlich." Professor Elric's face was drawn and serious in a way Hermione had not seen it.

Mrs. Weasley bustled between them, taking Alphonse by the hand - looking for all the world like a hen ruffling her feathers - and said, "Well then. For now, we’d best put you up here at the Burrow, where we can make sure your magic doesn’t get out of hand. We'll get you learning in no time. I'll contact Minerva. She'll know how we might best proceed."

"Tonks can -" Lupin looked at Tonks, froze, started again. "I can send Professor McGonagall a patronus."

Tonks stared at the ground awkwardly. "I'm sorry," she said. Her hair drooped down to her collar bone and Hermione internally sighed. It was no use getting so sad that you couldn't work your magic right!

Oh, be fair, Hermione! She knew that Tonks deserved better than that.

"Right," Mrs. Weasley said, diffusing the tension. "I'll get dinner started. Alphonse? Why don't you sit in the kitchen with me? We can get some food in you immediately."

"Vas?" Al asked. "I can vait viz everyvone else!"

"No. No, you're much too thin. Might as well get you started on something nutrient dense while I cook. Off you go. Through there." And Mrs. Weasley bustled the helpless Al to the kitchen.

Professor Lupin and Tonks didn’t linger either. When they went out the back door to cast the patronus, Hermione heard Lupin say, "I can help you get it back, you know. Took me a while too."

Unless she was very much mistaken, Hermione could see Tonks lean into him slightly before the door shut behind them.

And then there were two. Professor Elric was scowling at the door to the kitchen – the one that Alphonse had disappeared through.

"Vhen can vee expect to go home?" Professor Elric asked the otherwise empty air. Predictably, there was no response. He muttered something probably unpleasant in German.

Hermione really did sympathize. Maybe she had technically kidnapped him, but it couldn’t hurt to extend an olive branch. "Would you go over the homework while we wait for dinner?" she asked. "I'm having trouble with the calculations for this chapter."

But that was a lost cause. For just as Hermione suggested it, a windblown Ron and Ginny came in, brooms slung over their shoulders. Their gazes fell on Professor Elric, and their stances became defensive.

"Who's this, Mione?" said Ron, gripping his broomstick like a weapon. Hermione was in for a long night. No one was quite ready for strangers, she knew, Dumbledore's Army least of all.

Chapter Text

Ed had seen some strange things in his life, but he had never once seen a teenager hold a broomstick like it was their greatest treasure. But these two ginger children, who looked enough like Red to be likely hers, evidently really loved cleaning.

"Who's this, Mione?" said the boy.

Granger, who'd already been reaching for her school bag and homework brought her hand back to herself, huffed. "He's my chemistry professor, Ronald."

That clearly threw Boy Ginger for a loop.

In contrast, Girl Ginger whistled, setting her broom – now that Ed looked at it, it didn’t look like it would be particularly efficient at sweeping – against the door frame. "Your Muggle chemi-whatsit professor? I can stun the first auror who comes in the door, Hermione, but I don't know that I can get the second and third for you."

Ed was about to interject, but Granger beat him to it. "It's fine. We found out that his brother's a wizard."

Boy Ginger – who’d been looking incredulously between Ed and Hermione – interjected before Girl Ginger could respond to that. "This little kid's a prof?"

Oh fuck no. "WHO'RE YOU CALLINK TOO SMALL VOR AMOEBA SNACK?" His fists were raised, one leg bent behind him to spring on this freakishly tall child, but...

From the kitchen came Al's voice, in Amestrian. "I don't think anybody called you that, brother!"

Even without being in the same room, Alphonse was a stabilizing presence. His voice brought Ed back to himself; he could see that all around him sticks were raised. Boy Ginger's broom had clattered to the floor as he drew, but he was no slower than his apparent sister and Granger.

Their eyes were wide and frightened - but set with a certain determination. Whoever these wizards - he internally snorted at the word - were, they were regularly in a large amount of danger.

Ed returned to his normal resting stance, positioned himself in a carefully non-confrontational pose, but still said, "Verdammt. I am nineteen you freakishly tall giant."

The three teenagers slowly pocketed sticks, expressions sheepish. Granger moved to elbow Boy Ginger. "Ron! You don't say that!” Ed was certain, though, that she was admonishing him mostly to cover her own embarrassment.

"Bloody hell, Mione," Boy Ginger muttered. "Didn't think he'd react like that."

Al's voice called from the kitchen again. "Sorry vor Bruder!"

"Beink healthy height - unlike you people - doesn't make me... zat vord."

"Of course not," Girl Ginger said. "You're perfectly normal."

"But really, Mione," said Boy Ginger. "Why is he here?"

Granger heaved a sigh. "He saw Tonks accidentally metamorphose. Attacked her using some strange magic."

"Well then," Girl Ginger said, fixing him with appraising brown eyes. "He’s a wizard too."

"But why would he hide it?" Boy Ginger said, then answered his own question. "Maybe he works for You-Know-Who! He could be using you to get at Harry, Mione!"

"Iz not magic," Ed said. "Just science. Granger saw vor self. I'm no vizard."

"He really is a muggle," Granger said. "Even the wizard brother – Alphonse – had no idea magic existed till today, I don't think."

But then Granger tilted her head. "But you'd met another metamorphmagus, so you must've known!"

Ed snorted. He had not met another metamorph-whatsit. "Vasn't magic eizer. Different mesod, similar result. Vas scientifically plausible, mesod, too."

Granger sent him a sidewise smirk-look that Ed refused to interpret. He wasn't being silly. This magic shit was clearly ridiculous. He'd bet his watch the Truth designed this whole backwards dimension just to spit in his eye. Or any scientist's eye, Ed decided. Either way. Bullshit.

"What do you mean it wasn't magic?" Granger asked. "I made sure to familiarize myself with most branches of muggle science when I first decided on my current schooling arrangement, and I never once came across anything like you do."

"You have PhD?" Ed asked.

"Well," Granger said. "No, but -"

"Zen schut up. You don't know vhat you're talkink about."

Boy Ginger looked at him with such an expression of awe that Ed found himself wondering precisely how overbearing his pupil could be. She couldn't be too bad, because by contrast Girl Ginger had a light of angry defiance in her eye.

"I don't know much about the muggle school system," Girl Ginger said, "But I do know that these PhD thingies are for people much older than you. I'd bet you don't have one either!"

"Vell zee joke ist on you, Girl Ginger! I'm vhat zey call genius! Ha!"

But she was right enough. He'd never even gone to high school, despite having the sort of certification even good alchemists could only dream about.

The bantering went on for another few minutes, the mood slowly lightening as the conversation continued. But the kitchen - and checking on Alphonse - called Ed's name sooner rather than later. He excused himself and, as he walked away, he heard Boy Ginger start asking questions.

"Is he always like this, Mione?" Boy Ginger asked.

"Sort of?" Granger responded before Ed tuned them out. He rounded the kitchen door and there was Alphonse - still a sight to overwhelm Ed's senses even after all these months. But Ed suddenly wasn't quite sure that his brother needed him there. Al's easy smile and careful politeness had won him another friend, and he and Red were happily engaged in conversation. Ed could see a certain wariness hanging around Al – who wouldn’t be wary after a literal kidnapping? – but he didn’t think Red saw it. Or if she did, she wasn’t mentioning it.

Al turned to Ed, beamed. There was something in his expression that said thank goodness you’re here, but instead he said, in careful English, "Oh, Bruder! Frau Weasley is so nice! She's making stew!"

Al's intense seriousness of just minutes ago was only just visible behind his projected brightness. Mrs. Weasley turned around from her position at the stove, flashed Ed a warm smile. "Hello! Edward, right?"

"Right," Ed said, trying to comport his face into something polite. "Zat iz me."

"Alphonse has been telling me just the funniest stories!" She said, stirring the stew pot in front of her.

"Alphonse has lots ov zose," Ed said, warily watching the Matron of the Red Hair as she bustled.

"He certainly does!" She turned to the pot, "I heard Ron and Ginny come in. I'll talk to them about their manners after dinner. Really, Ronald should know better by now."

"Iz fine," Ed said. Red put on a good show, but the nervousness that floated about the other wizards floated about her too.

"You're lucky Remus and Tonks found your brother, you know," she said. And her brown eyes were so round and sincere at Ed found himself sure that part of her was speaking in reference to whatever trouble was brewing.

Regardless, he was going to get whiplash if Red made any more leaps in conversation. "I don't know about zat," he said. "All I know is zat vee vere fine bevore, and now my bruder iz in a razer dangerous situation. I don't like zat much at all."

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing one-handedly at Alphonse. "His magic would have blown up on him without training. Not finding out wouldn't have avoided that problem." She made a fair point, Ed admitted to himself. But he only was going to admit it to himself.

"I don't mean just zat," Ed said, setting his jaw stubbornly. "Your jumpy children make it fery obvious. Somezink bad iz happening viz you vizards. And I'd razer Al vasn't brought into it."

Mrs. Weasley blanched. Ed smiled grimly, sure he had hit his mark. "I vant to know vat it iz, and I vant to know vhy no one's tryink zat memory hocus pocus on me. Alphonse may be vizard, but vee all know I am not."

"Bruder," Alphonse said. "Stop it."

"Frau Veasley?"

But Mrs. Weasley had relaxed. Likely at the coming of something easier to explain. Damnit, Ed shouldn’t have brought up the second question. Whatever the danger was, it was bad. And it had touched even the children of this doting lion of an over-protective mother. She was going to take the out.

"Immediate muggle family is an exception to the Statute of Secrecy. We wouldn't keep the truth from the brother of a wizard," Red said with an encouraging smile. "Hermione's parents are muggles, and of course they know she's a witch."

Al had expressed the opinion that Granger's parents were not a part of whatever it was she was into. Ed nodded slowly. That, he thought, might explain some things about his student. And then the relief began to hit him. "Oh," he said. Ed might not be able to do magic, but his association with Al and Al's ability kept his mind safe. "Zat is gut to know.”

“You have nothing to fear,” said Red.

Ed laughed, reminded of his first question. He wasn’t about to let that drop. “And zee ozer sing?"

Mrs. Weasley blanched all over again, turned back to her cooking to avoid looking at him. "Professor McGonagall is on her way, Edward. She'll explain it better than I can."

"Can she? Because in my experience, people like to call in zose zat are better at stone valling me. Zee second person never gives me zee answers I vant."

But the Matron of the Red Hair was not going to budge an inch, the horror in her face had turned to a mulish stubbornness to mirror Ed's. And in the set of her mouth, Ed knew that this woman was used to being argued with – and she always won in the end.

"Dinner's almost finished," Red said in a tone that ended conversations as she gave her pot an especially vicious stir. "If you would call in the children to help set the table, I'd be thankful."

Ed nodded. "Vine. I vill ask my questions to zis McGonagall person. But iv I'm not satisfied, know zat I vill push until I know vat I need to know."

But Red was back to stirring the pot on her stove. She gave a sort of hum to indicate that she had heard, but the conversation was over and nothing Ed did would rejuvenate it.

Al apologized for him and pushed Ed out of the room. Outside, Ginger Boy, Ginger Girl, and Granger were in some sort of argument.

Boy Ginger, gesticulating wildly with his arms, said, "He could be dangerous, Mione!"

"I think Hermione's a better judge of character than you, Ron!" said Girl Ginger, aligning herself to stand with Granger.

Boy Ginger did not appreciate his sister getting in the middle of his argument. "Bugger off, Ginny!"

"You say that like it's none of my business!"

"It is none of your business!"

Granger, for her part, was looking between the two of them with an exasperated fondness. Ed caught her eye and they exchanged an amused glance before Ed stepped between them, cutting off Girl Ginger's next riposte. The banter had made another turn for the legitimately angry, he could see.

"Your mozer asked me to tell you zat dinner iz ready and zat she vants you to set zee table."

"Well, that's settled," Granger said, shooting Ed a grateful look, putting a hand on both Ginger Siblings' shoulders. "Let's go set the table."

Ed watched them hustle into the kitchen, eyes lingering on the back Ginger Boy's head. He had clearly inherited the mulish stubbornness of his mother, but he was one of his most violent questioners. Clearly uneasy around strangers, Ed decided. Which indicated not only exposure to danger, but the sort of paranoia that would likely keep the boy alive though whatever trouble was brewing.

Damn, I sound old, Ed thought. He's my age. But pretending to be nineteen and working as a teacher was doing nothing for removing his tendency towards associating with adults.

Just as the children rounded the corner and vanished completely from sight, the scruffy ex-professor and the shapeshifter walked in. Both looked vaguely cross, and neither seemed to register that Ed was standing right there. "At least I managed the spell," said the shapeshifter. "Any patronus is an improvement over no patronus."

Scruffy shook his head, eyes closing. "I'm glad I'm the one who sent the message."

A flicker of hurt flashed across the shapeshifter’s face, but she hid it by rolling her eyes at him in an obvious show of annoyance. She quickened her pace to put herself ahead of him. "Molly!" she said. "Professor McGonagall will be over for dinner!"

A plate dropped in the kitchen and Red could be heard berating Boy Ginger. Loudly.

This was the one Red wanted Ed to talk to. Good. Perhaps things could be resolved quickly. Maybe Ed would be in his own bed by midnight.

"But why's she gotta come to dinner mum?" That was Boy Ginger's voice. Ed walked into the kitchen, unnerved by the shapeshifter walking behind him, just in time to see Red ignore her son and point her stick at the broken plate on the floor.

"Reparo," she said. Clearly, firmly, with a steady flick of her stick. The pieces of the plate came together as though nothing had happened. Red's gaze narrowed, and with a swish and flick of the stick, the plate rose into the air and set itself on the table.

Al gasped from his place on the stool, picked up the plate. He turned to Ed and said in Amestrian, "Brother, look! No alchemy markings at all!" Ed leaned forward, elbows on the table, weight distributed to favor his emaciated arm.

"Shit. You're right," he said, watching as Al’s fingers traced where the transmutation marks should be.  

The wizards were watching their conversation with a certain curiosity. Al switched to English, said with a sheepish smile, "Sorry. Zee vay zis magic ov yours vorks is different vrom vhat bruder and I do. It shows in zee final product and vee cannot help our curiosity on zee matter."

Al went into a more indepth explanation, and Ed took the plate in his own hands. There really was nothing. No tell-tale flaws at shifted points.

The issue of the plate was so utterly transfixing that Ed hardly noticed the fireplace blaze into wild green. But two people falling out of the fire, both coughing, was harder to miss.

Chapter Text

Of all the so-called magic Ed had seen, this was the hardest to comprehend. The newly repaired plate fell to the ground all over again as he gaped at the two soot covered people who clambered, tumbling over each other, from the fireplace. There was a sharp clearing of the throat from the tall, stern looking woman as she stood, attempting to brush the soot from her clothes with elegantly aged hands.

"Professor McGonagall!" said the man in evident surprise. In his shock, it took Ed longer than it should have to realize that this meant that the person Red had wanted him to talk to, Professor McGonagall, was the stern-looking woman.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," she said. "It seems we accidentally tripped over one another in the floo."

"Err," said Red, male edition. "Molly didn't say anything to me about you coming over. Otherwise, I'd have coordinated my travel times."

Stern simply nodded, and with one last exasperated glance at her robes, pulled out her stick, flicked it, and was suddenly clean. The Ginger Man sheepishly did the same. Red rushed him, giving him a quick hug.

"Glad you're home, Arthur," she said. The two began a whispered exchange. Ed would have made an effort to listen in, but suddenly Stern was bearing down on him. Up close, it was frighteningly clear that Stern was both as freakishly tall as Ginger Boy and had the grim set mouth of Hawkeye.

She looked from Alphonse to Edward and back again. To Al she said, "You're the professor, I take it?"

Ed's blood began to boil as Al's eyes went wide. "Ah! Nein! mein bruder-"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLINK SHORTER ZAN KINDERKARTENER?"

"Bruder! She never said zat!"

Stern looked at him with all the menacing authority of a disciplinarian but took his outburst in stride. There was something in her eyes that quieted him all over again. "Mrs. Weasley tells me you have questions about your brother's education."

Ed nodded. "Damn right I do!"

McGonagall dipped her head once. "Follow me, both of you. We will take this to the garden."

Red looked up from her conversation with her husband with mild alarm. "The boys haven't degnomed the garden in a while, Professor. I wouldn't take anything serious out there."

Stern smiled slightly, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards just enough to be clear. "That will be fine. I imagine Professor Elric here might have some fellow feeling with them."

Now Ed wasn't quite sure what a gnome was, but it sounded like it was probably short.

"I AM NOT SHORT, VERDAMMT!"

Stern fixed her eyes on him again and behind the initial sternness fixed upon her face, there was something akin to amusement lightening her expression. "I was speaking more to the common gnome vulgarity, young man."

Ed glared, but Al had placed a hand on his shoulder. He was in control of himself. "Lead zee vay, Stern."

Alphonse leaned in and said in quiet Amestrian, "Brother. I wish you wouldn't try to make people mad.”

"We need info, Al," Ed said, following suit on the language. "So, I'm gonna use the same tactics I used on Colonel Bastard. It works."

If Stern registered their conversation at all, she did not show it. They stepped out of the house, and Ed noticed for the first time that evening was beginning to show its face. The sun was low on the horizon and the edge of the oppressive summer heat had been dulled by a light breeze.

Stern halted by a row of clumsily trimmed bushes and turned to face them. Her earlier traces of amusement were gone. She looked between them and finally, she spoke. "I am appalled by a number of things," she said. "I am appalled that no school picked up your brother and that he fell through the cracks. I am appalled that he appears to be half starved."

Fuck. Ed had been planning to make the initial onslaught. Not the other way round.

Stern continued. "And I am appalled that two as young as yourselves are left to fend for yourselves. You, Professor Elric, are not nineteen. Even if you do look younger than you are, I put your age at fifteen or sixteen. Seventeen at the very most."

Ed blinked. Scheisse.

It was Alphonse who recovered first. And that made a certain amount of sense. It was not Al who had been under attack. "Zere haff been zertain circumschtances. And none of zem schould be laid at Bruder's feet."

Ed gulped down a wash of guilt, said, "Bruder, I -"

Alphonse continued undeterred. "Given zose circumschtances, he has been zee best of my caretakers. Outstripping all of zee adults, bruder has risked life und limb vor my vellbeing. And given zee clearly combative mindset ov everybody here, vee bos have zee right to know vat vee are getting into."

"I see you are very close," Stern said. "I hope you know that spiel did nothing to assuage my doubts. It only added to my questions and concerns."

Ed could hear Al shrink beside him. "Vell, I, ah - "

"You are right to vonder, Provessor - McGonagall? - McGonagall," Ed said. "But vee haff both done our best to make lives vor ourselves. And vee haff had help along zee vay. Vee are not zee results ov heartless people or non-stop cruelty."

Stern fixed her narrowed eyes on Ed's, crossed her arms. She assessed him for a moment, then said, "Right. With that as settled as you seem to be willing to allow. What do you want to know? Please forgive me if I am only as forthcoming as you have been."

Ed closed his eyes against exasperation. Of course, she chose to apply equivalent exchange here. Even in a world where magic apparently existed, unneeded equivalent exchange still had to get in his way. "Vell," he said. "Vat I am most vorried about is zee conflict zat is making your magic-children as jumpy as zey are. No vone ist villing to talk about it and it is somezing I actually haff to know bevore I send Alphonse anyvhere."

Stern raised an eyebrow. "Conflict?"

"Don't play zee fool, Stern. Your people are mired mile high in vatever zis is. And I need to know vat. Alphonse und I are already comink out of some crazy bullshit. I vant details bevore vee get ourselves sucked into more ov it."

Her already tightly held mouth receded further, her lips completely disappearing into a serious line. She seemed to take a moment to consider, and after that moment she inclined her head, said, "Our government is under attack by a group of terrorists who use guerilla warfare indiscriminately against civilians."

Somehow that was both more and less dire than Ed had anticipated. "Vell scheisse."

"Scheisse indeed, Professor Elric."

Al nudged Ed with a shoulder, looking only a little bewildered. "Vell, bruder, Provessor," Al said. "As awful as zat is, I sink zat is somezing vee can handle, at least."

Ed nodded, switched to Amestrian, said, "We have to get you back into shape, Al. Starting tonight, thirty minutes to an hour of sparing both morning and evening."

"Agreed," Al said, also switching languages. "Mrs. Weasley said something about putting me on a 'potion' regimen to help with the atrophy, whatever that means."

Stern, however, had gone somehow slack. She was almost as composed as ever, but her shoulders were perhaps a little rounder and a little more lip showed in her mouth. Her eyes had widened just a smidgen. "They're very dangerous," she said.

"Vee can tell zat vrom our mutual student," Ed said, snorting. "Is no valk in zee park. But it is somezing bruder and I can probably survive." Ed eyed the atrophy of Al's muscles. "Vis a little vork, perhaps."

Stern blinked once, recovered herself. "You realize this just makes me more concerned about your history?"

Ed inclined his head. "Yes. But zere is no point in pretending if it might reduce our chances. To regain fitness, vee vill haff to be obvious about it."

Al grew funnily still beside him, then spoke up. "You say zat vee and our attitude are concerning, but zee children in zat house are almost as bad. Zey haff clearly seen combat scenarios. Vhy are vee so much more disturbing to you?"

Stern looked over her shoulder at the crooked house on the hill. By the time she looked back at Ed and Al, her eyes had hardened. "Those children jumped into battle with no plan, no backup, and barely a word to anyone. They were lured into a trap, and one of our number died when we stepped in to save them. Both you and they are clearly traumatized, but you also seem to be competent. That sort of training, practice, and repetition that would make that possible is what concerns me."

Ed found that he couldn't argue with that logic without giving up more than he wanted to. He decided to change the subject "Right," he said. "Anyvay, Al's schooling. Vat iz it vee haff to do?"

Stern looked at him strangely for a moment before going with it. "He will have to attend Hogwarts, the best and only magical school in the United Kingdom."

Ed narrowed his eyes. "And vhere is zis Pig Fungus place?"

"Hogwarts," McGonagall said, stressing the word. "Is hidden in the Scottish Highlands."

"I von't go to Scotland," Al said immediately.

Ed put a hand on Al's arm, because Mrs. Weasley had clearly shown why simply not going wasn’t an option. "How might I accompany Alphonse to zis Hogvarts place? He must go, but I vill be going viz him, make no mistake."

McGonagall clearly wanted to argue, but she settled with, "I would have to discuss it with the Headmaster, but there are a few positions you might be able to technically fill to explain your presence at the school and earn your room and board. But I must warn you, the building itself does not take kindly to Muggles and there are wards we will have to work around."

Ed was not quite sure what a 'ward' was. He could guess from the etymology, but that was never certain. He shrugged. "I can’t imagine zat it’s any worse zan ozer sings I haff pushed srough to be zere for Al. I can do vatever vee must."

Al looked at him worriedly, face pale in the dark. "Vat about your job?"

And yeah, Ed was starting to enjoy the job. But. "Teaching chemistry has never been zee ultimate goal. It vas somezing I sought I might be gut enough at to support us viz - visout losing my touch at vat vee do."

"What is it, exactly, that the two of you do?" Stern asked. “Molly mentioned strange abilities for a muggle in her letter.”

Ed grinned, aiming to look like the agent of chaos that blew up entire Amestrian towns. "Vat Granger, Scruffy, und Sad saw me do," he said. "Rearrange zee structure of zee atoms in a substance and make it into zee shape and composition vee vant it to be."

Once again, Stern's composure slipped slightly. "You couldn't possibly mean?" With a grin, Ed took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and twirled it between his left-hand thumb and forefinger. Stern's hand came to her mouth. "Alchemy?" she said.

It seemed a demonstration wouldn't be necessary. He laughed a short, surprised laugh. "I vas beginning to sink zat nobody in zis Gott-forsaken country knew vat it vas!"

"I teach transfiguration. Of course, I know what Alchemy is. It's the very precursor to my own specialty,” she said, frowning. “But I wasn't aware that muggles could perform it.”

Ed pocketed the chalk, deciding to ignore whatever this 'transfiguration' was. "Alchemy? Is not magic. It is zee ultimate science. And like all zee sciences zat stem vrom it, Alchemy is repeatable, reasonable, and rule-following."

Stern considered both Ed and Al for a moment. "And you both do this?"

Ed broadened his grin and Al nodded beside him. McGonagall’s posture became impossibly straighter. "Then I believe I know what the headmaster would want from you. He will be dropping a student off at the Weasley home this next weekend. He should have time to speak to investigate you and your story then."

Without another word, Stern turned pushed past them and turned into the doorway, disappearing back into the house. Ed exchanged a wary glance with Al.

"Was that a good idea, brother?" Al asked in Amestrian.

"I dunno, Al," Ed said. "But if it means I can go with you to that Pig Fungus place, it's worth it, right?"

Alphonse shrugged. "Just be careful, brother. I don't want you to get hurt." He began to head for the door and inside.

But there was one more thing Ed wanted to cover before they returned to prying ears. "Al?" Ed called. Alphonse came to a halt.

"Yes?"

"The Truth was as stingy as ever with his information, but I'm beginning to think that this is what it wanted us to get ourselves involved in."

Al looked over his shoulder at him. "I'm beginning to think so too," he said. "And that's why we need to be careful."

Ed nodded, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his plain brown slacks, and followed his brother back inside. "I hope these 'wizards' let me go to work tomorrow," he mused aloud. "Can't leave the brats hanging."

Chapter Text

There was a ruckus when Ed announced that he wanted to go back to work. Everyone immediately set to spouting off reasons why that was a bad idea. But it was Stern who had the balls to say what she really meant: "I think,” she said, “that it would be better if you were somewhat contained, Professor Elric. The Ministry is touchy about their secrecy." That’s what it all boiled down to, he realized. They thought he was a security risk, might violate their precious Statute of Secrecy.

Sure enough, almost every wizard (Ed shuddered at the term) in the room agreed with her, nodded their heads enthusiastically. The lone holdout was Granger, ever the voice of reason. She glared around at the adults clustered around the table and said, "I, for one, want to continue my muggle classes. I can't do that if one of my teachers is absent."

Her voice was crisp, commanded attention. And the adults all seemed to like Granger; the argument was over not long after that. Stern looked at her with a soft indulgence even as she said, “Professor Elric will be your responsibility, then, Miss Granger.” Stern’s voice was hard, her mouth in the grim line that seemed to be customary, but the fondness was unmistakable.

Granger, for her part, rose to meet that high opinion and accepted this duty solemnly. She and Ed were dropped off at the high school together the next morning.

Ed couldn’t help but feel a little dehumanized by the whole affair. But what the hell – the Amestrian Military might have given him a certain degree of autonomy, but Ed hadn’t really been treated like a human for a long time.

Before the school day started, Ed just stood before his classroom door for a moment, staring at the dark-stained woodgrain. It hadn't hit him at the entrance. It hadn't hit him in the adjoining hall. But a realization hit him here as he stood before the door of his classroom. Granger looked at him.

"Are you alright, Professor?"

Ed jumped. "Ov course," he said. And he was. Sort of. But he felt like a fraud, about to go in and teach children about a science that could be too easily flouted by people like Granger. He took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. "Given zat Bruder has been acquired by your Frau Weasley for health monitoring, vould you help me grade zee labs? I only managed a few, once everyone vent to bed."

Because that the wizards had insisted on. A goddamn slumber party. They didn't just force him to sleep over, they stayed up all hours of the night discussing tactics. Stern had not given away Edward's age. So even after the other children had been ushered away, he was an allowed and expected presence at the table (which made no sense, they didn’t trust him to teach chemistry, but they trusted him at their conference table, what the hell). And while Ed was no longer sleeping for both himself and Al, his routine was to take that extra sleep he was accustomed to.

"Sure," Granger said, eyebrows going up in surprise. "You trust my work that much?"

Ed nodded tiredly. "Maybe not in zee ordinary course of sings. But I'm tired, out of time, and I graded yours last night. It vas perfect, like usual."

"Oh," said Granger. "Well, hand them over, then." She put her bag on her desk and walked over to his.

Ed handed her half the stack and settled in. If these labs were anything to go by, the entire class would pass. By a hair's breadth, in several cases, but they would pass.

The rest of the week went by similarly. Night was spent at Red's home, with Red's enormous family. Day was spent at school. Ed, to his unending frustration, was constantly under the watchful eye of at least one of these so-called Wizards. The exception was school, but Granger was still there, poking her head into his classroom during passing periods, even when she had no business being there. Granger was Ed’s age, and the wizards did keep her out of supposedly adult conversations, but she was competent. The adults trusted her more than they did the rest of their children, and so her presence felt stifling too.

But one thing was certain. Al rapidly gained weight under Red's watchful eye; he gained muscle mass under Ed's. After months of slow progress, one week with the magical freak show saw Al nigh fully recovered.

There was yet a sallowness to his cheeks his bottom ribs still protruded too far over his belly and was no reasonable explanation for where the mass was coming from, but there was a new definition to his arms, legs, and shoulders. And he was faster, without the sheer mass of the armor to move. That was enough to put Ed in debt to the wizards. It was almost enough to erase his resentment. Almost.

On Thursday, Ed and Granger returned to the Mole Hole after school to find Red furiously sweeping the kitchen floor. Ed tentatively stepped into the kitchen, coughed, clapped his hands, and coalesced the dust in the air to a neat clump. He caught it, jumped when it vanished with a wave of Red’s stick. She sent him a grateful look.

“Iz everysing alright, Frau Weasley?" Ed asked.

Red collapsed into one of her sturdy wooden chairs, wailed, "Bill's bringing his new fiancée to stay the weekend!"

"Who is Bill, again?" Ed asked. He thought he might be one of the multitudinous Little Reds, but Ed sure as hell couldn’t keep them straight.

"My oldest," said Red.

"The curse breaker," Granger said, like that should mean something. "For the bank."

Ed was not quite sure why a bank would need much more than bankers but decided to let it go. He’d find out eventually, he was sure.

"And Harry's due to arrive this weekend!" Red looked at the floor, the broom, and shook her head. With another wave of her stick, the broom was gone, and the floor was clean. "I've never even met this fiancée! He just sprang this on us yesterday! Didn't even know he'd had a girlfriend!"

Ed suddenly understood why this Bill might have neglected to tell Red about a girlfriend in the first place. "Vere is Alphonse?" he said once Granger had excused herself in favor of her homework.

Red huffed, said, "In the orchard. I can't understand why you insist on these fistfights, Edward."

Ed smiled at her. "If our teacher found out ve'd neglected zee fighting for as long as vee had? She'd beat us into zee ground until we remembered why zat’s a bad idea."

Red's hand flew to her mouth. "Are you mad?" she asked, voice rising to a yelp, but Ed had already pushed through to the kitchen and the back door.

Outside, Boy and Girl Ginger were degnoming the garden. Ed gave a brief wave and continued on. He could see the shape of Al doing push-ups between the fruit trees in the field ahead - Ed made a beeline for him.

"Al!"

"Brother, you're back!" Al called in Amestrian, letting his chest fall completely to the ground and sitting up. "How are the students today?"

"Doing well!" Ed said. "Sort of. Their work today was good enough to keep anybody from failing outright, and that’s good enough."

"I'm glad!" Al said, standing, one hand supporting a knee.

Well, Al seemed ready enough! "Think fast!" Ed said, threw the first punch. Al threw the second, followed it with a low wheel kick. It was on.

Ed felt the air rush from his chest as he hit the ground, but then he was rolling, rolling, standing. He aimed a flesh-footed side kick to Al's chest. Al dodged, but not quite quickly enough and Ed managed to clip him in the shoulder. Al recoiled, but used his back leg to steady himself. Another low wheel kick came at Ed, and he jumped over it. They kept at it until they were interrupted by Boy Ginger, staring at them slack jawed.

"Bloody hell," he said. "Never actually bothered to watch you do this."

Girl Ginger was coming up the slight incline behind Boy Ginger, holding a gnome by one foot, evidently ignoring the slew of obscenities coming out of the creature's mouth. "You need to teach us how to do that," Girl Ginger said as she began to swing the gnome in circles up over her head.

"I sink your mutter vould kill us, if vee did zat, Miss Ginny." Alphonse said, as Ed let him up from his pin-hold on the ground. "If she von't let you in on zee state of zee terrorism, she von't let you learn zis sort of fighting."

"I dunno, mate," Boy Ginger said. "I think she's warming up to the idea of us learning to defend ourselves."

Ed snorted. He doubted Red would ever be willing to watch her children fight. He agreed with Al on this score. Antagonizing the adult wizards seemed a lot like shooting himself in the memory. Not. Worth it. No teaching the Ginger Children things their mother would disapprove of. And what a joy it was that they had a mother to disapprove!

"Absolutely not," Ed said. They looked about ready to protest, but Ed cut them off. "Anyvay, vat is it you vant? You've never come to vatch us before, so I doubt zat’s why you are re up here now.”

Boy Ginger looked down at his trainers as Girl Ginger let go of the gnome's foot. It spun out across the sky, flying in a chorus of obscenities. Girl Ginger refocused on Ed with a stubborn defiance in her eye, but Boy Ginger shrugged, said, "Mum says dinner's ready, and that she's got Al's potion ready."

Well. That settled it. The spar was over. One of the many things Ed had learned over the past week: Red could out-cook any of the restaurants in Central. And while Ed wasn't eating for both himself and Al anymore, he still had a voracious appetite.

"She's in a foul mood, by the way," Girl Ginger said. "Bill and his 'fiancée' have arrived. And boy is Fleur a holy terror."

Ed laughed. "Red must be goink crazy!" He could just see her, arms crossed and eyes wide as she tried to disapprove without sending her son running.

"Vee vill try to stay out of her vay," Al said. "Sank you vor zee heads up."

"Both of their ways," Girl Ginger said. "Trust me."

"Gut to know," Ed said, wondering just what was so bad about this fiancée as they reached the back door to the house. Al darted ahead, to open the door for the group. The door opened, and Al came to a complete halt.

"Ah!" Al said, stuttered an Amestrian greeting that was incomprehensible even to Ed. Huh. Weird. Ed poked his brother’s shoulder and Al hurriedly corrected himself. "I mean. Excuse me!"

"Bloody hell," said Boy Ginger. Girl Ginger smacked her forehead.

"Not Alphonse, too!"

Al stepped back from the door to properly hold it open. And now Ed understood the ruckus. There in in the doorway, with another tall Ginger Boy standing behind her, stood the most beautiful woman Ed had ever seen. Long silver-blonde hair streamed like water over her shoulders. Or maybe it was more like starlight! Her dark blue eyes were certainly enough to generate celestial comparison - big and wide and dark as the sky at dusk. Her skin had a glow to it, too, to rival even the sun.

Ed straightened to his best military stance, kicking himself for never bothering to learn it right. He could hardly think! This woman's sheer presence knocked the wind from his lungs and send him into a tailspin and - wait a minute.

"You must be ze Germans Madame Weasley was telling me about!"

"Ja," Ed said with effort - English near refusing to come to him, "Zat vould be us!" He shook himself violently. What the actual hell?

The Tall Ginger Boy behind her was smirking. "Hi," he said. "I'm Bill. Nice to finally meet you."

"And I am Fleur!" the blonde said with a toss of her hair that nearly dragged Ed under again. What was wrong with him? "Eet 'as been so good to meet zis entire family!" She shot Bill a good natured but pointed look.

He smiled, rolled his eyes. "I know, Fleur. We should've done this sooner."

She smiled at Long-haired Ginger Boy before turning back to the four of them.

"Do come in!" she said. "Sorry to block ze vay - Bill was going to show me a gnome from 'is garden." She stepped back gracefully, long fingers sliding on the wood of the door.

"Ah! Nein!" Alphonse said, awkwardly ducking under Fleur's arm and taking the door from her. "Allow me!"

She beamed. "Zank you Monsieur!"

Ed and Ron fell into rigid formation next to Alphonse as Fleur stepped through the door frame, Long-haired Ginger followed her out looking distinctly pleased with himself.

"I can't believe you," Girl Ginger said.

"What, Gin?" Boy Ginger's eyes were on Fleur as she rounded the corner of the house, Bill's hand on her back, to go experience the gnomes.

The instant Fleur was out of sight, Ed was fully back to himself. He turned to the only one of their number who hadn't lost her head. "Vat vas zat, Girl Ginger?"

"It's Ginny, Ed," Girl Ginger huffed.

"But really," Al said, sagging against the open door with eyes wide. "Vat vas zat?"

"Quarter-veela," Boy Ginger said with a voice near worship.

"And you remember what full-veelas can do, can't you, Ron?" Ginny said, flipping a sheaf of red hair over her shoulder. "Turn into bird-people and eat you."

"Vas?" Ed said, immediately alarmed. "Vho did zat to zem? Please tell me zat zee party is in prison."

"Did it to them?" Ginny asked, face incredulous, "They're veelas. Their own species. They're born that way."

Alphonse put a hand on Ed's shoulder, and in Amestrian spoke. "Don't think about it too hard, brother. I think it's more of this magic stuff - you should see the books Hermione is making me read. All sorts of weird creatures exist here."

Ed recoiled, and in English, because he half wanted the Ginger Siblings to procure him an answer, said, "Vat kind ov storybook vomited all over zis universe?"

Al administered the save - "He means country. Vee didn't run into zis magic business in Germany."

The Ginger siblings blinked, laughed. "We wouldn’t be much good at hiding from muggles if you could just encounter our world in your daily lives!" said Ginny. "Anyway, let's go back inside." She stepped through the doorway - door still held open by Al - in such a good impression of Fleur that Ed could not help but laugh.

Ed ruffled Al's hair as he followed the Ginger Siblings inside.

As they made their way towards the smell of food, Girl Ginger slowed, dropping behind her brother to walk in step with Ed and Al.

And when Ron disappeared into the dining room, Ginny halted, whirled to face them. "I'm going to keep asking for you to teach me," she said.

"Vee vould be perfectly happy to teach you Chemistry," Ed said, but Girl Ginger shot him a look that said she would not be deterred - and suddenly the two inches she had on him seemed a foot.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Vee vill not do it," Ed said.

"Sorry, Miss Ginny," Al said. "But zee sort ov fighting vee do is not vizout it's risks."

"Vhy do you vant it so badly?" Ed asked. "You have zis magic stuff and all ov you vizards seem to take zat to mean you need nozing else. So vhy do you vant it?"

Ginny's eyes softened and for a moment it seemed she would answer him, but her eyes hardened all over again. She whirled around and flounced around the corner to the dinner table without answering.

Ed exchanged a glance with Al, who shrugged.

"Don't look at me brother, I don't know why she wants to learn," Al said. He paused and his face turned thoughtful. "But if she wants to learn that badly..."

"No," Ed said. "At least not here. Not if her mother says no. And I'm certain she would."

"Right," Al said. "Let's go eat, brother."

Ed nodded and the two of them followed Ginny's tracks towards the scrubbed wooden table. And there was Mrs. Weasley, potion vial in hand.

"There you are, Alphonse!" she said pushing the bottle into his hand. "Drink up!"

Ed laughed at Al's grimace and sat in his place at the table.

Soon enough, the table was full. Extra stools had to be pulled in from the kitchen when Granger returned from studying and Bill and Fleur came in from peeking at what gnomes Ron and Ginny missed.

It was tense and awkward. And the name Harry Potter seemed to skitter through the conversation like a mouse - sneakily and very fast. The name made everyone more restless than they were to begin with.

Ed decided that meeting the Potter kid would answer many of his questions.

Chapter Text

Saturday night was the longest wait of Ed's life. He sat at Mrs. Weasley's scrubbed kitchen table - Matron of the Red Hair on his left, Alphonse on his right for what felt like hours.

"Vat time did he say he vas coming, again?" Ed said, checking his watch. Alphonse's chin was in his hand, elbow propped on the table; his eyes fluttered further open at the sound of Ed's voice and Ed knew his brother was ten seconds away from being dead to the world.

"He didn't, dearie," Mrs. Weasley said. "He just said that he would be late - he had an errand he wanted to run with Harry before dropping him off."

"Vat could possibly be standing in zee vay ov zis man's schedule?" Ed asked. "I underschtand zat zee school year is coming up, but zere cannot possibly zat much to do!"

Ed wasn't actually sure on that score. Ms. Jenkins - the principal at his own workplace - was sporting a shorter and shorter temper as the weeks ticked on towards the start of Fall term.

Mrs. Weasley just shrugged. "How about I make us some tea?" she said. "Keep us all awake."

Ed nodded, he needed it. "Sank you." He wasn’t the only one, because Alphonse began to sway treacherously. Ed lifted an arm and caught him when Al slumped to the side entirely, well and truly asleep. Fuck that hurt - it was his still-weak right arm, of course. He closed his eyes against the feeling and twisted, using his left arm to shift Alphonse onto the table.

He shook out the tenderness just as Mrs. Weasley turned from the stove. "Are you alright?" she asked, arms crossing below her breasts. "You didn't hurt yourself in one of those fistfights, did you?"

Ed's eyes went wide, "Ah! Nein! I'm fine, just old injury! Acts up ven veather changes." And that was not precisely a lie. It was more sensitive when the weather changed, and the cold of the night was only just fully setting in.

"I don't know what you were doing, to have old injuries," Mrs. Weasley said, brown eyes narrowed with suspicion, “but I don't like it.”

Ed laughed - a sharp laugh, but there was a note of genuine amusement in it. "Trust me, Frau Weasley," he said. "I didn't like it eizer."

The corner of her lip might have twitched upwards, but Mrs. Weasley didn't laugh. But they were spared the silence of disapproval by the whistling of the kettle. Ed sobered as Mrs. Weasley turned off the flame with a flick of her wand. With another flick, the hot water began pouring itself over three cups of tea leaves - two with milk, one conspicuously without.

"I vasn't being flippant," Ed said, English suddenly a mouthful. "I didn't enjoy zee sings I haff had to do. But zere vere reasons zat I had to do zem, and if I had not? I do not even vant to know."

"I'm sure there could have been a way around it," Mrs. Weasley said, seating herself across from him, spoon delicately stirring her tea by itself as she clutched the cup with both hands. “You’re barely an adult! Surely there were adults to protect you as a child.”

There was a solid thunk as Ed's landed in front of him. "I don't sink so," Ed said. "I did zee best I could viz vat I had. And if I had not done it, Al and I vould probably be dead."

There was still an overt attempt at disapproval - a short huff emitting from her mouth - but Weasley's eyes had softened. And just as Ed picked up his teacup, there were three hard knocks on the door. Ed nearly jumped out of his skin, and he was disconcerted to note that he and Mrs. Weasley were not the only ones to do so. Alphonse jerked awake, elbow hitting against his own teacup as he jolted.

Ed put both hands on his brother's shoulders, a knot forming in his chest. He did not regret his choices, but what had their lives done to his brother? "Alphonse!" he said, "It's okay. It's okay."

The confusion in Al's eyes faded, and Ed turned to look at the door. Mrs. Weasley stood before it, chest heaving nervously. "Who's there? Declare yourself!" she said with surprisingly little waver in her voice.

Ed tried to ignore Al's grip tightening on his forearm.

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry." They had arrived.

Finally, thought Ed. Maybe I’ll actually sleep tonight!

Mrs. Weasley threw open the deadbolt and flung the door wide. "Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus! I know you said you'd be in late, but I was expecting rather sooner than two in the morning."

The old man looked suddenly long-suffering. "The Dursley family proved rather more difficult than I was anticipating.” He cast about his gaze, clearly looking to change the subject. Ed grimaced when they made eye contact. “Ah!” said Beardy. “You must be the Elric brothers!"

Beard walked over the threshold, arms extended. Ed felt Al take the slightest of steps behind him. Oh no. But Dumbledore's advance allowed for a major advantage - the small scruffy youth that stood behind him was now visible.

This was Potter?

Politeness be damned, Ed craned his neck to get a better look. But Beardy placed himself firmly in his line of sight. "Now which one of you is young Alphonse?"

If Ed was worried that Al would not be able to function, he was wrong. Ed felt a small rush of pride as Al straightened and squared his shoulders, bringing his height well above Ed's.

"Zat vould be me, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded sagely, and Ed was not sure if the man was surprised at the height difference or if he had already known - his face gave nothing away. He turned to the dark-haired kid behind him and gave a brief adieu.

"If you would accompany me outside, Alphonse?" Dumbledore said, a pleasant note in his voice.

"No," Ed said, immediately veto-ing the idea. "It is fery late, und vee are bos tired. Inside is surely zee best location for our discussion?"

Dumbledore looked at Ed with a piercing look - Ed matched it. Adults had a way of making themselves sound reasonable and wise and Ed wasn't letting any of them get away with it.

"Only if you don't mind an audience," Dumbledore said. In contrast to the sharpness of his eyes, his voice remained carefully unassuming and mild. Ed automatically distrusted it.

"Vor zee basics of Alphonse's enrollment, I don't see vhy zat vould be an issue," Ed said, crossing his arms.

"I sink vee should go outside," Al said and Ed nearly jumped out of his skin. "I am sure zat zee Headmaster has questions zat may be difficult vor us to answer."

Ed glowered. Whose side was Al on, anyway?

"It seems you are out-numbered, Mr. Elric."

"Fine, zen," Ed said, glowering. "Vee can go outside. At two in zee morning. Zat isn't recipe vor disaster at all."

Al pulled a face to match Ed's. "Come on, bruder. Don't be a brat about zis." He turned to Beard. "Shall vee?"

Dumbledore nodded graciously and beamed when Al stepped up and opened the door for him. Ed huffed at Dumbledore's back as the elderly man stepped over the threshold.

"After you, brother," Al said in Amestrian. "Try not to be a jerk."

Ed rolled his eyes and stepped passed him. "He's the jerk," he said, sticking out his tongue. Al rolled his eyes right back, but Ed didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

"What dialect of German do you speak?" Beard said, in the not-Amestrian Ed was getting real sick of hearing. From the high school's principal to Hogwarts headmaster, too many goddamn school administrators spoke German.

“Fuck,” said Ed before switching languages. Dumbledore's German was awful, and Ed did not want to have this conversation in his mother tongue.

"We're from a village in zee middle ov fucking novhere. Vee talk funny." As far as Ed could tell - and he went looking, during his stay in Berlin - there was nowhere in Germany that spoke any dialect of Amestrian. And once you threw in the fact that Eastern Amestrian had a subtly different accent to Centro-western Amestrian, Ed doubted he'd find anything like it here.

"Bruder!" Al said, poking a reprimanding elbow into Ed's ribs.

"Fair enough," Dumbledore said - he too switching back into English. "Now. As far as I am aware, you've discussed the basics of Alphonse's enrollment with Professor McGonagall?"

"Sort of," Ed said.

"I know I am still somevat concerned viz my progress in zee material I am to learn," Al said. "Professor McGonagall gave me a study guide to vork viz, und Hermione has been very gracious in lending me her old materials, but I haff no practical experience and I don't vant to start behind. Learning four years ov material in one summer isn't easy."

"Don't worry too much about that," Dumbledore said. "We'll be housing you with the fifth years, but we'll put you into the classes you test in. Just do your best."

"Right, zat I can do." Al said with a small smile, before furrowing his brow. "I vill need a vand before progressing much furzer, zough."

Beard nodded, clasping his hands in front. "I can arrange for that to happen before the end of the week. Nymphadora will be a fine escort, I trust? You've seemed to have a marvelous effect on her spirits."

And who in hell was Nymphadora? Beard must have seen the quizzical look on Ed's face, for he laughed. "I imagine you know her as Tonks. I apologize."

And suddenly Tonks's statement about not needing to know her first name made a lot more sense. Ed had initially assumed it had something to do with military formality - Mustang was not Roy, Hawkeye was not Riza. But Nymphadora was the most ridiculous name Ed had ever heard.

"Vat zee hell vere her parents sinking!" said Ed, cracking up.

"Bruder!" Al said. "It's not vunny!" But he was laughing too, and even Beard had a smile on his face.

"Wizards seemed to have largely misplaced their sense of the ridiculous, I'm afraid," Beard said. "It can be a bit of a shock, for muggle-born students, to realize that we do what we do with no trace of irony."

"Vonderful," Ed said, smirking. "Vee have fallen into zee least self avare group ov people I've seen since Liore."

Beard frowned, nodded. "I'm afraid so, even if I'm not sure of your point of reference."

"Vorget I said zat, ja?" Ed said with a dismissive wave and kicking himself internally. "And I suppose now to our ozer business."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, razor sharp eyes still glimmering in the dark of the night. "Minerva told me of your desire to accompany Alphonse. And of your particular talent."

"Iz zat vat ve're calling it?" Ed said. “My particular talent?" The chill was spiking through his emaciated shoulder, and Ed cupped his left hand over the joint against the cold.

"Minerva said that your description was unmistakably of alchemy, but please excuse me being skeptical," Beard said. "Would you mind giving me a demonstration? I would need to see, before making any decisions."

"Demonstration?" Ed said, he had expected this, of course. "Vine by me. Vat sort ov transmutation vould you like to see?"

"By all means, surprise me," Dumbledore said, gesturing outward with his hands.

Now Ed knew how he would handle that - he could see it in his mind, a great shot of stone springing from the ground and throwing Beard into the air. He smirked and picked a stick up off the ground to draw the necessary array into the earth.

But Alphonse spared the headmaster. "Don't do anything crazy, brother," Al said in Amestrian. "I actually need to go to this school."

And if that wasn't a burst to his bubble, Ed didn't know what was. "Fine," he said. After a moment, the array he would actually use cleared in his mind. The math came so so smoothly as he etched the symbols into the loose summer soil. He couldn't help but smile as he did so - it was so rare in this world that he had the opportunity to use the science he'd devoted his life to, the science he was so glad to still be able to use.

He was drawing in the last sigil when he realized that Beard was hovering over his work to actually read the runes. "Are you an alchemist?" Ed asked as he threw the stick to the side.

Beard smiled faintly - Ed immediately sensed that there was a story behind that smile. "I know a little," Dumbledore finally said. "Enough to know that you're going to be doing a fairly standard reshaping and condensing of soil."

Ed nodded. "It's a fery gut transmutation to haff in your arsenal - fersatile, and easy to scale to large proportions. Zee runes are simple, und quick to draw."

"It vas one ov our teacher's favorites," Al said. "She vas best at zis sort of repurposing."

Ed bent, placed his palms firmly over the circle's edge. Under both hands he could feel the relative coolness of the ground. And there was that glimmer of the tectonic plates.

The scruffy Weasley yard lit up blue, and a to scale miniature of the Burrow rose to Ed's eye level. Minimal transmutation marks, exacting detail. But there was something off... "I forgot zee doorknobs," Ed said, nose wrinkling. "Teaching chemistry has made me flabby."

But doorknobs aside, Ed was a little rankled by Beard’s lack of reaction. It was still a strong reproduction, but if Beard was at all surprised at the prowess involved, he did not show it. "Do you have a decent grasp of multiple fields of reactions? Or is soil and stone your main forte?"

Ed put on his best cocky grin. "Zere is not bit ov alchemy zat I cannot do," he said. And wasn't that the case? In the end, even Truth had given back most of what it had taken.

"Well, Mr. Elric. It seems Hogwarts has a teaching position open to you."

And finally, there was the offer; an inarguable ticket to accompanying Al. Ed's grin widened. "I am zee best person vor zee job, trust me."

Beard laughed. "I certainly hope so. You're the only person for the job. Hogwarts hasn't been able to offer Alchemy as an elective in decades."

Now that was not what Ed was expecting. For the week since Stern recognized Alchemy for what it was Ed thought that he might, even here, find colleagues. But no such luck, apparently. Ed shook off the surprise and said, with as much attitude as he could muster, "Vell. Even if zere vere millions of alchemists, I vould still be zee best man vor zee job."

"He vould be, too," Al said from behind him.

"Then I trust that it will be so," Dumbledore said. "But I must ask. How old are you, dear boy?"

Ed winced. He might (might being the operative word) have Principal Jenkins fooled, but wizards probably had some bullshit way to tell. Beard’s lackey Stern had practically guessed already. "Is it any ov your business?"

"I am afraid so," Beard said. "Even if only to get your lies straight and be able to repeat them when the Ministry asks. And they will ask. I don't believe they're quite done trying to discredit me."

Ed sighed, shaking his head. "Vine. I am sixteen."

"But zat doesn't mean he is not qualified," Alphonse said, suddenly striding towards Beard with a sort of desperate purpose in his eyes. Ed found himself smiling all over again, eyes softening at Alphonse's display. "Even disregarding my feelings as his brozer, I can objectively say zat he is one ov zee best alchemists ov zee age."

Dumbledore put up a quelling hand. "Sixteen was Minerva's estimate, and that is frankly what I was prepared for. I just needed to know."

"So you are okay viz zee fact zat I am younger zan some of your students?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It's not so much that I'm okay with it, but I've not seen an alchemist of your caliber since my friend Nicholas Flamel passed away. I also understand that young Alphonse's enrollment hinges on you accompanying him to Hogwarts. I am not prepared to let a young wizard slip through the cracks twice."

And if Ed was not mistaken, there was a fleeting flash of pain on Dumbledore's face. Ed filed that tidbit of information away. "Thank you," Ed said, damnable 'th' and all, quickly jerking his eyes from Beard.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, producing a packet of papers from his odd clothing. "I'll need you to fill out this paperwork. There will be blanks you can't, as a muggle, actually fill. But do what you can and owl it back to me."

"I can do zat," Ed said, squinted to see the small lettering in the darkness. In Amestrian, Ed amended his statement. "Well. I can do it inside, anyway."

After a moment of scrutinizing the forms, Ed became aware that he was the subject of scrutiny. Beard's twinkling blue eyes were watching him with a new sort of seriousness. "Minerva has, of course, apprised you about the situation with Voldemort?"

"She has," Ed said.

"Whenever you come into our world, then, it's best you keep your wits about you," Dumbledore said. "Both of you, that is."

Ed snorted. "Our vits haff been permanently about us since vee vere very small."

Beside him, Alphonse nodded with a small smile. "It may not be easy," he said. "But vee can survive. Vee are already taking measures."

Ed nodded. "Many people haff vound us hard to kill. Zese terrorists ov yours vill be no different."

"Minerva said you'd said that to her. And so I will leave you with a reminder not to be too cocky," said Beard, frowning.

"Vee von't be, Provessor," Alphonse said. "Ve're vorking ourselves back to zee vitness zat vee need to be." He let out a self depreciating chuckle. "As you can see, it has been a bit ov vork."

Ed sent Al a side eye. Didn't his brother know that he was achieving the nigh impossible, coming back from that sort of malnutrition?

Dumbledore's bushy white eyebrows disappeared behind his mane of hair. "I'm glad to hear that you're taking the threat seriously."

"Vee von't ever make zee mistake ov not taking it seriously," Ed said. "But sank you vor zee varning, yeah?"

"You're quite welcome," Beard said, before yawning widely. "I believe that is a sign that we're all better off in our beds."

Ed gave Beard a sharp salute, "I look forvard to vorking viz you."

"Likewise," Beard said before turning to Alphonse. "And I look forward to counting you amongst my students, young man."

"I look forvard to learning vrom you," Al said, smiling and sticking a scrawny hand out for the Headmaster to shake.

Beard took it, shook it, brow creasing in what Ed decided might be worry. When Dumbledore turned back to him, Ed stuck out his own hand.

When the pleasantries were said and done, Beard disappeared with a loud crack. Ed damn near jumped out of his skin. "Teleportation,” Ed said in Amestrian. “Fucking wizards.”

"It's called apparition, apparently," Al said. "Came across it in some of the books. It was mentioned very casually, so I had to ask Hermione. Turns out it's so commonplace that nobody would think to define it."

Ed shuddered and turned back to the Burrow. "Weirdos."

"Yeah," Al said. "No question. Let's go inside, brother."

Ed nodded. "Sure," he said. He clapped his hands one last time, settled the miniature Burrow back into the ground. Once satisfied, Ed nudged a shoulder into Al and they walked back indoors.

Chapter Text

Even at the height of summer, the chill of two a.m. was tangible. Stepping into the warmth of the Burrow was like entering a warm bath - the aches in Ed's shoulder and thigh immediately eased. They didn't disappear, Ed was never that lucky. But they eased.

"How did it go?" Mrs. Weasley asked. She was sitting at the table, across from the boy that had to be Harry Potter, and next to her husband. Mr. Weasley must have arrived while Ed and Al were outside. There was part of Ed that found the fire travel very cool, part of him that wanted to shove Mustang through one, and part of him that thought it was a dire security risk.

"Great!" Al said. "Tonks vill be taking me to buy a vand next veek!"

Potter looked up at them strangely, said, "You don't have a wand?" No tact at all. Classic. Ed might not be the picture of tact himself, but there was no helping people who were rude to Alphonse.

"Ah," Al said, feet shuffling. "I only vound out zat I vas a vizard recently. So, I'm behind in my milestones. I'm Alphonse Elric. You must be Mr. Harry?"

Potter blinked at his soup. "Um. That's me. Just Harry, yeah?"

"Right," Al said. "Sorry."

It was at that point that Potter looked at Ed. He looked supremely awkward, but Ed wasn’t going to let that stop him from scrutinizing. The boy was thin and sma- not freakishly tall for his age. Ed felt an immediate empathy there. His eyes were a vibrant shade of green and dancing nervously. Just like the other children, this boy had gone through a trauma. It was plain to see.

Ed's gaze shifted to Alphonse. His brother was calmer, now, but the jumpiness of earlier replayed itself in Ed's mind. He grimaced.

"I'm Ed, Al's older brozer," he finally said. "But you von't vant to get used to calling me zat. I'll be a teacher at zis Pig Vungus school ov yours zis fall."

The Weasley parents' head jerked up in unison. "Teaching?"

"What? But you can't be," Potter said, with a confused shake of his head. " Slughorn's the new DADA professor, I just got done convincing him."

Here, the Weasleys exchanged a confused glance. Ed decided to ignore it.

"Never said I vould be teaching zis DADA," Ed said, flicking his hair antenna up and out of his eye for a maximum height advantage.

"Then what are you teaching?"

For whatever reason this was a matter of extreme importance for Potter. Ed shrugged. "Alchemy. Is an elective. Not sure vat years it vill be open to yet."

Potter tilted his head. "It rings a bell," he said, furrowing his brow. "Is it that thing that makes philosopher's stones?"

Ed scowled. "It shouldn’t be," he said. Now Potter looked very confused, but Ed would be damned if he said any more on the matter.

Al winced. "Just take zee class," he said. "Iv you like science, you vill like Alchemy."

"It's a science?" Harry said with an unhealthy amount of surprise. Now that was ridiculous. If Alchemy 'rang a bell' with the kid it had damn well better have done so in the realm of physics and chemistry.

Ed was about to make that abundantly clear, but Mrs. Weasley interjected with the sort of force he’d come to expect from her. "I think everyone's tired," she said. "Arthur's had long day at work, and Dumbledore kept dear Harry out much too late."

"Bed sounds vonderful to me," Alphonse said.

"I'd tell you to go join Ron in his room, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, "But I don't want to wake him. If Edward and Alphonse don't mind, why don't you share Fred and George's old room with them? I can pull out the spare cot."

Part of Ed still wanted to circle back around to alchemy being a science but trying to out-stubborn Mrs. Weasley seemed like more work than he wanted to do. He deflated, waved a hand dismissively, said, "Don't vorry about it Frau Veasley, Al and I can share a bed vor one night."

"Oh," Potter said. "Thank you." He looked heart-breakingly sincere about it.

"Is vine," Ed said. "Just move in vis zee Boy Ginger tomorrow, yes?" Alphonse hit him squarely on the right arm. Ed winced.

"His name is Ron," Al said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Be carevul vis zee arm!" Ed said, glaring. But Mrs. Weasley was also glaring, and so  made no protest on the subject of Boy Ginger's name.

"Oh, sorry bruder," Al said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

But maybe Mrs. Weasley wasn’t glaring because of Ed’s stubborn misnaming of her son, because she shook her head and said, "Alphonse didn’t hit you that hard, Edward. I’d better take a look at that arm." She rolled up the sleeves of her maroon robe, standing tall enough to make Ed feel sma- normal.

"Vas? Zere's nozing vrong vis it!" Ed said, clutching at his shoulder. One malnourished boy could be explained away, but a singularly shriveled arm on an otherwise healthy body? No way, he wasn’t going to do it.

"Tomorrow, Mr. Elric," Mrs. Weasley said. "I don't care what you say, I need to see it."

Ed shifted his weight, half ready for a fight. "Nein."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter," she said. "If you want to continue living here, you'll let me take a look at it."

"Sehr gut!" Ed said. "Zat would be fantastic! I don’t vant to live here, you gottdamn vizards kidnapped me and I had to just go vis it!"

"Wizards what?" Potter said with a yelp. "Why would the Order kidnap him?"

"Remus thought Edward might be a threat," Mrs. Weasley said. "Why, when he's clearly just a boy, I don't know. But it turned out that Alphonse was a wizard, so it was all for the best."

Ed felt Alphonse's hand land on his good shoulder and leaned into the warmth, fuming. He decided right then and there that Mrs. Weasley would never be privy to his actual age. Ever.

"How did you even come across them?" Harry said. "It's just so random."

"I teach chemistry in a high school," Ed said. "Granger takes summer school courses zere und I got too curious vor my own good."

"Oh," Harry said. "Don't know why she bothers."

The fuck? Ed was pretty sure he’d heard somewhere that Potter had been raised by non-wizards. Pretty sure. If anyone could get where Granger was coming from, it should be him. Admittedly, Ed was never one for typical school, but if Potter didn’t see the value in learning as much as possible, Ed was sure the wizards that looked at him as a savior would be sorely disappointed. He was kind of disappointed, and his hopes hadn’t been built up over a lifetime.

Ed was about to say something about this when he yawned, abruptly remembered the time. It was too late for this shit, and Ed decided that for once in his life he would take the path of least resistance. He shrugged, said, "I'm going to bed. Is almost three in zee morning. Alphonse?"

Al tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn before nodding. "Mr. Harry?"

"Yeah. Sleep sounds good," he said, looking down at his lap. "Thanks." With that the boy stood from the table and politely pushed in the wooden chair. “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, come here, dear,” she said, opening her arms for a hug that Harry seemed both desperate for and skittish about.

Ed softened when Potter melted into Mrs. Weasley’s arms. He could appreciate a boy who respected mother figures, Ed decided. Mothers were important. Ed smiled and left them to it. His bed was calling.

When sleep came finally came, it was not Nina that Ed saw; equations swirled in his mind, curricula organized itself. And a class of eager students dressed in robes, deprived of the glories of alchemy, chalked transmutation circles onto the stone floor of a wide classroom.

When Harry was awoken by his friends very late the next morning, he found that the strange brothers had already vacated the other bed.

"Where'd they go?" he asked, when the grog was blinked away, the pleasantries taken care of, and the topic of Sirius painfully danced around.

"Out to the orchards," Hermione said, perched on the edge of the bed. "For their morning spar."

"Spar?" Harry said. Because that was mad, one boy still showed the signs of recent emaciation (and boy did Harry know the signs of emaciation) and the other, though solidly built, was even shorter than Harry.

"I don't know what their background is," she said. "But the two of them are both quite formidable. Or were. Or something. The point is, they heard about Voldemort and they said they had to, 'Get back in shape. Oh, if our teacher saw us this flabby!'"

"Flabby?" Harry said. "But the taller one is a walking skeleton!"

Ron looked especially concerned about that. "And he's got more meat on 'im now than he did! Dunno what to tell you, mate," he said. "But they're incredible."

"Are you talking about Ed and Al?" said Ginny, appearing in the doorway wearing a scowl the size of the moon.

"Did you ask them again?" Hermione said.

"Yeah," Ginny said. "And they said no. Again."

"I don't think they'll change their minds, Gin," Ron said with a shake of his head. "You've asked 'em about fifty times already."

"Oh. They'll change their minds alright," she said. "They'd better." Ginny wasn't looking at Ron as she spoke, Harry realized. She was looking at Harry with a hardened seriousness. He blinked, and Ginny had refocused her attention on her brother. Maybe he was just seeing things.

Everyone's mind was permanently drawn away from the Elric brothers when Fleur walked in with Harry's breakfast. She was followed by a cross Mrs. Weasley, and the information that she was engaged to Bill. The two of them disappeared as suddenly as they appeared, taking a furious Ginny along with them.

Harry had a precious few more moments with his friends before the quiet camaraderie of the morning disappeared entirely. Harry made the mistake of mentioning the pending arrival of the OWLs and Hermione left the room too, grabbing a flustered Ron by the wrist and taking him with her.

It took Harry some time to pull himself from his bed. When he managed to steady himself, he peered out the window. Harry hadn't been inside of Fred and George's room before, and now he was awake enough to be curious. Outside of this window lay the expanse of the Weasley property. And sure enough, up the hill between the rows of fruit trees, two blond boys moved with a speed and ferocity Harry didn't see often.

Maybe he was wrong. Both short and skinny had different strengths and weaknesses - and they knew enough about each other to be very evenly matched. Even from here Harry knew that neither was pulling their punches. Which was odd. He'd seen last night how protective Ed was of Al, though why Ed considered Professor Dumbledore to be a threat from which Al needed protection, Harry wasn't sure.

He shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head. He took one last look when his glasses were readjusted. Harry may not have known much about the muggle equivalent of duelling, but Voldemort had taught him the ins and outs of a fight. And these two were good.

The fight finished with Ed on the ground; it hadn't taken Al long to regain his usual place as victor. "Sorry, brother," Al said with a sheepish smile and an extended hand.

Ed rolled onto his back and smiled. "You always win, Al," he said and took his brother's proffered hand. "I'm glad you're back to that strength."

His legs were wobbly when he stood, but all that engendered in Ed was pride and relief. Relief that his brother was better, pride that he himself could work his body to its limits and enjoy it again.

His right arm was still a buzzing ache, and he knew he'd have to face the music of Mrs. Weasley eventually, but he and Al snuck out while Mrs. Weasley herself was groggily sipping tea at the table. She was tired enough that she even forgot to harass them about breakfast. Not that Ed blamed the Matron of the Red Hair for that. It was more than usually difficult to drag himself out of his bed that morning, and a stack of unmarked lab reports still sat on the Red Twins's work bench.

Ed shook the thoughts of marking from his head, smiled at Al, said, "Let's go in and get some food, Al. Your potions are probably ready."

"Probably. We've been out here a long time." Al said, clasping his hands together. "What're you gonna do with Mrs. Weasley? I don't think you'll get out of showing her your arm."

Ed shrugged. Mrs. Weasley had a good head on her shoulders, he knew. "I wasn't all that good at keeping it a secret back home, either."

"True," Al said. But by his shifty eyes Ed knew that his brother wasn't reassured.

Ed sighed. "I don't see a way to get out of it, Al. And what's she gonna do with the information? What can she do? Nothing. The consequences of the taboo aren't well known here. Alchemy isn't well known here."

Ed kept his gaze steady, saw the exact moment that Al grudgingly accepted his logic. "Let's go," he said, extending his left arm for Al to lean on. Al nodded, and so the two boys went inside to face the music.

Very loud music it turned out to be. Mrs. Weasley, flanked on either side by Girl Ginger and the Fiance, had her arms crossed, wand dangling from the fingertips of her right hand. And she was scowling at them with the very wrath of God. Ginny and Fleur, by contrast, looked cowed. "Out!" she told the two girls. "I need to talk to Edward alone."

Both Ginny and Fleur bounded from the room like deer with wolves on their tails. With them gone, Mrs. Weasley looked between Ed and Al. She settled on Ed. "Are you comfortable with Al here?"

Ed nodded. "I haff no secrets from him."

The Matron of the Red Hair's glare was no longer focused solely on Ed. "Which means you knew about his arm trouble. I expected more common sense from you, Alphonse."

Al flashed an awkward smile, rubbed a hand at the base of his skull. "I haff been tight lipped about brozer's issues vor a long time," he said, voice cracking high. It had been months since Al’s body had been restored, but Ed still got a kick out of seeing his typical sheepish expression back on a human face. It was incredible how emotive Al had managed to make his armor.

But Mrs. Weasley, evidently not as charmed by Al as Ed, was not distracted. Her eyes narrowed. Ed sighed, sat down, slipped off his gloves. First from his left hand, then his right. Ed was evening out, but the difference was still pretty obvious. The Matron of the Red Hair was immediately attentive.

Ed went to roll up his sleeve, stopped himself, and went to his shirt buttons. "Zee issue begins all zee vay at my shoulder," he said. "Iv you vant to understand, you vill haff to see it all." His voice was not shaking, but English was lead on his tongue. Al seemed to sense his anxiousness, for suddenly he stood at Ed's good left shoulder.

Mrs. Weasley was nodding. "I want to see it," she said. "I want to help. No one should be in as much physical pain as you seem to be. Let alone someone just barely out of childhood."

Ed's fingers halted at the buttons. "You vill haff to leave zee 'child' shit behind," he said. "I vas ten vhen I lost zis arm und I lost zee last ov my childhood vis it, and zere hadn’t been much left of it to start vis."

Al nodded his support, and Ed took that to heart. But Mrs. Weasley had a harrowed look Ed had not before seen on her face. "Lost the arm?" she asked, somewhere between skeptical and horrified.

Shit. Ed looked away. He'd not meant to let that slip. "Ja. You heard me."

Her lips pursed together, skepticism clearly winning, but Ed ignored it and resumed with his shirt buttons. When the sweat-damp button down was shed, Ed found he could not look up from where it had fallen on the floor. He was just glad for his usual tank top underneath the shirt - the arm was enough to try and explain away without throwing his myriad torso scars into the mix.

A quiet gasp had come from Mrs. Weasley's direction, and her fingers prodded at the automail scarring. The port was mostly gone, but the evidence of the surgery was there to stay. Bits of metal were still occasionally surfacing and working their way out of Ed’s skin. Mrs. Weasley had gone to one such location. It hadn't poked its way through flesh yet, but the site was inflamed and swollen.

"Iv you vere to cut into zat spot," Ed said - his voice was shaking now, and still he refused to look at her, "you vould vind a piece ov metal zere. It vill work its vay out on its own."

"Metal?" Mrs. Weasley asked, "By Merlin, why metal?"

Ed shook his head. "Iz long story."

Her eyes went steely and the tremble in her voice vanished. "If I'm to help you at all, I'll need to know it."

"Nein." There were places Ed would go, and there were places he wouldn’t. "Iz none ov your business, und zee whole sing is healing better zan I had hoped."

Mrs. Weasley's mulishness was not to be flouted. "It could heal better," she said. "You may be a muggle, young man, but your brother is a wizard and there is no reason you shouldn't reap the benefits."

"To train zee mind one must virst train zee body. Zis goes part and parcel viz zat training," Ed said. "I haff alvays - alvays - brought my body back on my own. Zere is no reason to change zat because ov zis hocus pocus!"

For several seconds, the three of them just stood there. Each shook with the forces of their own determination. Ed was not going to back down - but Mrs. Weasley seemed prepared to out-stubborn him.

"Winry made him a prosthetic!" Al said, breaking the silence and the stalemate.

"Alphonse!" Ed made to stop him - in Amestris, Al would never have dared. But Al would not be stopped.

"An Alchemist needs two hands to do zier vork, so when Ed lost his arm, Winry and Granny took all zee medical science zey knew and zey made him a new one." With the last of Al's sentence went Ed's energy. He pulled out a chair and fell into it in one motion.

"What?" Mrs. Weasley said. "Made him an arm?"

"You heard Al," Ed said. "You heard him. It vorked fery vell vor a long time."

"How did you get it back?" Mrs. Weasley too had fallen into a chair, and her words came out in a whisper.

Ed deliberately closed his mouth and shot Al a warning glance when he opened his own mouth. We've told her too much already, little brother. Please don't tell her. Please. But he needn't have worried.

"It vas a burst ov accidental magic," Al said in the boldest lie Ed had ever heard him say.

"You saved your brother," The Matron of the Red Hair said with a teary smile.

Ed could not help but be impressed; Al nodded, looked somberly off into the middle distance, said, "Vee didn't know vat had happened - brozer's real arm vas back, too thin vor life und sctill expelling zee metal of zee prosthetic, but it vas back. My own body, vich vas severely wounded in zee same accident, vas also restored. Vee couldn't explain it to our friends. Winry? Granny? Zey vould haff hit us viz wrenches vor dabbling in zee vorbidden! So vee came to London, hoping to hide avay from all zat vee knew."

"You poor things," Mrs. Weasley said, folding her hands around her wand.

She bought it! Ed could have sung. She bought it she bought it she bought it!

"Well," she continued, "We will start out small. I can't put you on Alphonse's potion regimen because we don't want quick growth to cement in the metal bits, but I can get out the pieces that are surfacing."

Ed jerked up. He should have known that showing her meant that she would do something about it, but years of port maintenance had made him somewhat over-sensitive to people handling his right shoulder.

"Vas? I don't sink is necessary, Frau Veasley," he said. "Zee arm is healing quite vell on its own, und it vill continue to do so, I believe. No hocus pocus needed!"

But Al was not about to let that slide. In angry, fast paced Amestrian, he muttered, "Just let her do it, brother. You're not helping anyone by sitting around weakened and in pain! What would Winry say?"

Ed had never yet won a fight he had with Al, and he didn't win this one.

The Matron of the Red Hair stood menacingly over him, potion bottles tucked in her apron pocket, bucket of hot water in her left hand, wand in her right, and two fluffy towels hanging off her elbow.

"One potion is for the pain," she said, setting down the bucket. "The other will be applied topically and will help close up any incisions I have to make."

"Vine," Ed said, gritting his teeth. "Just get it over zis."

And she did. With rather more precision than Ed expected, Mrs. Weasley cut into the two swollen abscesses on his shoulder. She pulled three pieces of plating and a wire from them, muttering about barbaric muggles all the while.

In Amestrian, Ed said to Al, "Let’s make sure she never finds out about the leg, hey?"

"Agreed."

Chapter Text

"Why can't we go with them to Diagon Alley, mum?" the Girl Ginger said, the fire in her eyes tempered with petulance. Ed shook his head. He knew from his own attempts at out-stubborning the Matron of the Red Hair that she wasn't going to back down from this decision.

"Tonks can't watch all of you, Ginevra!"

"I'm fifteen! I don't need watching!"

Right. Ed didn’t need to hear the rest of this conversation. He exchanged pointed glances with Alphonse, who was in the middle of a large helping of eggs, and said in Amestrian, "What's so special about this Diagon Alley place?"

Al shrugged, swallowed. "From what I've read, it's a big trade center here. Every wizard in Great Britain goes there from time to time."

What? "That can't be right. This country isn't that small. There have to be other marketplaces."

Al rubbed the base of his skull, swallowing down another mouth of eggs. "There are," he said. "But the largest is Diagon Alley. I’m also getting the sense that Wizarding Britain has a considerably smaller population than regular Britain. And beyond just the relatively small population, I guess distance isn't a factor when you can apparate or travel by fireplace or broom."

Wizarding transportation. Ed had not gotten his mind around the fact that wizards could literally teleport. He took a bite of his own eggs and looked back up at the fearsome redheaded spat.

Girl Ginger was literally the exact same age as Alphonse, Ed realized. He looked at the Matron of the Red Hair, trying to help the cause. But she crossed her arms, said, "We haven’t received booklists yet, and I won't have my children out of the wards any more times than necessary!”

"But-!"

"No."

The Girl Ginger flopped into the chair next to Alphonse with her arms crossed and her hair in her face. She huffed, and suddenly an image of himself superimposed itself over her, and Mrs. Weasley morphed into the picture of Colonel Bastard. Ed snorted.

"You think this is funny, do you?" Mrs. Weasley snarled, glaring at him. "You're going to get yourself killed with that attitude."

"Eventually," Ed said. "Kind ov amazing zat I'm not dead yet."

"Bruder,” said Alphonse, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking exasperated, apologetic, and fond all at once.

Ed didn’t heed the warning. "But zere are reasons zat I'm still alive," he said. "I am serious vhen I need to be."

"Oh really?" Matron of the Red Hair said, arms crossed and foot tapping, a deliberate performance of disbelief. Ed gave it right back to her - hadn't he nearly attacked her when they met?

"He has good instincts," Al said. "I vould not be here visout zem."

Mrs. Weasley had a mulish gleam in her eye that spoke to both determination and a deep-seated fear. She took a bite of her own plate of eggs, chewed, swallowed. "I hope that those instincts can help keep the children of Hogwarts alive, even if you're almost a child yourself."

Ed nodded. "I vill do my best." Experience had taught him that he couldn't save everyone, but he was still damn well willing to try.

"Does this mean you're willing to count Ed as able to watch me in Diagon Alley?" Ginny said, having followed the conversation closely, brown eyes wide and curious.

“Absolutely not,” said Mrs. Weasley.

Ed shrugged apologetically. He had to give it to the Matron of the Red Hair: "I do not know zee terrain, so now is not zee best time for me to act as a bodyguard. If Frau Veasley is unwilling to let you go alone vis Tonks? My skills von't make zee situation better enough to make a difference."

Ginny was just opening her mouth to fire out a retort when there was a sound knocking on the door.

"Who is it?" Mrs. Weasley called.

"It's me!" Tonks said.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to have learned something since Harry's arrival, for she slid on the chain lock before opening the door only the crack that the chain would allow. She peered out, wiping her free hand nervously on her apron. "Where did we first meet?"

"That Ministry staff party Arthur brought you to three years ago," Tonks said.

"And why were you there?"

"I was in Auror training at the time."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, undid the chain, and threw open the door. "Come in, come in! Eggs are still hot on the stove if you'd like some."

"That'd be lovely," Tonks said, chin length grey hair curling up and turning rosy at the ends in pleasure. Ed shuddered. That was still an unpleasant surprise, seeing Envy's power duplicated here.

"Tonks!" Ginny said, jumping from her seat. "You can manage me tagging along to Diagon Alley, can't you?"

"Wotcher, Ginny," she said, looking both amused and puzzled. "I don't see why not."

"No," Mrs. Weasley said, heading off the budding triumphant look on Ginny's face. "No, no, no."

"Well," Tonks said. She seemed about to argue in Ginny's favor with the Matron of the Red Hair, but caught Mrs. Weasley's gimlet eye. Ed suppressed a laugh when Tonks visibly gulped, said, "I supposed that's the word, Ginny. Sorry."

"Fine," Ginny said, voice high and hard. With a swish of red hair and a slamming door, she was gone.

Ed laughed, and laughed harder when Al visibly slid down in his chair to escape the tension in the room. "Reminds me of myself at zat age," Ed said by way of explanation. He ignored Al's answering cold stare that said You were her age last year, brother. So what if he was?

Tonks laughed, but the Matron of the Red Hair huffed, putting a dish of eggs before an open chair. "Of course. She causes me enough worry that I just about believe it."

Ed stuck his nose into the air. "Anyone who vorried about me knew vat zey vere getting into."

"Vell," Al said, spoon halfway to his mouth. "I couldn't get fair varning from zee vomb."

Tonks, comfortably sitting in the chair on Ed's other side, snickered behind her hand. Ed glowered. "Vas?"

"Nothing," Tonks said. She popped a bit of bacon in her mouth, and Ed was sure it was solely for the excuse not to explain herself. The four of them ate in a silence broken by vigorous chewing all around - Mrs. Weasley was an excellent cook, and Ed had to admit, whatever stupid hocus pocus she did to keep the eggs hot was entirely welcome.

When the dishes were cleared and Al had taken the last of his morning potions, Tonks made an effort to chase away the last of the mirthful pink that had crept into her grey hair. "Blast," she said, when she could not get rid of a last rosy sheen. "I’m still not back to normal."

Mrs. Weasley put a comforting hand on her shoulder and pulled a hand mirror from the air with a simple twist of her stick. Ed twitched. Even knowing that Alphonse, at least, couldn't possibly be using one in his own small attempts, Ed couldn't help but look for a small red stone fueling the trick. He watched with measured suspicion when the mirror was handed to Tonks and she screwed up her face with effort.

It took her five minutes to get back the soft salt-and-pepper she was going for, bring crow’s feet to her eyes, lines about her mouth, and put loose skin on her arms. Tonks handed the hand mirror back to the Matron of the Red Hair, and with another bit of stick-work, the mirror was gone.

Ed shuddered. Energy and matter cannot be created nor destroyed. The words wound through his head in a loop, a soothing mantra for his scientific soul. Nothing can be gained without giving up something of equivalent value in exchange. Didn't Ed know that to be true? Weren't those the words he'd lived by since he’d first picked up one of the alchemy textbooks in the attic?

So intently was he staring at the air from which the hand mirror disappeared, he didn't notice Alphonse and Tonks stand until they were waiting by the fireplace.

"Bruder?" Al said. "Are you zere? Vake up."

Ed blinked, and Tonks gave him a grimace-smile. "Wotcher, Ed. Glad to see you back among us," she said. "You got everything? Wallet?"

Ed nodded, stood from his chair in a clean motion, hands pressed to the scrubbed wooden table.

"Zank you for breakvast, Frau Veasely."

"You're welcome, Edward," she said. "Be safe."

Ed managed a small smile in the Matron of the Red Hair's direction. "I alvays try."

She nodded, stood on her toes to pull a sack from the mantle place. Oh no. Ed had become accustomed to seeing the Patron of the Red Hair leave by that fireplace every morning. "Thanks, Molly," Tonks said, reaching her hand into the sack. "Have either of you done this?"

"No," said Alphonse, but Ed could see excitement glimmering behind the first layer of apprehension on his brother's face.

"No," Ed said. "And I don't vant to try. I didn't sink zat your 'muggles' could vork any ov zis hocus-pocus."

"It's the powder that's enchanted for this one, Ed," Tonks said. "Won't make a difference, because it's someone else who worked the initial magic. Besides, I’ll have you come through with me."

Ed glowered. "And vhy can't vee take a train?"

"A train?" Tonks said, eyebrows beginning a turn to an amused lilac. "That would take way too long! Why would we bother?"

"It's a better vay to travel zan zis shit," he grumbled, warily eyeing the fireplace. Tonks laughed quietly, linked her arm through his, and focused her eyebrows back to grey.

"Watch closely, Alphonse!" she said, tossed the powder into the flames. "Diagon Alley!"

Ed was bodily pulled passed the hearth. Why on Earth is this fire green? He wondered momentarily at the chemical composition of the powder - the transport he had no explanation for, but perhaps the colorful side effects could be explained - but as he and Tonks began to move, a lurching nausea began at his navel and overtook his focus.

The eggs that the Matron of the Red Hair had so kindly made without milk for him were working their way back up his throat. Stay down stay down stay down! And as suddenly as it all began, it was over.

He was not-so-gently deposited on a different hearth in a different building. Tonks stuck her landing, but Ed himself was not so lucky. How could anyone get used to this? He was desperately fighting to keep his breakfast down, and there was Tonks, looking just mildly green around the gills.

Ed rolled his eyes at himself, gulped firmly, and began to stand and wham! He was back on the ground, a heavy weight on his back. That weight spoke.

"Vhy vas zat so hard?" Alphonse had arrived, and did not seem to realize that he was on top of him.

"Get off!" Ed said in Amestrian.

"Oh! Brother! I'm so sorry!" Al said, all but rolling off of Ed's back. Ed grasped Al's hands, and they pulled each other up.

"Is all hocus-pocus travel zis stupid?" Ed said to Tonks. She laughed, stopped herself. Tugging at her chin length salt-and-pepper.

"Just about," she said, limiting her mirth to a wry smile. "I would've warned you, but I wasn't about to deal with you in a full-on fit."

"I do not haff fits," Ed said, sticking his nose in the air. His anger was righteous. Always. Definitely.

"Ov course you don't, bruder," Alphonse said, Ed flinched when Al put a hand on his right shoulder. Mrs. Weasley had brought about real improvements he grudgingly knew, but it was still more sensitive than his left.

"Anyvay. Zis doesn't look like a shopping center," Ed said. Now that he was present enough to be aware of his surroundings, he could plainly see that he was in some sort of pub.

"You think there are fireplaces outdoors in an open market?" Tonks said, raising a single eyebrow.

"I don't know vat you people do," Ed said.

Al shrugged. "Actually, I too vould like to know vhy vee are in a bar."

"Oh come on!" Tonks said. "Don't all those muggle fantasy books start in a seedy looking bar?"

Ed blinked. He wasn’t a big reader of fantasy, but… Come to think of it, they'd first woken up in this world slumped against the red-brick side of a bar in the disreputable part of Berlin! "I guess so," he said. "So. Vere do vee go vrom here?"

"This way!" Tonks said, waving both Ed and Al through. They pushed through the back door of the bar only to find another red-brick wall.

"Vat zee hell is zis?"

"Shush," Tonks said. "The entrance." She pulled her hocus-pocus stick from her grey robe and tapped the bricks on the wall in a sequence Ed was careful to memorize. He wasn't sure it would work if he did it, but maybe it was the original pocus that counted, like the powder.

He had steeled himself against further amazement and embarrassment. But he couldn't help himself. His jaw dropped to the floor when the wall folded outward from the middle, delicately molding itself into an archway.

What?

Beyond that arch was the most colorful place Ed had ever seen. The only place that even came close was Winry's Rush Valley.

"Amazing!" Al said from beside him. "No vonder Miss Ginny vanted to come so badly!"

"And this is Diagon Alley at the glummest I've seen it," she said, heaving a deep sigh. She looked around the bustling town center with a critical gaze.

"Glum is not zee vord I'd use." Ed put a hand to his pocket, clutched at his watch. "It is hard to believe zat zis place could be any more vibrant." But he did notice the way people furtively tucked into themselves when brushing past each other. And as Ed looked more closely, several of the open-air stalls were selling protective amulets.

"Well. It usually is," Tonks said, sighing again and beginning to walk down the busy street. If Ed was not mistaken, her salt-and-pepper turned just a tad darker - the underbelly of a storm cloud. "Come on. We've got a few places to hit up, and very little time to do it. Molly made me promise I'd say hi to her boys, so."

Her boys? "More ov zem?" Ed was not sure he could handle more children from the Band of the Red Hair.

Tonks did not laugh. "Yes," she said. "The twins own a shop in this market. I think you'll like it."

"She has children everyvere," Ed said.

"They're a talented bunch," Tonks said. "They've mostly managed to do well for themselves."

Mostly? Ed opened his mouth to ask what she meant by mostly but was stopped by a quiet shake Alphonse's head. "Vas?" Ed said. Al's shake grew more vigorous and finally he just spoke himself, thoroughly stopping Ed’s line of inquiry.

"Vhere are vee going first, Miss Tonks?"

"Just Tonks, if you please," Tonks said. "And the bank. We need to exchange over Ed's money."

"Exchange? You people haff your own currency?"

"It came up in zee books I vas reading," Al said. "Vat vere zey called again?"

"Galleons," Tonks said, voice curt.

"Like zee Spanish ships?" Ed wasn't about to cater to her suddenly foul mood - he was going to ask his questions, even with Alphonse's elbow in his side.

"I guess," Tonks said. "Never really thought about it too hard."

Alphonse cut Ed off from saying the disparaging comment he wanted to. Al said, "Vat are zee ozer coins?"

"Knuts and sickles." Tonks pulled an example of each coin from her pocket. "Twenty-nine knuts to the sickle, seventeen sickles to the galleon."

Ed took the coins from her; turned them over in his fingers. The chemical composition came to him like all things alchemical did, and he was surprised to find that the level of gold in the galleons was not reflective of their weight. "Do zey haff some sort ov hocus pocus to make zem lighter?"

Tonks just shrugged. "Probably."

"Are you okay, Miss Tonks?" Alphonse said, and Ed decided that Al was right to do so. There was clearly something wrong with her.

She shrugged again. "As good as I've been lately," Tonks said. "Sorry if it's obvious."

"Vell," Ed said. "Shit happens. I’m sorry.”

"Take all zee time you need," Al said - Ed felt a swell of brotherly pride in his chest at that, and Tonks gave a somewhat watery smile.

"Come on, the shops won't wait all day," Tonks said, took a moment to force a cheerful smile on her face. She then led them promptly down the bustling market street, pointing out her favorite storefronts as she went.

Diagon Alley passed in a blur of fantastical colors and dubious advertisements, all narrated by Tonks's faux cheer. "And this," she said, sweeping her arms out, "is Gringotts!"

Ed blinked at the poem etched into the stone wall. Enter stranger but take heed... "Zese bankers ov yours don't play around, do zey?"

"They don't," Tonks said. "Wizards take advantage of them, if they don't make themselves crystal clear."

"Zee bankers aren't vizards, zen?"

"No," Tonks said. "Of course not. They're goblins, what else?"

"Goblins?" Al said. "Zey came up a few times in zee books."

"Vat are zey?"

"Might be easier just to show you," Tonks said, and pushed open the great oak doors of the bank. When the front desk came fully into view, Ed's heart dropped to his stomach.

He had not fought for the freedom of Amestris just to face those self-same problems here. He had not.

"Vat monster did zis to zem?" Ed said, demanding.

"No, brother,” said Al, switching into urgent Amestrian. “They’re not a chimera. This is just how they are, like the Veela."

"I'm not following," Tonks said. "They're goblins, Ed."

"It's like zee creatures in zee books I vas telling you about," Al said, speaking in English again. Vaguely, Ed remembered wondering what fantasy novel had vomited all over this universe, but in the place of the goblins, he had a very hard time not seeing Nina. Not seeing the other chimeras that had subsequently suffered.

"I am supposed to believe, zen," Ed began. "Zat zis is simply zeir natural biology?"

"What else would it be?" Tonks said. "Anyway, you exchange your money over at the booth on the right."

Ed gulped, nodded, and counted out what money he'd been hoarding from the high school. That was the benefit, he supposed, of being kidnapped by wizards. Room and board was provided, and he could pay for Al’s school things. He approached the desk.

"How may I help you?" The goblin was almost as malformed as Nina, and Ed could not help but here an echo of her voice.

"I vould like to transfer my money into zee vizard currency."

"What currency do you have now?" The goblin pushed his spectacles up his long pointy nose; he did not seem to be in pain.

"Pounds," Ed said, handing over the pile of bills. The goblin counted out the bills with nimble fingers - there was no slow lumber of agony.

"I will be back," the goblin said, disappearing behind a swinging door. He walked smoothly and easily, came back not three minutes later with a hefty looking sack. "Do you have a rough idea of the way it works?"

"One vitch explained it to me," Ed said, gesturing at Tonks. "But a clearer explanation vould be good."

"Wizards," the goblin said, voice dripping with derision. "They don't understand money. You want to know something? You come to us, you understand. No need to associate with them more than you have to."

"You can tell zat I am not one?" Ed asked, hair antenna unfurling a full inch in bemusement.

"You don't seem stupid," the goblin said. "It would be an insult, to mistake you for what you aren't."

"Vat is your name?" Ed asked, laughing. "I like you."

The goblin smiled, showing teeth that sat naturally in his mouth. "Nyorok," he said. "And you are?"

" Edward Elric," Ed said, thrusting out his right hand. "Call me Ed. It’s nice to meet you, Nyorok. "

Nyorok nodded, handed over the sack of hocus-pocus-money. With the clipped tones of efficiency, Nyorok explained the system the currency followed, and the exchange rate - going over how it compared to both pounds and euros, something Ed appreciated immensely.

Nyorok explained all those inconsistencies that Tonks had never wondered about - how goblin hocus-pocus (different, apparently, than the wizard kind) enabled the lighter weight of solid gold. How the coins would never lose their shine or chip or wear away. How their replication was close to impossible for a wizard, and how the goblin banks prevented inflation.

Tonks and Alphonse stood awkwardly in the backdrop, but fuck 'em, Ed decided. For the first time since he'd found himself mixed up in this hocus pocus nonsense, someone was giving him unfiltered answers to his questions.

He left the bank with many of his fears assuaged - wizards may all be crazy, but there were others mixed up in their sphere of influence. And those others hadn't lost their minds yet.

"Vat next?" Alphonse was the first to ask.

"The booklists haven't arrived, and the Weasley's get good deals because they buy in bulk. So I would wait on their trip for everything except the wand," Tonks said. "Ollivander's is back by the Leaky Cauldron, so if you two can come back around this way..."

On the walk back up, Tonks ran a commentary on the people they passed in the street. "Rogers buys every stupid fake amulet on the market ... Johanson sells every dodgy amulet on the market. Lots of people buying those lately. Keeps us aurors busier than it should ... oh and there's Mrs. Figg. She breeds cats. She's probably selling dodgy kneazle kittens as we speak."

"Kittens?" Al said, hope brightening his voice.

"Oh no," Ed said.

"You know," Tonks said. "Kittens. Like baby cats. Well. Baby kneazle-cats in this case."

"I know vat a kitten is," Alphonse said, craning his neck for a better view.

"No," Ed said in Amestrian. "No cats, Al. If hopping around our country was too hectic to own a cat, hopping between universes makes it an even more definite no!"

The tips of Tonks's grey eyebrows went a tickled pink. "Mrs. Figg's cats are very reasonably priced."

"Vee may yet go home to Germany!" Ed said. "It vouldn't be fair to zee cat!"

Tonks shrugged. "S'pose your brother's right on that one, Al."

Al's brows scrunched together. "He alvays is." Ed stuck his nose into the air. As much as he wanted Alphonse to have his dream pet, it would have to wait until they were home and Al had a clearer idea of where he might want to settle down.

Tonks maneuvered so that she was between them; Ed suppressed a flinch when her hand landed on his delicate right shoulder. A new abscess was rising to the surface of his skin. It was sore, but not quite ready to be excavated by the Matron of the Red Hair.

"Ollivander's is just this way," she said, pushing both Ed and Al forward at a brisk march. He glowered at her over his shoulder, but her grip was firm. And besides, he wanted to get away from the kittens - a physical manifestation of all the things Ed had been completely unable to provide for Al - as quickly as possible.

"Zat is zee stick maker, yes?" Ed said. Tonks hummed her agreement, but said no more. For just as he asked the question, they pulled up before a store so labeled. And clear even from the window, the magic sticks were their sole ware.

"How about you two go in together?" Tonks said. "Tradition to go it alone, it is. But I don't see Ed having another opportunity to witness this. And Mr. Ollivander is an experience, to say the least. Have fun."

Al needed no prompting to rush the door and Tonks all but shoved Ed through the door after him. A hush settled over Ed when the door closed. The atmosphere rivaled the old dusty libraries of Amestris but had none of their calm. Ed didn't quite know what to make of it.

The feel of the room made it clear; this world held the same reverence for magic that Ed's held for alchemy.

"Is anyone even here?" Alphonse said quietly in Amestrian.

"There must be," Ed said in the same. "The sign was flipped to open."

"True," Al said, then switched to English. "Hello?"

Ed had noticed that Al's accent was changing to match the locals. That was another thing Ed didn't know what to do with. His accent was staying stubbornly in place, thank you very damn much. In this nightmare universe, Ed wanted to mark himself linguistically apart.

There was an abrupt rattling sound and Ed found himself sliding into a stance, hands pressed together. At his side, Ed felt Al move into place, ears pricked.

"Oh my," said the reedy voice of an old man. With him had appeared the source of the noise; the Old Man had come into view on a sliding ladder. His perch gave the old man the advantage of higher ground, but the frailness of his limbs had Ed sliding back into place.

"Sorry," Ed said, feet now together but knees still ready to spring. He eyed the floor, feeling out its chemical composition and envisioning the darts he totally wasn't about to pull from the floor. He'd not been planning to do so anyway.

Really.

It wasn't part of any of Ed's plans, anyway. The old man gave Ed and Al a small smile that made Ed's insides churn. Old Man, in a quivering and gentle voice, said, "I don't suppose you're here for a wand?"

"Zat is vhy I'm here," Al said from next to Ed - Al's own smile seemed tentative, but it was there.

"While I'm glad to help any young wizard switch from Gregorovitch to Ollivander, I must ask. Whatever happened to your first one?"

"Gregoro-vat?" Ed asked, unable to quite contain himself.

"Zis is my first vand, actually," Alphonse said apologetically, kicking Ed in the shin. "I'm a little late to zee game, Mr. Ollivander."

"Well, I'm glad to see continental wizards buying from the very best, as opposed to just supporting your own countrymen."

Well then. Ed wasn't about to get into a nationalist pissing match over a country he only pretended to call home. Let alone for a culture that had no place for him.

"Not zis Grego-person's vault vee happened to relocate to zis country."

"Oh," Ollivander said, pushing his glasses up his knobbled nose and perhaps looking a little disappointed. "Well, I'm always happy to provide one's first wand."

Ed had to try very hard not to scoff. Provide my ass, he thought. With the price of these damn sticks, it was more along the lines of highway robbery. Old Mustache drew his own stick from his sleeve, and with a flick, tape measures began to invade Al's personal space.

Perhaps par for the course, Ed felt a protectiveness rear its head. One step, two steps, and he was reaching for the measuring tape that had pulled itself the distance of Alphonse's nose. But even as he extended his arm to pull off those tapes, Old Mustache Man appeared before him with a sound like a gunshot.

He pulled his punch just in time.

Ollivander was surprisingly unruffled. "I need the information," he said. "It often ends up having a great deal to do with wand length and specialty."

"Vhy is your vizard hocus pocus shit alvays so damn startling?" He could feel himself losing his grip on his English - the day had been to a moment overwhelming and Ed just wanted to be sitting in his dear Amestrian libraries.

"Magic can be difficult for people like you to accept," Ollivander said. A muscle in Ed's neck clenched.

"Vat, Muggles?" Ed said, spitting the word.

"Well," Ollivander's mustache trembled. "For some muggles, yes. But I meant scientists. Academics."

Ed felt the fight leave him in a great whoosh. Deflated, he looked over at Al who was so mesmerized by the floating measuring tapes that he'd not even spared the exchange a glance. "Oh."

"Why don't you wait outside," Old Mustache said. And for once in his life, Ed didn't want to argue. Especially not with these crazy wizard people.

"Vine," he said, paused. "If Bruder is even remotely harmed by any of zis, zere vill be hell to pay."

"I know, son." Ollivander said. "I would expect no less."

Ed nodded. "So long as we are agreed."

Ed flinched when Mustache put a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him away from Alphonse and towards the door. "It may take a while. There may be explosions. Please don't be alarmed."

"Explosions?" Ed said. "Vas?" But Ollivander was strong for such an old man, and Ed found himself shoved out of the door to spend the longest hour and a half of his life.

After an hour of pacing, Ed became aware of a heavily disguised Tonks hiding in the background. He was careful not to look too closely. If she was determined to lurk, Ed would let her. But he wouldn't give her anything suspicious to work with, damnit.

He continued pacing, even when the movement began to pull uncomfortably at his automail port and when his metal leg began to weigh heavily on his left hip. But he'd walked further before, walked till he was sure it would fall off and even further than that. It had never failed him, and it wasn't about to do so now.

He kept pacing.

Even through the thick draperies over the windows, Ed could see blinding bursts of colored light and hear explosions. At one terrifying moment, the windows exploded outward; it was all Ed could do to duck to avoid the shrapnel.

When the glass finished falling, Ed bolted for the door, only to run into thin air. Literally like it was a god damn concrete wall. He shouted curses at the top of his lungs in Amestrian, everything from the tip of Ollivander's nose to the soles of his boots were assigned profanity at random. When it became clear that his cursing would yield no results, Ed paced again.

For an additional twenty minutes, Ed paced. He paced up and down the cobbled stretch before the shop until Alphonse came out of the door, a big smile on his face and seemingly unhurt.

"Are you okay, Alphonse?" Ed said in Amestrian, clasping his hands over his brother's shoulders and inspecting him for damage.

"I'm fine," Al said in the same. "Apparently there are always theatrics in the wand getting process."

"That is such bullshit," Ed said.

Al smiled patiently in a way Ed did not quite appreciate, said, "Would you pay up, brother?"

Ed scowled, nodded. Because what else could he do? Alphonse waved him inside the shop but stayed outside himself.

When Ed looked to the shop, it showed no evidence of the many explosions he had heard, there was Mustache, standing calmly behind the counter. Their eyes locked, and Ed would be damned if he were the first to look away. "Ash, sturdy and a full and unusual fifteen inches. Phoenix feather for the core. Definitely favors transfiguration work, but also demonstrates an enjoyment of charms. An excellent wand."

"Vouldn't you vant all of zee wands you make to be excellent?" Ed asked, eyeing the long thin box on the table warily.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Elric," Mustache said, picking the box up off the table. "An excellent wand will only ever choose an excellent wizard. I need to have stock for the bottom line."

"You talk like zese vands of yours are alive."

"They are," Ollivander said, "In their own sort of way."

Ed's mind when straight to soul bonding, but Mustache - with his eerily penetrating gaze - shook his head. "Magic leaves a mark on things, Mr. Elric," he said. "And wands are the most magical item most wizards will ever own. Creation leaves a sort of consciousness, and with continued use that consciousness only gets more acute."

Ed was about to cry bullshit, but Ollivander said the only thing that could stop him from doing so. "It works in the same way that the frequent use of alchemy leaves its own mark. It's left its mark on you. On the item who's life pulses in your pocket."

"How vould you know about zee vatch?"

Mustache smiled. "It is an amplifier, is it not?" Ed nodded and Ollivander turned the wand box over in his hands. "I'm rather in the business of amplifiers."

"Zat is one vay of putting it."

"Well," Ollivander said, handing Ed the wand. "That'll be eight galleons, I do believe."

Mustache shrugged when Ed's jaw dropped. He shook his head, swore, pulled the eight galleons from his bag, and wondered just how much of Alphonse's other things he would have to buy used and from bargain shelves.

Ed extended a hand for a shake, Mustache took it. "If you would like to hear more on magical theory, young man, come back. I would be more than happy to talk with someone who is legitimately interested."

They shook hands, and Ed felt Mustache press a piece of parchment into his hand.

Ed blinked. Was Ollivander offering him access to his research? "Thank you," he said. "I'll be teaching Alchemy at Hog vatever, but I vill take you up on zee offer vhen I have zee time."

Ollivander nodded, and Ed was struck with the thought that Mustache probably already knew what his deal was. How far Dumbledore's network reached, Ed was not sure. There was something about Mustache that Ed found himself liking. You can't trust him, Ed. No matter how much you might want to.

Ed gave Ollivander a tight smile, took his leave.

Chapter Text

In all of his years of wand matching, this was perhaps one of the oddest experiences Garrick Ollivander ever had. Young Mr. Elric had at first seemed to require a mid-length wand of apple. And then perhaps of acacia. He'd tried all core combinations with both. He'd decided that unicorn hair was probably best, and was entirely certain that apple, ten and one-half inches, with unicorn hair would be the ticket.

But the attempted connection was disastrous – windows exploded outward and everything. Ollivander had gotten used to wand theatrics. Broken lamps were par for the course. But the front windows shattering outward onto the pedestrians before his shop? It wasn't unheard of, but it was unusual. And as he got older, he'd gotten better with wand pairing.

Generally, his own experience got him close enough to avoid any horrendous mismatches.

It was at this point where Ollivander would use legilimency on any eleven-year-old. If he was careful, he could avoid being too intrusive and get a better read on the child in question. But something gave him pause, here.

Perhaps it was because Dumbledore had explicitly asked him to read this child's mind. Or maybe it was the haunting he was noticing in the child's eyes, when exhaustion from magical exertion began to take enough of a toll for the act to drop.

For the sake of the pairing, he told himself. He could lie to Dumbledore, if he decided he didn't want to be in on whatever scheme his old colleague was trying to rope him into.

What he saw in Alphonse's mind did not help him immediately. It knocked him on his butt before it did. Faces and places and white-outed drifted across Alphonse’s memory. Ollivander was a master at legilimency – young Alphonse did not even notice the intrusion. It was a much deeper than usual intrusion, to boot.

I am God. I am Truth. I am you.

A blonde girl with a wrench. A blonde woman in military dress with massive muggle firearms. A man in the same uniform marched through the tendril of magic that connected their minds, pulling white gloves over his hands.

There were more. They came through and they fought each other and themselves. When Ollivander broke eye contact, there was one image that lasted. An image of the elder Elric brother, mid argument with a small girl who seemed of East Asian descent, who wore clothes in a fashion Ollivander thought might be Chinese.

The affection for both individuals was clear, but the sad nostalgia attached to the image was almost too much to bear.

He went off to get the next wand, and the instant he was out of young Alphonse's sight Ollivander gripped at the shelf beside him, knuckles white. It was a long time before he felt ready to face him with the next wand.

Finally, the massive ash and phoenix feather wand was the right one. A boy who had seemed so very timid required not the wand of a mouse, but that of a warrior. As Ollivander watched the bond between wizard and wand form, he was certain that Dumbledore would hear of none of this. Already, the excuses formed themselves. He simply wouldn't tell Albus any of it. None.

When Ed walked out of Ollivander's, Al's wand fully paid, he was greeted to a grinning Alphonse, a smug Tonks, and a loudly meowing kitten that looked a great deal like Mei's damn panda. Except in that it was clearly a kitten.

"So zis is vhy you skulked about instead ov just coming up and vaiting vis me?" Ed said.

Tonks laughed. "That and you were just so focused on pacing that I didn't want to interrupt you!"

Part of Ed wanted to march Al and Tonks right back up to that cat seller and return the thing, but the happiness in Alphonse's eyes gave him pause. Where would the kitten go, when they were done with this whole debacle? Who would care for it?

But at the stupid magic school, Ed would be staying in teacher’s accommodations and Al would be sleeping in student dorms. And not once since Al's restoration had they slept more than twelve feet apart. That was more by necessity than by choice, to be true. In Germany, they’d shared a bedroom in a kind couple’s apartment. In London, they could barely afford a one-bedroom. But by choice or necessity, they’d gotten used to having each other nearby again.

Ed looked at the cat, mewling piteously in Al’s arms. Maybe the cat would help with the transition. They could find a new owner for the cat when the time came. Hadn't Al earned the right to be a little selfish?

“Alright, vine, keep zee cat.” Ed had not known that Al's grin could get any wider than it had been. He was wrong, apparently.

"Tonks says she's part kneazle!" Al said. "She can tell who's trustworthy und who's not!"

"No vonder it likes you so much," Ed said. Predictably, Alphonse glowed and made grateful eye contact. Then he nuzzled his nose into the kitten’s fur, took a deep breath.

"Nearly bit me," Tonks said. "But I'm an auror, so I think being a little dodgy is part of the job."

Ed laughed and extended his hand for the little scrap of a thing to sniff. The cat was wary, but let Ed give it a scratch behind the ears. It clearly liked the scratch, but its eyes did not leave Ed's and it firmly turned away from him when he withdrew his hand.

"It's your girlfriend in miniature, Al."

Al squeaked. "Mei is not my girlfriend!" Cute that he knew immediately who Ed was talking about though.

"Her in miniature," Ed said. "Anyvay. I guess zat I'm a 'little dodgy' myself."

Tonks shot him a wry smile. "Well," she said, changing the subject. "Let's see the wand!"

"It's made ov ash," Alphonse said, letting the kitten claw its way onto his shoulder so that he could take the wand box from Ed. Al was so excited that his hands trembled as he pulled the wand from its box.

Tonks whistled. "That is some wand," she said. "Don't think I've ever seen one that long."

Al shrugged. "Mr. Ollivander said somezing about a generous personality? Core is phoenix feather."

"Wow," Tonks said. "I'm damn impressed."

Alphonse blushed, and Ed could not help but fondly ruffle his hair. "He's alvays been better zan me."

Alphonse muttered some sort of denial to the statement, but Ed ignored it. Alphonse was a better person than him – kinder. And maybe he tended to lag behind a bit when it came to Alchemy, but they first studied when they were young enough that a year was a big difference. On that score, Ed started with a rather large advantage.

Ed couldn't quite understand why a stick had to vary – a stick was a stick was a stick, after all – but he was not surprised that Alphonse would be worthy of a good one. Satisfied by Alphonse's expression, and perhaps a little unnerved by just how natural the wand looked in his hand, Ed turned back to Tonks.

"Vat next?"

"Molly wanted us to go check in on her boys," she said.

"Right," Ed said, shaking his head. How one woman had so many children was beyond him – he could not fathom how one woman could have that many.

In the background he could hear Mustang smirk about gaps in his knowledge of biology, but Ed ignored it. Colonel Bastard was condescending enough in person – he didn't need to be generating self-burns in his voice.

"Let's go zen!" Alphonse said, energy apparently returned to him in spades. "Vat kind of shop is it?"

Tonks had been giving small, forced, smiles all day. But now, her face split into genuine delight. "You'll love it," she said, and somehow Ed believed her. "It's not far. You'll be able to see it way before we get there."

She wasn't wrong. The building was a garish bright magenta that Ed could see two blocks down. Unlike anywhere else in the alley, laughter swarmed the place. It put kick in Tonks's step, gave her a sort of mischievous joy he’d bet was natural to her, when she wasn’t mourning a loss.

"Wow," Alphonse said, clutching the kitten close to his chest. Ed guffawed at the sign on the door.

"Molly is quite sure they'll get themselves killed," she said. "But in the meantime, welcome to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, boys." Tonks swept the door wide open and the color and noise suddenly assaulted Ed from all angles. He rushed through the doorways, out of the horrendous summer heat, grinning broadly. This was happiness in a storefront!

"You alright, mate?" Ed almost flinched, but he could hear the Molly in the voice and knew without looking that this was one of her 'boys.'

"I'm vine," he said, still gazing at the crowd and the rows of colorful merchandise.

"Zis is amazing!" Alphonse said. "I vish zere vas somesing like zis in Amestris!"

"Don't you mean Berlin?" Ed said in German, and Al gave him a sheepish smile. Thankfully, no one seemed to note the slip, and Ed allowed himself to actually turn his attention to the boy who asked after him.

For a moment, he thought he was seeing double – finally the bizarre wizarding world had gotten him dizzy enough – but no. Tonks did say twins.

"Well," said one.

"We're Weasley and Weasley," said the other.

"Gred and Forge, nice to meet you."

There was something off about the names, but Ed was too amazed to care. "Edward Elric," he said.

"And I'm Alphonse!"

"Wotcher, Fred, George."

"Tonks!" said one, recognizing her more from the catchphrase than her face. "Didn't know you were back out and about!"

"Buzz off," she said. "Business still has to be taken care of."

Both boys nodded, and turned to Ed and Al. "So, I take it you're the ones our mum's been fattening up, as late."

Alphonse flinched, and Ed wondered if the wording was purposeful.

"Don't worry," said one, "You'll work it off again at Hogwarts."

"One summer Harry put on a full stone ‘cause of her!" said the other.

Ed relaxed. They were just referencing Molly's tendency towards generosity, then. Had she perhaps not mentioned their respective states, then? Ed hadn't expected discretion, but he was glad for it.

"Feel free to look around, and don't let the cat eat a pygmy puff. They're mildly toxic to most predator species."

Pygmy puffs? Ed was about to ask, but the twins were gone and so was Tonks. Order business, was it? Surely Ed had a goddamn right to sit in on whatever meeting they were having! But for the life of him he could not figure out which way they’d gone.

"I vonder if zis stuff is allowed in zee school," Alphonse said, holding up a Daydream Charm. "Looks like a lot ov it is designed for getting out ov lessons."

"Who knows," Ed said, switching into Amestrian. "Either way, I bet lots of kids are sneaking stuff in."

But even Alphonse was gone, when Ed craned his head to look, Al was cooing over small balls of fluff. Oh no. Alphonse already got a cat today. He did not need a bouncing ball of fluff. Just no.

The kitten on Alphonse's shoulder seemed to be looking at them like some sort of snack, and Ed remembered the warning.

He walked over to his brother. "Careful," he said. "I think these are the things that the twins warned about."

"Oh right," Al said, lifting the kitten off his shoulder and cradling it. "There we go. Now she can't pounce."

"Just keep a good grip on her," Ed said. "You don't have any armor to trap her in."

"I know!" Al said, beaming. Ed wasn't sure if Al understood the slight jab and chose to ignore it, or if the elation of finally owning his own cat was blocking his burn-o-meter. "It's so good to actually feel cat fur again!"

Definitely the later then. Alright. "Should we figure out where Tonks went?" Ed said.

"Don't be paranoid, brother."

"Fine then. Keep cooing over the toxic balls of fluff."

"Good luck!" The sing-song tone of Al's voice was almost offensive, but Ed managed to move on with just a sniff.

Ed's eyes darted around the shop; each display called him more than the last and by the time he reached the back of the store he was practically itching to investigate the itch powder. Exactly who's underwear he'd put it in he was not sure, but somebody probably had it coming.

"So, who exactly are they?" Unless Ed was very much mistaken, that was the voice of one of the twins. He tore his eyes from the itch powder and crept up to the luxurious maroon curtain that veiled the speaker.

"One of them was Hermione's chemistry teacher. Whatever that means," said Tonks "We thought he was suspicious, so we brought them both to the Burrow and found out that they were harmless and that the younger one was a wizard."

"Mum said that much in her letters," said the other twin.

"We were hoping you'd give us more information."

"Honestly?" said Tonks. "I'm not quite sure what their story is. Just that they're very close and that the older one will be teaching alchemy at Hogwarts for the sake of staying near Alphonse."

There was a long silence, and Ed found himself hard pressed not to creep closer to the curtain – any closer and they would know he was there, for sure.

"Well," said one twin. "Now I'm jealous. The last time alchemy was offered at Hogwarts, we were first years!"

"Ask Hermione for notes? She'll probably take it."

"We might just," said the other twin. "And you really don't know anything else about them?"

Tonks paused, and it seemed to Ed that there were eons in the silence. "They're fidgety," she said. "They remind me of Mad-eye sometimes and I don't see how such young boys could."

"So they're paranoid."

"And Constant Vigilance is their motto."

"Just about," said Tonks. "Don't think they ever let their guard down, and they spar every single morning."

Again, there was a long silence, and again Ed felt the urge to rip down the curtain and see what their body language implied about that silence. Again, he refrained.

"And Dumbledore trusts them?"

"Enough to let them in the school," said Tonks. "Enough to not throw too much of a fit if he knew I left them unattended for short periods. I think."

"Then they're welcome in our shop!" The twins said that in unison and Ed could not help but shudder. These people put way too much trust in Albus Dumbledore, and it was blinding them. But as long as it worked in Ed's favor, he wasn't about to complain.

"So," said Tonks, clearly about to change the subject. "Tell me more about this new defense line of yours."

"Ah!" Began one of the twins. "You've seen our shield hats, of course, now that they're standard issue."

"But we've got a few more gizmos we haven't handed over just yet."

Now that they weren't talking about him, Ed had a few options. He could retreat back into the depths of the store or he could walk into their conversation now – as though he'd only just found them."

"This is the Darkness Powder, so you can get away under cover." That decided it.

"Hallo?" Ed ventured quietly. "Tonks?"

"Oh!" said Tonks, whipping back the curtain. "How long have you been here?"

That was subtle. Not. "Just valked up, Alphonse vas cooing over zee puff balls, and I got a little bored."

"He's being careful about the cat, right?" said one twin. "They're technically miniature puffskeins, and while we managed to breed the venom out of them…"

"Zee poison not so much," said Ed. "You did say. He's being careful."

Ed did not ask the question that was therefore burning – What was a regular puffskein, and why in the hell was it venomous? He would have asked, but Tonks spoke before he had the chance. "I think you'll like this stuff, Ed."

"It's our new defense line," said one twin.

"We're even selling to the Ministry now, because apparently there isn't any baseline defense training."

"Most employees don’t even have to be able to perform a shield charm."

What kind of government didn't arm its employees? He knew that England didn't run their country through the military, but to not have any defense training as a government employee was ridiculous. "Zey don't even have zee basics?"

"Nope," said the first twin.

"I s'pose our education got a little expanded, because of all this You-No-Poo business, but it was rather a – "

"You-No-Poo?" Ed said. "I sink zat is my favorite name for zis veirdo yet!"

"Right?" said Twin Two. Now, Ed was certain he could tell them apart. It was in the way they carried their shoulders and shuffled their feet. They were some of the most minutely similar twins he had come across, but there it was in their stance, plain as day. "I don't get why people who don't want to say 'is name are so attached to the name they gave him."

If only he could remember their names!

"He's a real threat," said Tonks. Her hair was drooping again, and the twins exchanged a meaningful glance.

"But people will always need laughter!" Twin Two said.

"And they will always want to laugh about their troubles."

Tonks gave them a halfhearted smile and Ed wanted to know what exactly had made her like this. The twins looked both confused and resigned and Ed knew that it had to be recent, whatever it was. "We should probably be getting back to Alphonse."

"Zat is true. Leave him long enough and he vill collect more cats zan just zee one you gave him."

That Tonks laughed at. "Does he really?"

"Really. I left him to his own devices vor fifteen minutes once and vhen I got back he had five ov zee little suckers curled up on his lap."

"Let's go make sure he hasn't tried to adopt the pygmy puffs then." Tonks pulled pack the magenta curtain and stepped through it.

Ed looked first at her retreating back and once again at the twins. "I vill be teaching alchemy at zee school," he said. "Viz my first pay I think I vill buy some ov your defense line."

The twins shifted into business mode. "What are you thinking you'd like?" One of them asked, turning to the merchandise he'd just displayed for Tonks.

"However much I can afford. I vill work out zee details vhen zee time comes. But I would like to include a physical defense section in my class."

"What?"

"A physical defense section?"

"Zee woman who taught me taught me vell," Ed said. "'To train zee mind one must first train zee body.' Zat philosophy brought me far and I don't see much ov it in you vizards."

The twins paused. "That's all well and good, mate. But what does it got to do with our defense line?"

"I vould like to provide my students vis zee means to protect zemselves, if zey are unable to do so through zeir own power."

"Seriously?" said Twin One.

"That's a lot of product," said Twin Two.

"Maybe we could work out an educator's deal for you."

"Zat vould be appreciated," Ed said, the gestured to Tonks. "Vat is her deal?" Ed recognized the irony in the question. He'd eavesdropped on them because he did not want to be talked about, but her he was.

The Twins shrugged in a creepy unison. "She used to be an avid prankster," said Two.

"Still is, sometimes," said One.

"But she's not been the same since Bellatrix killed Sirius."

"Blames herself, I reckon."

"Mum would know for sure?"

That was about what Ed had assumed. "People die," he said. "And you cannot blame yourself."

"We won't," said Twin One. "I won't."

Twin Two nodded, not saying a word.

"Tell me your names one last time? I sink I can tell you apart now. But vor zee life of me I can't remember."

"George," said One.

"Fred," said Two.

George and Fred. Maybe Ed could remember that. Their names were astonishingly bland for two so very unsubtle people. "Thanks," he said, before pulling back the curtain and searching for the old woman that Tonks was pretending to be.

Spotting her, Ed nodded briefly at the Twins One and Two and followed her. She was heading towards Alphonse, who had moved on from the poisonous puff balls to the Daydream Charms. Alphonse looked up from the boxes at his and Tonks's approach. "Brother," he said in Amestrian. "I was right! Everything in this room is designed to get a student out of class!"

"I'll be keeping an eye out, for damn sure."

"You're gonna be a great teacher, brother," Al said. "Any students worth teaching won't zone out."

Ed scoffed, he was still teaching remedial Chemistry, and if it had taught him anything was that perfectly bright students often sabotaged their own success. "I think you're being a bit optimistic, Al."

"At least Hermione will pay attention?" Al said. Well. That was true. He shrugged. At this he noticed that Tonks intended to stay with them. Whoops. She had entered the 'nod and smile' portion of misunderstanding.

"Sorry," he said, switching to English.

"Don't bother yourself about it," Tonks said. "If I were in your situation, I'd be pretty fed up with the local language."

Ed wasn't sure whether he ought to be offended or obliged. He settled on a mixture of both. He knew that his mastery over English wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to teach Chemistry, with technical terms included. And was doing a damn good job!

He decided to change the subject. "Vee vere talking about how many ov zees products I vill haff to confiscate zis year," he said. "Al seemed to think zat I am a good enough teacher to keep zee students’ attention."

"He really is," Al said. "Zee people in his remedial class are actually going to pass zis time."

"In any case," Ed said, a wicked grin stretching over his face. "I don't imagine zat people who regularly tune out ov my Alchemy lessons can really expect to pass."

"You're planning on being a hardass, are you?" asked Tonks.

"Our teacher vas a hardass," said Ed. Both he and Al shuddered in unison. "Comparatively? If our education vas camping in zee voods alone vis nozing but a knife and the instruction to survive, my class vill be a valk in zee park."

Tonks clearly thought he was making a metaphor and began to laugh. "True story, actually," Alphonse said. "Teacher had razer unorthodox mesods."

Tonks visibly paled. "She was the best influence vee efer had," Ed said. "So please don't judge her harshly. And she vould haff called zee whole thing off iv it seemed a fatality vas imminent."

Tonks gulped, but nodded. Alphonse didn't help by adding, "Called it off and kicked us out," to the end of the statement.

Ed glared at him. Izumi Curtis was in a whole other world – there was no way she could defend herself from slander here. "Her teaching vas very effective," Ed said. "I plan on utilizing some ov her techniques."

Alphonse looked at him in surprise, and Ed shrugged, "You don't need zem for Chemistry, but Alchemy isn't Chemistry. Zey need to understand zee stakes."

Alphonse nodded, and Tonks looked confused. Ed had not yet dared to investigate the Alchemy books of this world, but he knew that the understanding of the science was different. It must be difficult, Ed realized, for wizards to understand that their actions have consequences.

"Did you vant to buy anysing here, Al?" Ed asked. "We still haff a bit in zee budget."

Al looked around the room, shook his head. "It's all fery impressive, and maybe zee next time we come, but vor now I sink I am good."

Ed nodded, and the three of them plus cat made their way out of the brightly colored shop and into the open air. "Is there anysing else vee need to do?"

"I think," said Tonks, "It's time to get you two back to the Burrow."

"I do haff papers to grade," Ed said. There were only two more weeks until the end of the summer semester, and while Hermione maintained the top spot with a fervor, the other grades were rising. Ed knew that his course was rather more difficult than most remedial courses, but the delinquents weren't doing near so badly as the principal had warned.

He winced as he thought of Principal Jenkins. He would have to turn in his notice this week. With the school year looming, he knew that Jenkins was planning on letting him stay on. It wouldn't be fair to let her believe that she had a teacher in place.

"Back to the Leakey Cauldron it is," Tonks said. Ed groaned. He was not looking forward to another whirl in that awful fire-transporty-thing. But Tonks paid no heed to his whining, and so the three of them – four of them? – made their way back up the alley, Tonks resuming with her faux-cheerful commentary on the people and the places.

Instead of deriding the old woman with the kneazle kittens, she waved. And judging by the friendliness of the reply, Ed knew that this woman had been the breeder of the kitten that sat vigilantly on Alphonse's shoulder.

Hadn't Tonks described the kittens as dodgy? Ed frowned. He understood that dodgy was also sometimes synonymous with cheap, but if someone was going to buy a child a pet, they generally didn't go for dodgy.

He looked at Tonks sidelong. What exactly was her endgame?

Ed looked back at the kitten that sat on Al's shoulder. She was eyeing her surroundings carefully, and her careful gaze didn't spare Ed, either. He looked back at Tonks. She was still pointing out her favorite shops and people, different than the set she'd pointed out walking in the other direction. There had to be an ulterior motive to the kitten-gift, he was sure. But Tonks would only deny it and feign the offense of the innocent.

His hands were tied for now, and he knew it.

Up ahead came the door to the Leakey Cauldron. From this side, it still looked like an arched entrance way. The stone on the Alley side was engraved with the pub's incredibly stupid name. They passed through it, and in no time at all they were dizzily spinning back to the Burrow, engulfed in green fire.

Chapter Text

Hermione loved her vine wand – the careful scrollwork that wrapped around the piece and paid homage to the origins of the material had attracted her the moment Ollivander had placed it in front of her. Even before she picked it up Hermione had known that it would be her wand, despite the otherwise arduous selection process.

When Alphonse asked to compare, eyes alight with excitement and pride, Hermione felt ready for a good session of humble bragging. She had not expected Professor Elric's gentle younger brother to thoroughly outdo her. Hermione tilted her head and tried to reevaluate her opinion of the boy. "That's quite the wand," she said. All around the room, others had pulled out their own wands for Al's comparison.

"You're a proper wizard, now!" Ginny said, bopping him on the nose with her darkly stained yew wand. It was almost as long as Al's, but only approached the line of absurdity that Alphonse's surpassed. Alphonse grinned, and everyone in the room laughed. Even Ed seemed to be in good humor over the whole thing.

As opposed as the alchemist seemed to magic, he wasn't begrudging his brother anything. That was good. Having had no siblings herself, Hermione's model for siblinghood had been the Weasley children's endless competition.

Ron resented the success of his siblings, Hermione thought. And the twins had distanced themselves made certain to put a flamboyant stamp on their success that could never be compared to the successes of Bill and Charlie. The love was there, but the resentment was there too.

There wasn't a trace of that in the Elrics. Well. Morning spars excepted. They seemed plenty competitive then. Hermione generally avoided watching it, but Ginny stalked the proceedings with a doggedness that really shouldn't have surprised her.

Hadn't Ginny done well at the Department of Mysteries? She rather had.

"Congratulations, Alphonse," Hermione said finally. "The wand suits you." The wand evidently thought so, even if Hermione couldn't yet see it.

"Yeah, mate!" Ron said. "Looks bloody wicked."

Al looked a little confused at the slang, but he beamed, said "Thanks! I can't vait to try it."

"The instant we're on the train," Hermione said. "I promise I'll walk you through some of the spells."

"Sank you!"

"Vhy can't he try it now?" Ed asked. Hermione sighed.

"It's illegal," Harry said. "Technically, it's for safety and for the Statute of Secrecy, but honestly for no damn good reason. Ministry tried to get me expelled last year for defending myself."

"Ah," Ed said, eyebrows shooting into his hair. "Shitty governments can be shitty."

Harry just nodded, and Hermione felt a twinge of pity. "Tell me about it," said Ginny. Her voice was low and angry, and she was staring at Harry with such a fierce protectiveness that suddenly her motivation to learn how to fight like a muggle was clear.

“Vhy did vee go to Diagon Alley early if I can’t use it?” said Al. “Not zat I’m sorry to have it now, but vhy?”

“You can feel why, can’t you?” said Hermione, because she’d felt it when she’d first cradled her want to her chest. “It makes your magic more stable. The less training you have, the more important that is.”

Al looked thoughtful. “I sink I do,” he said.

“Besides,” said Hermione. “Even if we can’t perform the spells, we can still work on the movements. I’ve got a whole set of them I’d like to practice with you.”

“Zat sounds like a great idea,” said Alphonse. Hermione beamed at him, nodded to the others in the room, and led him to a private corner for studying.

The morning after the trip to Diagon Alley found Ed back in his classroom. "Will you be coming back in the fall?" said one girl. "I know this was like a trial period for you."

Ed winced, and noticed that Hermione did too. He had yet to hand in his notice to the principal, and it wouldn't do for her to get the info from the rumor mill. He shrugged. "Vee haff yet to discuss it," he said. And that was true. The fact that the conversation had been put off for so long said much for Jenkins's complacency on the matter.

She probably hoped Ed would stay but had not yet given up on finding someone more qualified. He couldn't blame her. Who wanted a teenager teaching teenagers when they had any other option? The Beard Principal of the Pig Fungus school was an outlier, but the more he read about the wizarding world – he shuddered at the word – the more it seemed they started out in their lives sooner than their rational counterpart to begin with. By wizarding standards of adulthood, Ed was only barely too young.

"They'd be bloody stupid not to keep you," said another student. He'd quite helpfully written Ed an English slang dictionary for extra credit. If that was the only reason the boy was passing, Ed wasn't going to say anything. Al didn't know about this little booklet, and therefore couldn't hide it from him.

There was a general murmur of agreement, and Ed didn't quite know what to do with the compliments. If Al weren't an issue, he'd let the wizarding world go hang, and he would stay right here. Well, if Al weren’t an issue and Ed didn’t want to get back to Amestris.

"I hope zey do," Ed said. He found that he meant it – he couldn't stay, but he'd rather teach these delinquents Chemistry than teach Alchemy to a bunch of kids too used to the instant gratification of hocus-pocus. "Anyvay. Get to zee benches. You all haff your lab packets, right?"

Predictably, several students had forgotten them. He sighed, handed out the extras, and contemplated how much bullshit the pre-lab section of their reports would end up being. The chorus of I did it, I swear, but my mom must've thrown it out with the mail! was getting old.

The three sections of his course went quickly. By the end of the day, the lecture was almost rote. But the lab was still engaging enough, he was sure. He checked his pocket watch and realized that he would have to run out of his last class if he wanted to catch Jenkins before she left. She was no more immune to Monday than anyone else, and at the beginning of the week she was marching out of the school far earlier than on any other day.

He bolted from the classroom when the bell rang, muttering his apologies to students who tried to catch his attention. "Tomorrow!" he promised and was out of the door and down the hall like a shot.

"Come in?" said Jenkins from the other side of her oak office door when he knocked. She looked at him over her lilac-rimmed glasses frames. "What's wrong, Mr. Elric?"

He sat, although she hadn't said he could. "My brozer," he said. "He has been scouted – I suppose is zee right vord? – by a school."

"Which?" she asked, clearly expecting him to want advice as to whether he should send him.

"It's in Scotland," he said, focusing his attention on the rough texture of the chair underneath his hands. "And he must go. But I cannot let him go alone."

Jenkins laid her palms flat on the surface of her desk, eyes resigned. "Then I expect you've secured a teaching position there?"

Ed nodded, ignoring the knot of guilt in his stomach. "I might haff even applied to be a student zere. But I don't qualify."

"Student?" Jenkins said. "Isn't Alphonse of high school age?"

Ed just stopped himself from swearing. "Vell, zat is vhy I don't qualify, ov course. Zey teach a very specialized curriculum, so I vould haff studied zere anyvay if zey allowed it."

Jenkins narrowed her eyes. "How specialized?"

"It's zee school Miss Granger goes to, in zee normal academic year," he said. "Specialized enough zat it vas not covered in my own education, but zey happen to be weak in zee sciences, so I offered to fill zee gaps."

Jenkins nodded slowly. "I'm not handing you over to some sort of cult, am I?"

Ed could not keep down a slightly hysterical laugh. "Nein," he said, when he could breathe again.

Jenkins's eyes narrowed. "That laugh isn't very reassuring, Mr. Elric," she said.

"It isn't a cult," he said, waving a hand in the air. "Vas my first reaction, too, zough, ven Alphonse told me zat he vanted to go zere. I am his older brozer, and vhile I am his legal guardian I von't pretend to be his parent. He's free to make his own decisions about sings."

"You say that," said Jenkins. "But you'll disrupt your own career to make sure he makes those decisions safely."

"Vee haff followed each other into hell many times, Ms. Jenkins. At zis point, it's only returning zee favor."

Her gaze turned worriedly skeptical. "Following him into hell, are you? We can work out enrollment for Alphonse here, if that's a deal breaker." Perhaps comparing the Pig Fungus place to hell wasn't the best way to reassure Jenkins. Whoops.

"Cut zee shit. If you actually vanted me to stay on, you vould haff told me I vas permanently hired a veek ago," Ed said.

"Probably," Jenkins admitted. "But the fact remains, I'm having trouble finding better candidates, and your students are doing relatively well."

"If you can't vind someone more qualified, hire someone else stupidly young," Ed said. "I'm sure zat zere are other people fresh from school."

"Fair enough, I'll look through the applications again. Call some people for interviews." Jenkins hefted a file of what Ed assumed were applications and glared at it.

Ed knew that it wasn't ideal, but given that she already had someone underqualified, she probably hadn't bothered to review any other underqualified applicants. Jenkins put the file back down, said, "You have your final exam written, yes? Because if you need help, there should be copies of old exams for you to pull from."

"I haff zeir final practical planned," he said. "Just a few more math problems and I vill be done viz zee written." He rifled through his briefcase, handed her the written-out copies of what he had planned. Jenkins nodded approvingly as she flipped through them.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?" she asked as she turned over the final page. "These exams are refreshingly comprehensive."

"Unvortunately, no," Ed said. "But thank you vor giving me zee chance to teach zis summer. I needed zee opportunity, and I vill never forget your kindness."

"You're welcome," she said, and the conversation turned trivial as Ed packed his exam questions away. Since coming to this world, Ed had found more than his share of helpful people. From the librarians at the University of Berlin, to the landlord that was always patient with rent, and finally to the principal of this high school, Ed had been eased into the struggles of providing for himself and Al without a military stipend.

"Enjoy zee rest ov your day," Ed said, and gently closed the door behind him. There were only two weeks till the end of the summer semester, but from the girl who did not understand biology but was rather good at math, to the boy who would have failed if not for the slang dictionary, Ed had grown fond of his students.

He'd grown fond of his classroom, fond of the instruction bench at the fore of the room. Fond of the student benches, and the cabinets filled with more spare glassware than he'd ever seen – the students broke things regularly, and no State Alchemist lab could really afford that many spares.

He'd even taken some of those spares and set up a bench in his flat. Ed winced, realizing that he'd not paid his rent since he was kidnapped by the pocus-people. He wondered if his landlord had checked the flat yet, and what he thought about the bench that held his experiments.

Shit, Ed thought. Some of those experiments were oxygen reactive. God damn it. Well. With any luck they'd not been opened. And if they had, perhaps the fire had been contained. He walked out of the school, blinked at the sunlight.

Sitting on one of the benches was Hermione and a small child Ed could only assume was Tonks. "Wotcher," said the little girl, confirming his suspicions.

"What took you so long?"

"I had to tell zee principal I vas not going to be returning vor fall."

"Right," Granger said. "Jessica asked this morning."

"Do you mind if vee stop by my old flat?" Ed said. "I need to return my key to zee landlord and collect my stuff."

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Tonks.

"I'm also a little vorried zat my makeshift lab might have exploded."

"What?" said Hermione. "Seriously?"

"Bloody hell."

Ed shrugged. "Am scientist. Not all ov vhat I do is alchemy. I vas teachink normal chemistry and got a little curious about other vays to alter matter. I knew it, theoretically, ov course. But."

Granger rolled her eyes and shoved her impressive mass of hair off her shoulder. Ed ignored the impulse to stick his tongue out at her. She would have done it too, given the materials.

"Right," said Tonks. "Let's go make sure your building didn't bloody well explode. What part of London is it in?"

After a quick description of his street, and yes Tonks was familiar, the three of them embarked on the sickening lurch that was the hocus-pocus-teleportation thing. They landed in an alley just down the block, and Ed swallowed against any bile threatening to rise.

"Alvays awful," he said. "Vhy? Actually don't answer zat."

He needn't have worried. Tonks demonstrated the usual wizarding misunderstanding of the theory behind whatever they were doing, had no answer to give other than a shrug. He decided not to turn to Granger, even if she might actually know.

"Zis vay," Ed said, turned the corner, and opened the door to his building. Around the corner from the foyer and tucked behind the stairs was the landlord's office, but he avoided that and went up to the third floor instead. Hermione and Tonks were looking around with unashamed curiosity, and Ed decided to let them rubberneck.

Nothing in his flat was particularly incriminating. It was small. There was one bedroom that he and Alphonse shared, a sparse dining room – furnished by a rickety table and some folding chairs, a kitchen with hardly enough space to turn around in, and a living room. The living room was the only space where effort was placed into the furnishing.

Bookshelves that Alphonse transmuted out of lumber lined one wall. There wasn't much in them, but they'd been planning on staying here for long enough to gain at least a bit of a library. A stone lab bench lined the other. Ed heaved a sigh of relief. Nothing had been touched.

The experiments had long since passed their time limits, so Ed didn't even bother filling out the data sheets as he carefully deconstructed each vial and alchemically separated the contents.

"Weird seeing you use alchemy," Tonks said. "When it's not directed at me, anyway."

"Sorry," Ed said, wincing. "Iv it helps, I'm not actually completing zee process. I'm stopping at deconstruction."

"You're not using a transmutation circle," Granger said. Ed cursed, of course she'd already read up a bit.

"Don't try to copy zat," he said "Very rare circumstance, and you don't vant zee ability."

Her eyes glittered at the challenge, and Ed sighed. "No seriously. Zee cost is much more zan it is actually worth. Al and I are lucky to haff survived."

Tonks was suspiciously silent at that, and Ed instinctively knew he should not have said anything. Granger, meanwhile, nodded. There was something in her stance that made him worry, however. She wasn't going to let this go.

Rather pointedly, Ed pulled a stick of chalk out of his pocket and drew out the rest of the circles to dismantle the rest of the vials. And also the bench. When everything was in pieces that were manageable to carry out to the dumpster, Tonks stopped him.

"If I knew you were planning on just tossing it all, I would've vanished it for you!" She waved her wand and suddenly the bench, the glassware, and the piles of unmixed chemicals were simply gone. What?

"I could haff carried zat out," Ed said.

"Why waste the time?" said Tonks. "We'll be done a lot quicker this way."

Right. The wizards didn't believe in process for process's sake. Only expediency. Which was fair. Hadn't he dismantled his lab using his own brand of shortcuts? He swore, but decided not to fight the matter any further.

He turned to the bookshelves. Alphonse had done a good job with them, and it would be a shame to dismantle them. They would be a gift to the landlord, Ed decided. Equivalence, for the shit he had to put up with from him.

But he wanted the few books he had. Ed eyed his briefcase. He was here, so he might as well pick up his clothes. He didn't think Al would fit his, after nearly a month in Frau Weasley's care. So just his clothes and the books.

"Vat is zee food situation at zee Pig Fungus place?"

"Three meals a day," said Granger. "You can have it sent up to your room, too."

"So I don't need to haff any kitchen schtuff?"

"You should be fine?" Granger said.

Ed sighed, nodded. "So. Clothes und books."

Granger lit up and rushed over to the bookcase. She eyed his briefcase, turned to Tonks. "I've been reading about undetectable extension charms, lately. I used a really basic one on my school bag last fall."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," Tonks said.

"It would be ridiculous for a Hogwarts professor to not reap some of the benefits of magic," said Granger.

"Right," said Tonks. "I'm not so good at undetectable extension charms," she said.

"They're something of a specialty of mine." There was something dangerous in the glitter of his student's eyes. "I can walk you through it no problem."

"Alright then," said Tonks. Granger smiled, pulled out her wand, and mimicked the hand motions. This part of magic consistently left Ed confused. Why the hell would hand motions have anything to do with anything? But apparently, they did. Tonks frowned. "That's not what I remember from school," she said.

"It wouldn't be," said Granger. "Incantation's the same, but I've modified the wand motions to reflect a more organized internal structure." Ed suddenly felt rather more confident in his chemistry curriculum. It wasn't just his class that the young pocus-person excelled in.

"Oh!" said Tonks. "Like my mum's spell for mixing! She added an extra twitch at the end so that the spoon digs up from the bottom."

"Sounds about right."

Tonks wilted. "I always burned the stew when I tried that one."

"Don't worry about that, then," said Granger. "Give the spell a try."

Tonks moved to work over Ed's briefcase. "Now vait a minute!" said Ed, "I nefer said you could touch my case! I don't need hocus-pocus shortcuts vor no gut reason!"

"There's a good reason, Professor," said Granger. If he wasn't mistaken, she rolled her eyes. "You're trying to rescue books. That's always a good reason."

Ed had to concede that point – books were always a good reason. He threw up his hands, and with a murmured whatever, he allowed Tonks to try the spell. As she tried it, the child form she was trying to maintain aged by a year.

Ed experimentally lifted the case with his weaker arm – it was lighter. "Vere does zee extra mass even go?"

"I can go over it with you later," Hermione said, striding to the bookcase. "This library is very on brand of you. Lots of Chemistry."

"I am chemist. Sort ov."

"Still can't wrap my mind around Alchemy being a muggle science," Tonks said. "Knew it was difficult, but that's a whole different level."

Ed grinned. "It isn't so bad," he said, "You just need to use your brain."

Tonks glared at him, sensing the dig. "I got the grades I needed to be an auror, thank you."

Ed smirked, all ready with a riposte comparing her to Colonel Bastard. He bit it down - Tonks would not understand that reference, and he would be giving too much of himself away. "I'm sure."

"Anyway," said Granger, turning away from the bookcase with arms laden. "Time to pack your bags."

"Vell. It is only one bag."

Hermione and Tonks both rolled their eyes, and without too much delay, the books were put away in the bag. They were alphabetically stacked by author last name and charmed not to topple.

Satisfied with Granger’s organizational system, Ed walked over to the small bedroom he and Alphonse had shared. Both had been glad to discover futons – they had grown up sleeping in blankets in their father's study, and the futons were an inexpensive upgrade that kept them low to the ground.

Granger was clearly dismayed. "Vat?" Ed said. "Zey are cheap and comfortable. Vee grew up sleeping on zee floor of zee library. Zis is upgrade."

Neither Granger nor Tonks said anything, so Ed went to the closet and packed the extended case himself. "Don't try and organize zem by color."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Tonks. "My mother's the only sort that bothers with that kind of packing spell. They're her specialty. Socks fold themselves and everything."

Granger looked up sharply. "I've not run into that one."

"I think my mum developed it herself, to be honest."

"Could you teach it to me?" The intensity with which Granger whirled to face Tonks left Ed rather stunned. He knew she gathered knowledge for its own sake, but a sock pocus?

"I was never much good at it, can't get the socks to fold."

"Teach me anyway," she said. "It doesn't have to be perfect, but I hate folding laundry with such a passion." Doesn't have to be perfect? She must really hate folding laundry, for such an abrupt change in character. Ed narrowed his eyes. What was she planning? Granger noticed the glance and hurriedly said, "I can perfect it once I know the basics."

"I s'pose," said Tonks.

"Please don't try it on my clothes," Ed said. "I vant to do zat much myself. My teacher vould kill me, iv she knew zee shortcuts I let you take vor me."

"Fine," said Granger. "I'll let you demonstrate on my Hogwarts trunk."

Tonks nodded, "Like I did for Harry last summer. I can do that."

Ed turned from the conversation to his closet. There were only a few things in it to pack. A few shirts, a few pants. There was a beige suit hanging up in the back, and he debated just leaving it there. He might have worn if for his job interview at the school, but there was no real reason to keep it now. But the part of him that had owned only what he could carry for so long couldn't bear to leave it on the hangar when he had the means to carry it.

Into the bag it went. Maybe he would dye it red.

"I sink I haff it all," he said. Ed peered into the bag, somehow everything he had put inside of it had organized itself. The bag had seemingly heard his comment about color, so the clothes were sorted by texture instead. What the actual fuck?

"If you want something from the bottom, call for it," Granger said. "Should come right up."

Ed shuddered and snapped the bag closed. "Are vee ready to go?"

"Yes," said Tonks. "If you've got everything you came here for, that is."

"I sink I do," Ed said. "I just need to talk to zee landlord, briefly. Should be in his office – he likes to get his clerical vork done on Mondays, ven he can."

"Monday is good for that," Granger said. "I like to have all the week's homework done by Monday night."

"Vas?"

"Yes! I like to work a full week ahead when I can, so I don't have to worry about the deadlines as they come."

That was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing Ed had ever heard in his life – Granger's brand of efficiency belonged in Hawkeye's wildest dreams. He wasn't even entirely sure how to respond. "You and my landlord vill get along, zen."

Rather than continue the conversation about his student's ridiculous level of dedication, Ed waved Granger and Tonks through the door to his flat, gave it one last wistful glance, and stepped over the threshold himself. "Zis flat vas gut to us," he said. "I don't know how vee got so lucky."

"Accidental magic does exist," Tonks said. "If you really have to give yourself and explanation, it's entirely possible that Alphonse helped."

Ed wasn't sure if that explanation was better or worse than having none at all, so he shrugged before hustling down the stairs. He had a landlord to apologize to.

Chapter Text

Dear Edward,

Your thoughts on wands as amplifiers are very refreshing. Most wizards, as I'm sure you have noticed, don't have the patience to question what exactly wands do for them – and amplifying is sure enough what they are for. You are off base in that wizards are capable of doing magic without them! Those with great levels of control can use wandless magic at almost the same level of efficiency. 

Attached to the letter I have included some conversion charts. They detail the power of a spell versus how much energy the wizard put into it with both a wand and without. In both cases you will see that the output is rather larger than the input. The ratio is considerably larger when using a wand, but the magical constant accounts for much of the spell in either case. 

Below the charts you will find the requisite equations. 

All these educational things aside, how are you boy? And how is young Alphonse? I am doing well. The Hogwarts letters I presume have yet to go out, as I've not gotten the usual influx of first years yet. Dumbledore left it till even later last year, but even so this is a little much. 

When they have time to shop, I have time to keep the inventory flush. I'm afraid I'll be wiped out again this year. I may have to dip into the store I have at Gringotts. Perhaps I'll finally get to meet that Nyorok fellow you talk about. 

Sincerely, 

Garrick

Ed spent the last month and a half of summer corresponding with both Garrick Ollivander and Nyorok the Goblin. Their takes on magic gave him a break from the insanity that was the usual wizarding acceptance of the impossible.

Hermione pulled the letter from his hands. "I've always wanted to see some of these charts! We learned a bit about wandlore in Ancient Runes last year, but these look like trade secrets!"

Well. Not all of the wizards simply accepted the world they lived in. "Are you familiar vis any of zeese equations?"

"Not really," Granger said. "Some of these look like the things I learned for Gamp's Law and it's exceptions. Alphonse! Come look at this!"

Alphonse poked his head into the living room from the kitchen. "Huh?"

"Ollivander gave Ed some information on wandlore, if you're interested."

Alphonse pulled his wand out of the holster he had rigged under his sleeve. "Absolutely!"

Ed rolled his eyes, pulled a ballpoint pen out of his enchanted bag, and began crafting a response to Ollivander's letter. He was never going to fall for that quill bullshit the wizards preferred.

Dear Garrick, 

Al and I are doing pretty well, all things considered. I've just finished grading my students' final exams, and I'm proud of what they managed to get done – you know? They'd already flunked the course once before, but they're not stupid.

The charts you sent along look like they'll really help me to define the magical constant – even if I still don't get where that constant comes from. I'll figure it out eventually. 

I hope you manage to keep up with the last minute demand.

Good luck,

Ed

"I still can't believe you use owls to send your letters," Ed said, stroking the feathers of Ollivander's owl before securing the letter in the little case tied to her leg. Rather predictably, her name was Wanda, and she was a gorgeous barn owl. She pecked at his fingers affectionately before alighting through the window. He watched her fly away with wonder suspended in his throat.

"It does take getting used to," Hermione said, joining him at the window to watch. "But it is efficient. Honestly I think the wizarding owls may actually be a magical subspecies that simply mirror naturalistic varieties."

"Zat would make sense," Ed said, a little troubled. "Vould it have started vith intentional alterations?"

"Only through your basic artificial selection, I think." Hermione smoothed the chart and looked back to Ed. "Do you mind if I make myself a copy of this?”

"Go ahead," he said, handed her paper and a ballpoint pen. Ed considered Alphonse. They'd already done one of their spars for the day, but Harry's birthday tea was scheduled for later that afternoon and Ed had turned in the final exam grades to Jenkins the day before. "Does Frau Veasley need any help in the kitchen?"

"I'm on that, bother," said Al, switching to Amestrian. "She's got most of dinner already in progress."

Ed peered around the door. Sure enough, pots were simmering on the stove and the oven was clearly in use. The Matron of the Red Hair was turning her wand idly, nose buried in a book. Even engrossed as she was in The True Story of Gilderoy Lockheart, she manipulated a wooden spoon that slowly stirred one of the pots.

"What the hell?"

Alphonse shrugged. "The prep work vas the hard part. She's just monitoring things, now."

Ed shook his head and pulled out one of Granger's old textbooks. He may not be able to perform magic, but he was damn well going to understand it. He switched back to English to say, "I sink I am going to zee room to study. Zee smell of food is distracting." Granger and Al nodded and waved him off. It was not long before he was settled at the desk, deep into the book he had borrowed.

It was an hour before Ed realized that anything was amiss.

A pecking sounded at the window, and Ed looked up from his studies to see that Ollivander's owl was back again. He threw open the window and the owl spat a crumpled piece of paper from her mouth. It skidded off the desk, and hit the floor with an audible thunk. Odd. He knew it took the poor thing at least a half hour to fly from the Burrow to Ollivander's shop. That would leave hardly time to write anything. He checked the satchel on the owl's leg, and felt cold dread harden in his stomach. Ed’s letter was completely unopened.

Hands shaking, Ed picked the paper up from the floor. It was heavier than it should have been and when he uncrumpled it, a key tumbled onto his desk. Ed took it into one hand, pressing the shape of the metal into his palm. On the paper, scrawled in all-capitalized frantic letters was: GRINGOTTS 327.

“Shit,” said Ed, vaulting out of the room and down the stairs. "Ollivander! He's in danger!"

He needn't have said anything, for Lupin and Tonks had just arrived for Harry's birthday tea, faces grim. "He's been dragged off," said Lupin. "He set off an alarm, but by the time aurors got there he was gone. Nothing in the shop looked amiss, but."

"You're kidding." Harry, Ron, and Ginny had stumbled in from the garden, brooms slung over their shoulders.

"How did you know?" Tonks had rushed forward to meet him at the base of the stairs, hands bracing his shoulders.

"I haff to get to him!" Ed said, and then switched into Amestrian. "Al! We have to get to Diagon Alley! It's the old man!"

He tried to push past Tonks, but she kept her arms braced, nails digging into Ed's shoulders.

Alphonse joined her side, and spoke quietly in Amestrian. "What happened, brother?"

"He didn't even read the letter I sent," Ed said. "Just sent me the key to his vault at Gringotts, the one with the extra wands."

“Oh no," said Al. He turned to Tonks, switched to English, said, "Can you take us to his shop?"

But Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway to the kitchen. "Absolutely she can not," she said. "You are a child, Alphonse."

"And Ollivander is our friend," he said. "I know Bruder is impulsive and stupid, but it sounds like aurors have already secured the scene and we have to see if we can help."

"Alphonse might be a child, Mrs. Veasley," Ed said, "But I am his legal guardian. I vill be zee one to decide vat he is ready for and I can tell you now zat vee haff both pulled off riskier stunts." Ed brandished the vault key at her. "He gave me zee key to his vault vor a reason!"

"Let's go," said Tonks, finally letting go of Ed's shoulders. The room erupted in protests. The loudest from Mrs. Weasley, who demanded them to stay. But Ginny had inherited her mother's lungs, and was the second loudest. She was demanding to be taken with.

"Now wait a minute –" That was from Harry, but his voice was cut off by the slam of the door and the sound of their footfalls as they ran to the apparition point. 

Ed hardly noticed Tonks wrap him and Al into her arms, hardly noticed the gut churning squeeze of Apparition. His mind seamlessly transitioned to the quiet of the wand shop. "Damn it!" it was utterly undisturbed except for the fact that Garrick was clearly not in it. "Damn damn damn!" Ed kicked a wall of wand boxes and several clattered to the floor.

"Is there any way to track any apparition zat might have happened?" Alphonse bent to pick up one of the fallen wand boxes.

Tonks stood by the door, wand drawn against anyone who might come in. "No. And that's frustrating until I remember that if we could track their apparition, they could track ours. And there have been some pretty close calls."

Ed scowled. "Damn," he said again, but he could see the logic there.

Alphonse turned the wand box over in his hands, opened it. "It's empty?"

"Vas?" Ed picked up another box. It too was empty. He pulled three boxes from the wall and those too were vacant.

"Why would the Death Eaters want to vanish the wands?"

"Who knows," Ed said, kicking at a box.

Alphonse pulled open another drawer. Empty. "Where will first years get their wands?"

Tonks shrugged. "They'll pull family wands out of storage," she said. "Some will go abroad and buy from Gregorovitch." Her attempt at nonchalance was poor. Anybody could see her concern. 

"What about zee muggleborns?"

"I'll write a letter to Dumbledore,” said Ed. “I sink zat's vhy Garrick sent me zee vault key. So zat students who don't haff any ozer vay to obtain zeir vands will be able to be matched vis one at school."

"We should go to Gringotts then," said Tonks. Ed nodded.

"Vis any luck, Nyorok vill be working, and zee whole sing vill go smoothly."

"Let's go." Tonks waved them through the door and the three of them began to make their way down the alley in a tight formation. Tonks kept her wand out, and Ed and Al kept their hands close enough together to clap at a moment's notice.

They nearly did when a silver wolf twisted through the air towards them. "Just got to Ollivander's shop," said the wolf. "You're not there and I really hope you're safe. Be careful, Dora."

The wolf vanished into thin air. Tonks rolled her eyes. "Keep moving," she said. "Remus seems to have gotten the stupid idea that he should be protecting me into his head."

"Vas zat vat zey call a patronus?" Ed had read about them, but he'd yet to see one.

"Yup," said Tonks.

"I didn't know they could send messages," Alphonse said.

"It's a tricky bit of magic." Tonks cut herself off from explaining. "There's Gringotts," she said.

Ed nodded and took off at a run. When he busted through the doors at full speed, Nyorok was the one who yelled at him to slow. A stroke of good luck.

"Nyorok!" Ed said. "It's Ollivander! Zee vandmaker. He's been taken."

Nyorok raised a long eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. "And that's my problem why?"

Normally, Ed appreciated Nyorok's apathy toward wizards. Today, however, it was his friend's life that hung in the balance. "He sent me zee key to his vault."

Nyorok's eyes lit in understanding and he ushered Ed into a back room. "Let me see this key."

Ed pulled it from his pocket and slid it from his pocket. "I sink zee terrorist zat has been kicking up a ruckus vants to restrict zee purchase."

Nyorok ignored him, waved a hand over the key. It glowed a warm orange, and Ed blinked. Nyorok nodded in satisfaction, said, "This is how we tell that the key was given, not stolen. I like you, Ed, but protocol still applies."

"Right."

"It seems clean," Nyorok said. "Can you tell me the vault number?"

Ed nodded, but slipped the piece of parchment across the table instead of speaking. Nyorok's eyes turned almost sad as he analyzed the handwriting. "Looks to be in order," said Nyorok. "I can take you down to the vault, then."

"Sank you."

The last time Ed had been at Gringotts, the entirety of his business had been conducted in this small office. So, he was thrown for a loop when the little goblin led him through a grand pair of doors. "Welcome to Gringotts," Nyorok said, and Ed's breath was taken away. Beyond them was a wide staircase that led into a cavernous basement.

"Vat in zee vorld?" There was only a tiny scrap of floor below the stairs, and from that floor branched tracks that disappeared into the distance.

"To keep the wizards where they belong," Nyorok said. "Most of them don't like getting their hands dirty."

"Are zere any vizards you like?"

Nyorok snorted. "The ones we hire. And even then, the trust only goes so far."

Ed decided that was fair and climbed into the rickety cart Nyorok indicated. "How big is zis place?" In all directions, the cavern branched into tunnels that seemed to go on forever. 

"Gringotts spreads across most of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys," said Nyorok. "And every bit of it is designed to keep intruders out." He gave a sly smile, tapped the cart, and it lurched forward. 

Ed shook his head in amazement. What a rush! The wind generated by the forward momentum was powerful enough to throw Ed to the back of his seat. Once he’d adjusted, he crawled to the front of the cart, held tightly to the rim. "Zis is vantastic!"

Nyorok said nothing but looked at Ed with such an expression of amusement that Ed would have been offended if he wasn't so awed. They'd descended deep into the Earth and were passing through another cavern. Above him, Ed could have sworn he saw a large shape soar.

As quickly as the ride began, it came to an abrupt halt in front of Ollivander's vault. With trembling hands, Ed turned the key into the lock. The noise of the doors opening was enough to make Ed wince, picturing how aghast Winry would be. "Ven vas zee last time these hinges vere oiled?"

Nyorok shrugged. "Ollivander doesn't visit the vault often. He developed a charm to send superfluous wands directly to the vault. We stopped him from coming up with the reverse, but he keeps enough in store to not need them."

Ed nodded. The vault was laid out like Ollivander's shop. Rack upon rack of wand boxes filled the space, with narrow aisles between them. "Zere vill certainly be enough wands vor zee virst years here!"

The vault itself was two to three times larger than the shop, and was more densely packed. Damn. Ed had known that wand making was Ollivander's reason to live, not only his bread and butter but this was ridiculous.

“I don't necessarily want to celebrate more wizards coming of age to learn," said Nyorok. "But I'm glad."

Ed gave Nyorok a tired smile. "Sank you. I'll get in touch viz zee principal tonight, decide how ve're going to select the wands most likely to be choose a virst year. And get a plan in place to locate zee old man."

"Good luck," said Nyorok.

Ed nodded at the stacks. "I'm gonna get a feel vor zee layout in here before vee leave." And so, he did. Ed spent about an hour determining the order of the wands. They were organized first by wood, then by core, and finally arranged from shortest to longest. This could work. He committed the layout to memory and finally exited the building, secure in the knowledge that he had done something for one of his only two real friends in this world.

Nyorok watched him with a puzzled expression throughout the process but brought him back to the surface without comment.

"I'll write you," Ed said. "I'm still curious about zee international standards vor vizarding money."

"I look forward to it." Nyorok even seemed like he meant it!

Ed grinned at him and rejoined Alphonse and Tonks. With them was Lupin. Clear that the three of them had been arguing, Ed kept his explanation brief.

"I need to meet vis Dumbledore," he said. "I haff a solution vor zee first years."

"Zat's fantastic, brozer!"

Tonks looked expectantly at Lupin, who eyed them with a wary exhaustion. "The three of you were exceptionally stupid today."

"Your soldiers had already cleared zee scene, yes?"

"That's beside the point."

"Nein, zat is precisely zee point. Alphonse und I haff razer more experience zen you might sink viz these sings. Vee can handle ourselves and you already know zat Tonks can, given zat she is one ov your soldiers."

"You may be of age, Edward. But Alphonse isn't. It's your duty as his guardian to protect him."

Ed stared at Lupin with uncomprehending eyes. What was this asshole's problem? "Alphonse and I haff alvays solved our problems togezer. Vee von't stop doing zat now, just because you're all under zee impression zat I'm eighteen."

"Bruder!"

"What?" said Lupin. "Under the impression?"

"I need to speak to Dumbledore," Ed said, wincing at his mistake. "End of discussion."

And it was the end of the discussion - Lupin glared at Ed a moment longer before casting his patronus for the second time that day. He said nothing to the silver wolf that appeared, and Edward had to assume that Lupin sent the message he wanted him to.

Or close enough to it.

"Can we go back to the Burrow, please?" said Lupin. "You've worried Molly sick."

That was not the truth, Ed discovered when they returned. They didn't find the Matron of the Red Hair as pale and wan as the word 'sick' might suggest. Her worry did not make her sick. It made her hissing, spitting mad.

"What were you thinking?"

Ed said nothing.

"Now I understand wanting to jump in headfirst to save a friend – I'm as Gryffindor as they come, but Alphonse is under age!"

Ed said nothing.

"You endangered a child!" Molly wailed.

"Nein," said Ed. "It is your insistence on not training your children zat vill endanger zem now! I may not consider zis entanglement a var, but you haff an unscrupulous terrorist after zose you haff sworn to protect und instead ov teaching zem to defend zemselves you vould haff zem defenseless!"

"They're children!"

"And your Voldemort vould kill zem anyvay," Ed said. "Alphonse may be a child, but he has all ov zee training I do and he never let me go into a fight alone."

"Training?" said Mrs. Weasley. "And fights? You were a muggle Chemi-whatsit professor. What fights were you two getting into?"

Ed steadily met her gaze. He was slipping all sorts of secrets today, and in both cases they only derailed his argument instead of proving his point. He said only, "I know how to survive a var, Frau Veasley. And so does Alphonse. Let us do it." 

There was a moment while the implication of his statement hung in there air, and then Mrs. Weasley’s mouth opened. Ed was spared from further argument by the arrival of the most beautiful bird he had ever seen. In through the kitchen window, swept a bird whose feathers glinted with the reds and oranges and blues and greens of the very hottest of Mustang's fires.

"Fawkes," said Tonks. Ed looked at her askance, and she explained. "Dumbledore's phoenix." Ed blinked as Fawkes alighted on his good shoulder, the bird's leg stuck under his nose.

He extracted the letter from the pouch tied to the bird's leg and unrolled it. Frustratingly, the letter was in German. Presumably to keep it away from the Matron of the Red Hair's eyes. But as much as Ed and Al pretended to be German, they'd only picked up so much of the dialect while there.

Amestrian was close enough to get by on, but the differences to something so familiar made reading annoying. At least he was expecting English to be tricky and unfamiliar! Damn. Ed shook his head and focused.

Edward, 

What is this I hear about you dragging Alphonse into potential combat situations? Remus told me you would like to speak with me, and I believe I can spare a visit to the Burrow tonight around midnight. I hope your reasoning is sound. 

Albus

Ed relayed the message, and flounced off to the room he and Alphonse shared to wait out the time. Whatever explanation Alphonse gave in his wake, Ed did not care.

As was the fashion for the principal of the School of Pig Fungus, Dumbledore didn't show up until one thirty in the morning. The gas lamp that Ed had set on his desk was burning low, and he'd long since finished the magic reading quota he'd set for himself. He'd found himself done with time to spare – and the waiting was boring him to tears.

Alphonse had come into the room around eight with dinner trays for the both of them, and immediately set to studying at the other desk. He crawled into bed and fell promptly asleep at around eleven. That was enough to have Ed eyeing the other bed in the room, but the thought of what had potentially befouled one of the only two real friends he'd made in this universe kept him angry enough to stay wide awake. When Dumbledore walked in, that anger guided Ed's first response.

"I haff things to do tomorrow," Ed said, when the door to the room closed behind the old man.

Instead of responding to the complaint, Dumbledore looked to Alphonse, who was asleep in his bed. "Will we wake him?"

"No," said Ed, snorting. "Alphonse sleeps like the dead." Making up for lost time, Ed rather suspected.

"But if we do?"

"Zen he joins zee conversation," Ed said. "I haff trusted Alphonse viz my life, I trust him viz zis."

"Fair enough," Dumbledore said. He seemed to realize that Ed wasn't going to offer him the other chair in the room. And so with a wave of his wand, Albus conjured a ridiculous looking cushion and placed it in the chair himself. "Remus was sparse with the details in his message. Why exactly did the three of you feel the need to go to Ollivander's?"

"Garrick is a friend," Ed said. "He sent me a letter as he vas being taken. Or killed. Or – " Ed shook his head. There was no point in extrapolating. "I needed to see zee scene vor myself, and I needed to follow zee instructions he left me."

"He left you instructions?"

"And zee letter itself is none ov your business. But, carrying out zose instructions would interest you. Vat Lupin apparently vailed to mention is zat Ollivander gave me access to zose vands he had in storage. For your virst years."

Dumbledore slumped back in his chair in relief and disbelief. "Thank Merlin," he said. "The instant I heard that he'd been taken – I know that wasn't Voldemort's main point for kidnapping him, but I'm sure making things harder on muggleborn first years was a strong plus."

"Vat do you sink vas his main goal, then?" Ed said.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at him, and Ed knew he was about to listen to a string of bullshit. He wasn't wrong. "I have a few theories."

"Bull," said Ed. "Iv you know anything, I need to know it. Ollivander vas zee only sane person I've met ov you vizards and I vill not lose him because you don't vant to tell me vat you know."

"It's the sort of information that I cannot share outside of the Order of the Phoenix."

Order of the Phoenix? Really? 

"Vat are you?" Ed said. "Ten years old? Zat is stupidest faux-badass name I haff ever heard! Is zat vat your merry band ov fools calls zemselves?"

"I'm afraid so," said Dumbledore. His eyes were twinkling again. "Would you like to join?"

"Vill it mean I get full disclosure? Or vill you continue to hide sings from me ven it suits you?"

"Full disclosure," Dumbledore said. Ed knew that was a blatant lie.

"The last time I was someone's dog, they ended up dead," Ed said. Dumbledore's eyes did not stop their twinkle. Ed scowled. "I von't be joining any 'Order' but I vill fight to keep my students safe."

"That is all we ask of our teachers."

"To do zat job right, I need to haff information." Ed crossed his arms and tried to look threatening. He wasn't sure if it worked. "I cannot protect people from an enemy I know nozing about."

"It's Order business."

Ed decided that it was time to play hardball. "Ollivander's vands vor your intel."

"You would deny learning opportunities to eleven year olds?"

The truth was that denying education to anyone was not in Ed's nature. But Old Man Twinkle here didn't need to know that. "Yes," he said. "Zere are ozer vand makers you could turn to, I am sure."

Dumbledore sighed and extended a hand. "I believe we have an accord."

Ed shook it smartly. “Awesome. I vill draw up plans on how vee might get vands to zee children tomorrow. Vat do you know about my friend?"

"I think Voldemort took Garrick for information," Dumbledore said after a long moment. "He and Harry have twin wands, and I think Voldemort is trying to find a way to get around the bond."

Ed did not want to know why sticks had twins. He wasn’t going to ask why it was significant. Instead: "Iv anyone could vind a vay it vould be Garrick."

"So you agree?"

"It's as good a zeory as any," said Ed. "And it's one zat means he's still alive. Do you haff any leads as to vere prisoners might be kept?"

"You don't want to storm that stronghold, Mr. Elric."

"I do vant to," Ed said. "Regardless ov zee hocus pocus, I can hold my own in a vight."

"Going in alone there is a recipe to get yourself killed." The Old Man’s eye twinkle vanished. "I promise if we find a way in, you will be the first to know."

"Zat's not gut enough." Ed glared at him, and Alphonse turned over in the bed. Ed took that as a cue to quiet down, and lowered his voice to a hiss. "I vant him found."

Albus nodded solemnly. "I understand," he said.

"Do you?"

"I've lost people to dark wizards before," he said. "I know."

Ed threw his hands up. "Zen you'll know zat I need zee information."

"And I know what you'll try to do with it. No."

"I'll get it vrom someone else."

"He vill, too," said Alphonse. Ed and Albus both jumped. "Iv you tell him now, you've earned our loyalty and a level ov security. Maybe ve vill tell you, before going off on our own. Iv you don't? Zen you haff no measure of control vatsoever."

Albus pushed his crescent moon glasses up his nose, and glanced around the dark room. "And I suppose it's no use reminding the both of you that you're children?"

Ed and Al shook their heads in resolute unison. The Old Man sighed, plucked a ballpoint pen from Ed's desk and wrote in small lettering on a piece of conjured parchment.

Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. 

"It's his entire base of operations," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort himself is likely living there – it would be the height of stupidity to try for it."

"Don't both sides haff normal prisons?"

"No."

Ed blinked incredulously, opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Alphonse elbowed him firmly in side, said, "Thank you for telling us, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed. "You didn't give me much choice."

"Vee never do," said Ed, regaining equilibrium at the Old Man’s resigned and exasperated expression. He grinned at Al in the dark. "Vee don't play."

"I can see that now." Dumbledore rose from the hardwood chair, and with a wave of his wand vanished the pink cushion he'd conjured. "Good night, to the both of you."

"You too, Mr. Dumbledore!" said Al.

Ed rose and opened the door for the headmaster. "Haff a good night," he said, before shutting him out of the room. He was suddenly horribly unsure of the nature of the alliance he just entered into. Ed took a step back from the door, but did not turn away from it.

He would be dumb to think that Dumbledore and Molly wouldn't be having a follow up conversation downstairs, but he couldn't think of a way to listen in on it without giving himself away. Ed was certain the creaking of the stairs had been magically enhanced to discourage eavesdroppers.

So Ed went to bed, annoyed with the fact that it was almost three in the morning. His morning spar with Alphonse would have to cut short or else entirely postponed till the afternoon.

"Good night, brother," Alphonse called to him in Amestrian.

"Good night, Al."

Chapter Text

In the past weeks, Alphonse had been eagerly eating up the mothering that Mrs. Weasley had been all too eager to put down. She wasn't his mother, and that rankled, but Al was only fifteen. After fighting in a war, there was something nice about being mothered. He wanted to experience the childhood he had been denied.

Despite that desire, Al was also aware that he wasn't a child in the same way that Ginny, Hermione, Harry, or Ron were children. So when, after his and Ed's early morning spar, Ed took a few books out to the orchard to read before breakfast, Alphonse decided to do something about it.

"Mrs. Weasley?" he said, poking his head into the kitchen.

She was seated at the table, sipping tea with one eye warily watching a pot of oatmeal she had put on. She looked up at the sound of his voice, said, "Alphonse?"

"Zere is somezing I vould like to talk to you about," Al said, shuffling through the door way. He tried to look as non-threatening as possible, but it must have looked like fear. A thundercloud filtered over Mrs. Weasley’s expression. 

"Did you have a nightmare?" She was up and out of her chair in a moment. "Ed was so foolish for bringing you with him on his hair brained scheme yesterday!"

"Of course not." Well. That was a lie. Alphonse had a few nightmares, sure enough. He'd had the same ones he'd been having all along, of the Promised Day and older traumas too. The usual ones. "I didn't haff any nightmares."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, deflating suddenly. "That's good."

"Vee valked into an empty shop, Mrs. Weasley. I haff seen vorse." Really, there had been nothing even remotely traumatizing about the previous day.

"I'm sure you have, sweetie. If ever you want to talk about that, I'm here." She carefully guided the both of them into chairs. Alphonse let himself be led, even if it rather belayed his point.

Alphonse was always the younger Elric brother. Even when he was a hulking suit of armor that could loom over people with the best of them, his voice had yet to change. But at least in Amestris he was respected!

"You are missing zee point."

"Am I?"

Al decided to take a new tack, said, "You fought in zee last skirmish against Voldemort, right?"

"I did," said Mrs. Weasley. "And I still have nightmares from some of the worse fights sometimes. It's completely normal."

Alphonse sighed heavily. This was getting ridiculous, he didn't want to undermine Mrs. Weasley's experience. But. "You fought in zee last skirmish, and I haff probably seen more combat zan you."

"What? Alphonse, I was in a war." Al wouldn't rate either 'war' with Voldemort as one, but he wasn't going to put that so indelicately. But then, what happened in Amestris wasn’t exactly a war either. Not like Ishval. 

"Ed and I fought in one, too,” said, deciding that if Voldemort counted as a war, so too did the Promised Day and the events leading up to it. “I've read zee materials on zee first var against Voldemort, and zere vere simply more combat situations in ours. Beyond just zee basic battles ov zee var, Ed had a knack vor getting himself into trouble. Vee had people trying to kill us left and right, and mostly it vasn't our fault." Mostly.

Mrs. Weasley was slack jawed and Alphonse felt a small twinge of guilt. He didn't want to be the one to wreck her fantasies about childhood. "But you're so young!" she finally managed to say.

"Ed joined our military at twelve years old. He vas talented enough zat zey did not care, or so vee zought. Later vee realized zat vee both vere talented enough zat zey vanted us on a leash, so zey could kill us later. Vee helped throw a military coup, and Ed himself struck zee final blow on zee person behind it all." Alphonse put a hand on her shoulder. "It has been a long time since eizer ov us has been mothered, and vee appreciate it. But vee had to be adults vor so long zat it grates, sometimes."

Mrs. Weasley blinked, crossed her arms under her breasts. "I would have thought I'd hear about something like that."

Alphonse wasn't ready to tell Mrs. Weasley that he and Ed were from another world, instead he bluffed. "How much attention do you pay to muggle affairs?"

"Not enough, apparently." Mrs. Weasley said, glancing to the ceiling. "What where you so talented in?"

"Vat do you think?" Alphonse said, grinning. "Alchemy!"

Blank faced, Mrs. Weasley asked, "Is that a military skill?"

"It can be," said Alphonse honestly. "Brother's direct superior burned people alive by altering zee oxygen level in zee air. Ed's specialty is stone and metal work. Vhen vee first met Miss Tonks, you'll remember zat he wrapped her in fist made of concrete. It vas automatic, because for years it had to be automatic." Alphonse would never forget the horror on Mrs. Weasley’s face. She was right to be horrified. It was horrifying, the way people invented ways to kill each other.

The pot of oatmeal Mrs. Weasley had on the stove was starting to burn, but neither party noticed. Mrs. Weasley had her hands folded on the table, and clearly there was effort involved to keep from wringing them. "I didn't know. Alchemy always seemed so academic."

"To train zee mind, one must first train zee body. Our teacher beat zat into us. Not every Alchemist sees as vee do, but it is our opinion and Teacher's opinion zat book learning is inherently linked to zee physical. Our teacher hated zee military, but her philosophy taught us to survive it."

"I suppose," she said. But she clearly didn't agree.

"Vee can take care ov ourselves."

She shook her head. "I suppose you can," she said. But she clearly didn't agree with that either.

Her expression was so vacant that when the troop of wizard children filed in for breakfast, not a one of them complained about the burnt oatmeal. Afterwards, Alphonse sat with Mrs. Weasley the rest of the day, deciding she needed the company. She knitted and answered his questions as he read through a few massive textbooks, scratched her head when he pulled out the paper and pencil and tried to work out some of the equations that had been sent to his brother in Ollivander's last letter.

As morning turned to afternoon and Al helped Mrs. Weasley set up lunch for the horde, Alphonse said, "Please don't tell Ed I told you. He doesn't vant you to pity him."

"I won't," Mrs. Weasley promised. "I won't tell anyone."

That was all well and good, because Alphonse wasn't quite sure anyone would believe it.

Ed was very immersed in his research, enjoying a comfortable silence with Granger when Girl Ginger appeared to drag them from the shade of their apple tree for lunch.

"You have to eat something," she said, looking at them both with fierce brown eyes.

"I brought snacks," said Hermione, gesturing at her bag pleadingly. Ed just shrugged – he may have always had a ravenous appetite, but books always took precedence over food and sleep and just about everything else.

"Get in the bloody house," said Girl Ginger, apparently not going to take no for an answer. Well. Now that Ed had been pulled from his focus, lunch did sound good. With a heavy sigh, Edward gathered his books, and some of Granger's besides.

There was one book especially that she guarded so jealously that Ed had not even the chance to flip through it. When he tried to surreptitiously slip it into his own pile, Granger snatched it from him before he could do more than glimpse the title. The Art of Memory by Volta Inglehouse. Ed took note. He did not like the sound of that.

The books were all piled into their respective extendable bags, and the three of them trudged into the lopsided Burrow.

Inside, Al wore a carefully cheerful face. The Matron of the Red Hair had turned quiet and watchful. Ed had been expecting a lecture but he didn't get one. Instead, lunch was cheerful,  the tension about the previous day's events an undercurrent that nobody mentioned. Even Harry's shoulders were hunched, and Ed reckoned that’d somehow made the whole thing his fault. Ed was sympathetic to that. Didn't he know that when you were set up to believe that you carried the world on your shoulders, every bad thing felt like it was your own fault? He certainly did. He’d been there. 

The meal was interrupted half-way, as Ed was becoming accustomed, to the arrival of several owls. The booklists that the pocus-principal had been struggling to put together had finally arrived.

Ed felt a creeping sense of self-satisfaction at their appearance, and looked over Alphonse's shoulder at the letter. The first page was the usual scholarly bluster about admittance, but the second one was of serious interest.

Al's booklist had been altered from other students to display not only the current year’s texts, but also the particular highlights of the curriculum he’d missed. Many of them Ed recognized from Granger's tutoring sessions. She had done a very good job catching Alphonse up to speed even while keeping up with her own summer school work. He’d have expected nothing less from his star chemistry student, but it was still nice to see. At the bottom of the letter, disregarding the fact that Al had already purchased his, there was a notice.

Due to the remarkable foresight of Garrick Ollivander, this year Hogwarts School will be providing all unequipped first years with wands free of charge.

Ed laughed, and as the people around the table came to stare at him he snatched Al's letter and waved it in the air. "Ollivander is fery smart man," he said by way of explanation. "Free vands vor zee first year students. I bet Moldyman vas not expecting zat!"

Girl Ginger choked on her sandwich.

The attention was quickly stolen by Potter's appointment to Quidditch Captain and Mrs. Weasley's realization that she could no longer put off taking her children to Diagon Alley.

"I know zat Alphonse already has his supplies, but I vill come along. I haff some business regarding zee donation ov zee vands to attend to at Gringotts."

And there was the lecture he'd been waiting for. "Can we trust you in Diagon Alley, Edward?"

"I'll stay out ov your vay, Mrs. Weasley." Ed stood from the table, took his plate to the sink, and swept from the room to return to his studies. If he thought Mrs. Weasley was going to seek him out to yell at him as Maria Ross once did, he was wrong.

When it came time for Ed to meet Al for their evening work out and spar, Mrs. Weasley dragged a chair out to the orchard to watch them. Ed looked at Alphonse for explanation, but Al only shrugged. Mrs. Weasley didn't take the opportunity to finish her lecture, but she watched intensely. Her brown eyes flickered across the action and her knitting needles clicked relentlessly, without her giving it the barest attention.

What Al told the Matron of the Red Hair, Ed didn't know. But Ed knew from Mrs. Weasley's uncharacteristic restraint that Alphonse must have said something.

Over the next few days, Ed tried to focus on his studies, on training with Al, on biting back the guilt that was mounting on the subject of the pocus-kids' lack of combat training. But he was driven to distraction by the Mrs. Weasley's suddenly watchful figure. Abruptly halted all mentions of Alphonse's boyhood. Mentions Ed's own youth also disappeared.

In the mornings, she set oatmeal to cook itself and joined Ginny in the audience of their sessions. Mother and daughter never looked so alike as they sat, Ginny cross-legged and Mrs. Weasley in an old lawn chair, at the edge of their makeshift training ground.

For the rest of that week, dinner remained an extravagant affair, but the other meals had been pared down to utter simplicity. Breakfast and lunch were still delicious, it goes without saying, but they were designed so that the cooking of them could go almost completely unmonitored.

When she wasn't watching Ed and Al, she was watching the other children. Ed figured that she was likely measuring them up. Comparing. Assessing. And whatever determinations she was making, she wasn't sharing.

The days ticked onward to Saturday with Mrs. Weasley resolutely watching everyone. Ed began to develop a sense of when she was near – his skin would prickle and he knew that the Matron was watching him.

Despite the unexpected monitor, Ed managed to proceed with both his studies and with his negotiations with Pig Fungus's principal. By the end of the week, the two of them had come to a suitable agreement.

The school would pay Ollivander's a small sum for the wands, and that money would be put in a vault that Ed would open. The vault would be presented to Garrick when he was found, as an extra fund to help him get back on his feet when he was found. And yes, it would be when he was found, no ifs about it.

As good as their plans for the wands were, there was absolutely no progress on potential plans to storm this Malfoy place. With the lack of movement there, Ed grew ever more antsy. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Ollivander was an important member of the community, Ed had begun to realize. Almost every pocus-person in England had at least one interaction with the man under their belt.

So why?

By Saturday, Ed was full ready to mount an assault against Malfoy Manor by himself. He could probably get Tonks to help, and where she went Lupin followed. Ed reminded himself that the numbers were most certainly against him. Al isn't invincible anymore, Ed thought. He can't play the tank this time.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the Matron of the Red Hair gathered the herd for departure. Ed halted, blinking, at the front door to the Burrow. "Since vhen do vizards use cars?"

The Patron of the Red Hair was along for this particular mission, and even despite the worry that had settled over both him and his wife over the past days he was cheerful. "We're to be incognito, today."

"Harder to intercept than the Floo," Mrs. Weasley said honestly. "We're taking Harry out of the wards, so the ministry wants to be careful."

Ed snorted. "I've never seen any government be zis try-hard vhen it comes to zee people zey vant to use." When the Amestrian military put him on a leash, it involved teasing him with the answers to everything he wanted. The leash extended to the very boarders of the nation.

That's why it took him so long to recognize it for what it was.

"Hey!" said Harry, and Ed looked at him with a certain amount of pity. Soon this kid would be his student, and maybe Ed should make an attempt at pulling him to the side to talk about this whole mess.

"Don't lie to yourself," he said. "Your Ministry vill be very happy vhen you make zeir problems go avay."

Ron shrugged. "He's not wrong, mate."

"He didn't have to phrase it quite so bluntly," said Hermione, sending Ed a scowl the size of the moon. Ed slid into the back seat of the car, and turned his attention to wondering how they were all going to fit into the thing.

Ed needn't have worried. His eyes grew as the car did. With each passenger that slid into the vehicle, the interior of the car widened to accommodate them. He tried to picture Winry's response to this kind of enchantment. Would it be awe? Or would it be fury over the warping of the engineer's original intention?

Surely, whenever he modified his automail using alchemy, the response was fury.

The magical extension of the interior, however enraged or pleased Winry might be by it, made the ride more pleasant than Ed was anticipating. Soon enough, the car was pulling up along an entirely unremarkable street. So unremarkable, in fact, Ed found it hard to focus on any particular feature of it. There was clearly no pub on this block, but the car pulled to the curb anyway. A large man was waiting for them outside.

"Vas?" he said, suddenly on alert. "Zis doesn't look like your Leaky Cauldron."

"Don't be silly, bruder," said Al. "It's right zere!"

But it couldn't be! Forcing his mind to focus, Ed could plainly see that there was a flower shop, a bakery, a hardware store. Nothing like the street he thought he'd seen out the windows of the pub when he'd been taken there by green fire. Had they all gone mad?

"Vee haff been duped!" Ed said, leaping out of he car and putting a knife to the large man's ribcage. "It's a trap! Zee driver must haff been in league vis zee Moldy-fellow!"

"Shh!" said Granger, gesturing to the startled looking people on he street "Do you want to violate the Statute of Secrecy? Put that knife down! Where did you even get that?"

Why was no one concerned?

"Leave Hagrid alone!" said Harry. "He hasn't done anything to you!"

"He's a threat!"

"Pick us back up in a few hours," the Patron of the Red Hair told the driver before firmly taking Ed by the arm. "Put the knife away, Ed." Maybe it wasn't the Moldy-fellow behind this, and the group that had been duped. Cold fear gripped his belly. Maybe the pocus-people had decided they no longer wanted their secret compromised by a random muggle, even if they werean alchemist and brother to a wizard. Ed began to bring his right hand to clap against his restrained left, but was surprised by Alphonse taking it.

"I've been reading about zese," said Al. The expression on his face was grim, and his body unyielding. "Muggle repelling charms."

"Vas?" Muggle what? Ed would continue resisting, but he trusted Al. He wanted to trust Al. There was no way his baby brother was involved in a conspiracy against him.

"The poor thing," The Matron of the Red hair was staring at him with undisguised pity.

"I have to drag my parents through every time," said Granger. "They've gotten better at recognizing what's happening." Her hands landed below Ed’s shoulder blades, joining Mrs. Weasley and Alphonse’s efforts to shepherd him along.

As the herd of them neared the brick expanse that Ed had assumed was just part of the abnormally broad flower shop storefront, he noticed himself getting increasingly distra- was that a threat over on that other street? Was that a fight he needed to break up? Did he remember to feed Al’s kitten this morning?  Oh, Ed realized. It was more of that magic shit, clouding his sight.

Ed fought to regain control of his mind, and as Mr. Weasley reached forward as though to open a door, the fog lifted from his eyes. Mr. Weasley actually had opened a door. It led to a familiar empty pub. And they were at the right angle for Ed to see the sign. A deeply cracked cauldron.

"Now you see? You're safe," said Granger, reaching one hand over his shoulder to gesture. She let out a narrow hiss of breath. "Well, if there was any doubt about your muggle-ness, this proves it."

"Why would there be any doubt?" said Boy Savior.

"You haven't seen him perform alchemy," said Granger. Her hands left Ed’s back for good, and the proximity of her body heat faded, giving him space to breathe again.  Alphonse released his arm, and Mrs. Weasley did likewise.

"Never heard of muggles being able to do it," Boy Ginger said. He then invaded the space Ed had just been given, took more pleasure than Ed thought strictly necessary in bodily shoving him through the doorway. Ed almost lashed out at the perceived threat, but he was still reeling. And really, he had needed the boost to get moving again. He looked around the pub instead of spinning on a dime and putting his fist in Boy Ginger’s gut. His first glance through the window had been correct. The pub was empty, and the barkeep was looking at them hopefully.

"I don't think you actually knew enough about it to say that." Granger flipped her bushy hair, and put her nose firmly in the air.

"Just passin' through today, Tom," said the large man. The barkeep visibly deflated. 

"Sorry," said Ed, half to the barkeep and half to the large man. They made their way through the pub as a group and arrived at the now-familiar entrance to Diagon Alley. "You could haff varned me zat vould happen!"

"I forgot?" said Alphonse.

"You said you vere just reading about zee things!"

"We just forget that you're not one of us," said the Patron of the Red Hair. "You'll be teaching at Hogwarts in the fall, and that just says wizard."

"Yer a teacher!" said the large man, grinning broadly. Friendly, for someone Ed might have made a serious attempt at maiming.

"Yes?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, at yer service," he said. "Jus' call me Hagrid, everyone does. I'll be lookin' forward to workin' wi' you!"

"You vork at zee school?" Ed said.

"Care o' Magical Creatures," said Hagrid. "And Keeper o' the Keys and Grounds."

"I'm sorry I zreatened you, bevore." Ed made a show of pocketing the knife and sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. This whole wizard situation was shitty, Ed didn’t need angry coworkers making it worse.

"Not to worry," said Hagrid. "Toothpick wouldn't'a scratched me – I'm half giant."

"Oh," said Ed, blinking. Half giant? "Zat's incredible."

"Hagrid's the best," said Harry fondly. "I didn't know that Order protection would mean you!"

"Jus' like old times, innit?" Hagrid ruffled the boy's hair, and Ed realized that this half giant – whatever that meant – might be the only person that saw Harry Potter as what he was, a kid.

Ed turned to Alphonse. "Do you want to go to the bank with me or stay with the Weasleys?" Ed asked Al in Amestrian once everyone was through the brick archway.

Alphonse shrugged. "I don't want to get in the way of business," he said. Edward hadn't realized that Al somewhat resented being left in the lobby of Gringotts with Tonks until just that moment.

"You wouldn't get in the way."

"If you're sure!" Alphonse's face brightened, and Ed laughed aloud.

"You never get in the way, Al," Ed said before switching into English. "Vee're going to zee bank. Meet you back here?"

"Meet us at the twins' shop," said Mrs. Weasley. If that wasn't proof Al had said something, Ed didn't know what was. "Be safe."

Ed agreed, he liked the Twin Gingers. So off they went through the brick archway. "All things considered," Ed said to Alphonse in Amestrian. "I think I prefer that Floo bullshit to Muggle Repelling whosits."

"Why didn't you attack?" Al said.

"I think it's because I want to be able to trust them," said Ed. "It was a moment of weakness. If they had been planning anything untoward, I would be sitting in a dark alley with no memory."

"If they tried anything, I would have gotten you out." Alphonse put a hand on Ed's shoulder, and Ed placed his own on top of it.

"Thank you," he said. "But I'm starting to think this whole Voldemort thing is why the Truth sent us here."

"You do know his actual name!"

"Yup," said Ed. "I just think it and he are both ridiculous."

"We're uniquely qualified to understand the opposing view," Al said. Ed thought of their father, trying everything to experience age like a normal man. To grow old and die with their mother, only to come back unsuccessful and find her already dead.

"We are."

Ahead was the bank, the walk having gone quickly in the nigh vacant streets of Diagon Alley. "You'll really like Nyorok," said Ed, even though he wasn't quite sure that was true. Al had lost some of his naivety following everything, but he was still by nature optimistic. Nyorok was not.

"I'm sure I will brother!" Al said, practically sparkling with enthusiasm. Unless Al's inherent likability was literal magic, Ed was pretty sure Nyorok would hate him.

"So this is Alphonse, the wizard brother," were the first words out of Nyorok's mouth as the three of them settled in his office.

"Hi!" Al extended a hand, and Nyorok shook it.

"Your brother's told me much about you."

"Only good sings, I hope!" Al said.

"He said you were a wizard," said Nyorok, lip curling slightly.

"So not good sings," Al said, looking utterly undeterred. "I definitely agree zat zis whole wizard sing is weird."

"Worse than weird, child," Nyorok said, but the curled lip had curled in the other direction, and Ed breathed out a sigh of relief. "If ever you need help navigating their systems, you come to Gringotts, you understand?"

"I vill! Sank you, Mr. Nyorok!" said Alphonse and Ed decided that maybe Al's inherent likability was a form of accidental magic.

Everybody likes Alphonse, even the crankiest of goblins. "You're quite welcome. Now, I assume the two of you are here to iron out the plan for wand pairing?"

"Yup," said Ed. "Apparently one ov zee professors – a Flickwhip person, I believe? – is going to handle the matching. Apparently he apprenticed vis Ollivander before starting in vis his dueling career."

"Fillius Flitwick," corrected Nyorok. "Half-goblin. He would be the best choice, I think."

"You only say zat because he's half-goblin." Ed waved an accusatory hand.

"Of course," said Nyorok. "He's at least half sensible."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Still. How are vee going to get zee magic-sticks to zee school?"

"I will personally handle their transport," said Nyorok. "I will have a hundred of the most likely combinations there in time for the Sorting."

Ed looked at him strangely. Nyorok hated wizards. He wouldn't have thought he'd like to take such a high level of involvement.

"Consider it a personal favor to Fillius." Nyorok steadily met Ed's eyes, but he could not help but feel he was being fed a load of bull. "He's my cousin through my mother's side."

Ed decided to accept it for what it was. "Dumbledore sent me a list vis vat Flitwick reckons would be zee best combinations. Send me an inventory list ov zee ones you decide to bring. Or, I guess, you can send it to your cousin. But I vould appreciate being kept in zee loop."

"I can send duplicate copies."

"As vor payment from zee school, I need to open a vault vor it to be deposited into," Ed said.

"We can do that," Nyorok said, sliding paperwork across the desk. Ed eyed it, swore, but tried to avoid complaining. A Mustang in Amestris was bad enough, Ed didn’t need to inflict Mustang 2.0 on the goblins.

When all was said and done, Ed had a second vault key tucked with the first in the pocked against his ribs. Nyorok shook both their hands firmly, and Ed and Al took off to the only brightly colored and lively place left in Diagon Alley. There was bravery in keeping cheerful and making people laugh even as the world fell to pieces around you, Ed decided. He admired it.

As they neared the door to the shop, Ed saw what might have possibly been the strangest thing he'd seen yet. Three pairs of feet making their way down the street, and unless he was very much mistaken, he recognized the shoes. He nudged Al, pointed.

Al jumped. "What in the world?" he whispered in Amestrian. Ed shrugged, and melted into the side of the joke shop.

"Let's follow 'em!"

"Alright," said Al. "I wonder what they're up to!"

Ed put a finger to his lips, and the two of them fell to silence, following the feet.

But the feet were hesitant in their motions, keeping to shadowed spots, and when Ed looked for a reason he realized that they were following someone else. A blond boy about Ed's age who was doing a very bad job at being sneaky.

They turned down a corner onto a street Ed had not been on before. If Diagon Alley had been quiet, then this place pulsed with a seedy undercurrent. Ed and Al followed the feet, and the feet followed the blond, until the boy strode into a shop called Borgin and Burkes. Okay. So an unsneaky kid was going to a shop his parents might not approve of. Big whoop.

Ed put a hand on Al's shoulder to turn and leave when a wrinkled ear on a string tumbled out from whatever was hiding the wizard kids. Ed turned back to the action, sending Al a quizzical look. Al shrugged. Were Granger, Potter, and Ginger Boy severing human ears now?

Ed thought the answer to that was likely no, judging from what he'd seen of their personalities, but he was creeped out all the same.

Ed heard a spare word escape the feet. Malfoy. This blonde twerp was affiliated with the Malfoy place Garrick was likely being kept? What? It took everything he had not to dash into the shop and lay the kid out right there. But no. Ed was brash and reckless, but he wasn't as brash as he used to be. So, he waited.

Eventually, the blond came out of the shop. Ed decided to ignore the feet and follow the blond instead. Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Granger appear and enter the shop – probably trying to figure out what the boy's business there had been. Ed waited until he, Al, and the blond were passing a likely crevice before grabbing the boy by the wrist and yanking him between two crumbling brick buildings.

Alphonse performed the alchemy that brought the cobblestone street up and over the boy's feet while Ed held him still. "You haff affiliation vis zee Moldy-person!"

"What?" the boy blubbered. The fear in his eyes was real and strong. Good.

"You haff my friend in zee Malfoy place!"

"Sorry to do zis," Alphonse said, molding cobblestone into shackles around the boy's wrists. "But vee really must get our friend back."

"Malfoy place? You mean my house?" the boy said. "I can't keep track of every prisoner the Dark Lord decides to put there! Let me go!"

"You own zee Malfoy place?"

"My father does!" said the boy. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Should I?" said Ed.

The boy managed to pull a self-important mask over his face even despite his situation. "I'm Draco Malfoy and that means you're going to let me go, or things won't go so well for you."

"You say zat like I should be impressed, but I am muggle being dragged into all zis magic crap, so you vill find I haff no vay ov knowing who you are or vat zat means. I don't care, eizer."

Malfoy looked from Ed to Al to the cobblestone that had been so cleverly manipulated. He spit at Al, who sidestepped it neatly. "You're a dirty mudblood, then. And you're the filth he comes from."

"Oh shut up," said Ed. "Your valse bravado doesn't make you zreatening."

"What do you want?"

"I vant my friend. You probably know him – Garrick Ollivander?"

"Ollivander's friends with a muggle?" said Draco. "Always said I should have bought my wand from Gregorovitch – the old man has plainly lost it."

"Whether he's senile or not isn't zee question." It had to be granted that Garrick was eccentric, but he wouldn't say anything bad about one of the only scientific minds he'd encountered among these wizards.

"Vee really just vant to know vhere he is, and how to get him out," said Alphonse, clasping his hands together. How Al managed to look the very picture of kindness and innocence while interrogating people was another thing Ed suspected was magic.

"He's in my basement. They made me bring him down there. Good luck getting him out." Malfoy’s tried to project nonchalance, like locking people in his basement didn’t phase him at all. But there was something off in his inflection, and Ed caught it. 

"Zen you'll get him out vor us," said Ed. "Or else."

"No way," Malfoy said, flatly. "Not worth it."

"Not vorth your miserable life?" Ed was sick of this kid's shit.

"I think you'd kill me quickly." It was the only thing the boy had said that sounded genuine. "It's preferable to the alternative."

Oh. It was true. Ed could hardly make a threat of painless death convincing. "Get him out for me," Ed said. "And I will help you get your home back." Because that was the issue, wasn't it? This kid’s home had become the base of Moldy’s operations, without any input from the kid who lived there.

Draco laughed at the suggestion. "How?"

"I'll kill zis Moldy-person myself," Ed said. Killing wasn’t in him, but. Ed was reasonably certain that killing Moldy was what the Truth had wanted him and Al to do.

"Hilarious."

"Iv he's dead, you're free," said Alphonse. "And vee can do it, iv we haff inside help and a vay out ov zere."

"You're crazy. You’re a muggle and a mudblood, you’d be dead." said Draco. If there was an ounce of genuine concern in his expression, he concealed with a sneer. "On second thought, maybe I should help you into the house – it would put you in the grave where you belong."

In the corner of Ed’s eye, he saw Al roll his eyes. There was a flash of hurt under the exasperation. "I'm told I ought to prefer zee term muggleborn," Al said, his cobblestone restraints crept up Malfoy's limbs a fraction. Malfoy didn't look impressed.

"Good show, but this is a party trick. And what can you do?" Draco turned to Ed. "A muggle would be defenseless."

"I'm not defenseless," Ed said. "And I von't prove myself to you."

"Right." Malfoy raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and Ed idly wondered how this little twit managed to be infuriating despite his current position.

"Vorget vat vee are. Iv you could, vould you kick zee Moldy out ov your house?"

The brief pause that stretched before Malfoy managed to say no was telling enough. "Help us, and vee vill help you," said Alphonse. "Vee can get you out ov zere – anyone can see you're floundering."

"You don't know the first thing about me."

"Maybe not you specifically, but vee know somezing about children in vartime," said Ed. "Vee haff been zere, haff been soldiers for a truly evil regime."

"They have my mother," said Draco. "So I don't know who you think I am or you are, but I've chosen my side in this." It was the only reason Ed might have understood.

"Zere vas zee advantage to our mozer being dead," Ed said, trying to sound flippant. "No one could use her against us."

Alphonse shrugged. "Zey used me against you a few times."

This was true. "Vamily is important," Ed said. "You get us Ollivander, vee vill get her out ov zere."

Draco Malfoy regarded Ed carefully. "If you can keep her from being prosecuted for her crimes by Dumbledore's groupies, we have an accord."

Ed wasn't sure that he had any control over what the Order did to her, but he wasn't going to turn that down. Ed made a point to undo the alchemically imposed restraint on Malfoy's right hand, ignoring his look of surprise, and extended his. They shook.

"Zee name is Edward Elric," Ed said. "If you need to contact us, send zee owl to me."

"I vish vee had someone here to bind zee deal in zee vay vizards do." Alphonse looked at Malfoy with an intensity that worried Ed. "How do vee know you von't betray us?"

"Aren't you a wizard?" Draco said. "You can be our binder."

"I'm underage. I can't use magic out of school."

"But you just did!" Draco gestured with his free hand at the cobblestone. Ed snorted.

"Vasn't magic." Ed kept his voice casually neutral. "Any muggle could do it, iv zey knew how. It can do a lot more zan shape stone." His eyes were heavy with intimation and promise of what would come if Malfoy reneged on them.

"The ministry can't detect underage use here," Malfoy said. "There's too much magic in the air."

Was it worth the risk? Ed decided that it was. He nodded to Alphonse, who withdrew his giant ash wand. Malfoy's eyebrows shot into his hair at the sight of the thing.

"If you're lying about zis," Alphonse said, eyeing the cobblestone around Malfoy's left hand and feet. "Clasp hands, Ed say your terms."

Ed and Malfoy clasped hands, and even though he had no idea what he was doing or what it meant, Ed said, "Do you swear to help us free my friend Garrick Ollivander?"

"I do," said Draco, and a burst of flame issued from Alphonse's wand and wrapped around their hands. Al looked astounded. It was the first magic he had ever performed, Ed realized. Alphonse was an alchemical prodigy, but even so it was amazing that this first attempt worked.

"Do you swear to protect his fellow prisoners as much as you can?"

"I do," said Draco. Another burst of flame.

"To keep zis conversation and our existence secret vrom Voldemort?"

"I do," Another flame. "He would kill me as surely as the spell."

"To help us vhen it comes time to kill him?"

"I do." That was the end of Ed's demands, and so the table turned. "Do you swear to help me stay alive?"

"I do," said Ed, somewhat regretting he had not asked Malfoy to do the same. Another flame.

"To help my mother stay alive?"

"I do."

"To protect us from prosecution when the war is over?"

"I do." By this point, there were so many tongues of flame wrapped about their hands, it looked almost like a single ball.

"And to help, when the time comes to kill the Dark Lord?"

The same term Ed had ended with. A wise choice. "I do."

"It is done, I believe," said Alphonse, and the flame around their hands blazed bright. For the first time since they had begun the process, it burned. Their hands tightened in reaction to the pain, and then it was over.

"Vat did I just do?" Ed trusted Al, but he really wasn't sure what precisely he'd just done.

"An Unbreakable Vow," Draco said. "Only way I'd trust the likes of you."

"Fatal," said Alphonse. "If anyone violates zee terms. Couldn't trust him not to tell Voldemort to tighten security and come avter us."

Malfoy glared at Alphonse a moment, who shrugged in response. "I'm gentle," he said. "But never mistake zat vor naïve."

Ed clasped his hands together and released the cobblestones from Malfoy's body. "Good luck," he said. "Vee can correspond to come up vis plan."

"I have some ideas," said Malfoy, and Ed got the distinct impression he'd already been thinking of ways to escape with his mother in tow. "I'll be in touch."

He began to turn around, but then turned back. "Was that alchemy?"

Startled, Ed agreed. "How did you know? Most vizards don't know much about it."

Malfoy smirked. "It's a hobby of mine. I was excited to see it offered as an elective this year."

Ed froze, and had to stop himself from laughing. He'd be seeing a lot of this boy, then. "I hope you know more about it zan most ov zeese vizards."

"I know a little," Malfoy said. "After a year with a proper teacher? Who knows. Maybe I'll be better at it than you two."

Oh it was on. If Ed had entertained the idea that he would tell Malfoy upfront about his professorial status, he wasn't going to now. Why ruin the surprise? Both he and Alphonse laughed.

"I'll be starting at Hogwarts zis fall," Alphonse said. "Maybe vee can study together."

"Maybe," said Malfoy. "If you can keep up with proper wizarding stock."

"I sink I can," Alphonse said. "Zat spell I just did? Zat vas zee first one I ever performed, and I sink vee all felt it take." Malfoy's jaw dropped, and Al grinned. "See you at Hogvarts."

Ed decided to let Al have his dramatic exit, so the two of them turned from Malfoy in unison and walked back to Diagon Alley and the bright colors of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Chapter Text

The next few days were spent dealing with Harry's paranoia. Ed understood, he really did. But having procured an Unbreakable Vow from the object of Harry's suspicion, listening to the endless stream of What If's was getting old.

Ed just reminded himself that if Draco Malfoy double-crossed him, he would die. 

“To be fair to Harry,” Alphonse said when Ed complained about it. “He doesn’t know we did that.” And that was a good point. So Ed just watched, equal parts wary and amused, as Harry worked himself into a paranoid fervor. 

Ed kept with that policy until Harry marched up to him on Tuesday afternoon and said, "Can we actually trust you?" Great. He’d decided to spread his paranoia brush a little more liberally, apparently.

"Vould be wise ov you, iv you didn't." Ed snapped his book on Gamp's Law shut. "In your position, you should be vary ov trusting anyone."

Harry slumped against an adjacent tree, sat at the base. "I'm glad you understand my position."

"Vhy are you here?" Ed asked.

"No one is taking my suspicions seriously, and it's getting old. I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands." And find someone else to complain to, right. Ed knew that game.

"Malfoy?"

Harry started, fingers digging into the soil by a large root. "How did you know about that?"

Ed snorted. "Granger told me, asked iv she should be vorried about you."

"Oh." Harry sagged back against the fruit tree. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her zat paranoia vould help keep you alive, provided you don't take it too far. To you, I'm going to say zat iv you don't trust him, be defensive and vatch vrom afar. Paranoia isn't useful iv you put yourself in danger." Ed stood up, dusted off his pants. "I hear you are a good fighter, but I can't know vor sure zat you can protect yourself until I haff seen it."

"What?" said Harry, looking up. "I can't do magic outside of school. I'd get expelled!"

Ed looked at him doubtfully. Really? "Is magic zee only way you can fight?"

"No!" said Harry, looking first furious then doubtful himself. "I can fight."

Ed rolled his shoulders. "Zen come at me. I vould like to see."

Harry continued to sit at the base of the tree, a stupid expression on his face. Ed stuck out a hand, and Harry seemed to come to a decision. He reached up, took the hand, hauled himself halfway to his feet before he dropped again.

It wasn't the best opening move, but it was something. Ed grinned as Harry's momentum took them both to the ground. Ed rolled back to a crouching position, and threw a punch to Harry's gut. Harry doubled over, briefly, but recovered before Ed could take real advantage. He straightened just as Ed's elbow was about to come down between his shoulder blades, making the blow glance off almost harmlessly.

Ed dropped back to the crouch and took Harry out at the knees with a low wheel kick. Harry went down hard. Ed put a foot on his chest, careful to use his right. "Nice," he said. "Zat is better zan I feared."

"My cousin's the local boxing heavy weight champion," Harry said. "He likes to use me for practice."

There was a bitterness to the tone that indicated that Harry wasn't exactly a willing participant in these sessions, but it had given him something. Harry's hand wrapped around Ed's ankle. With the left leg as Ed's anchor, it didn't off balance him by much but it was enough for Harry to roll away and spring back to his feet.

Ed laughed, and was about to go at him again when suddenly there was Ginny. "You'd teach him but you wouldn't teach me? What kind of professor are you?"

She was definitely pissed off. Whoops.

Ed looked at Ginny guiltily. "Alright zen. I'm sorry, I vasn't sinking, and he technically isn't your mozer's son, so I didn't feel zat I needed permission. Iv you vant, you can come at me."

Ginny charged without any hesitation, channeling the rage that being left out had likely instilled in her. Ed saw the weakness in the attack, side stepped. She landed hard, but her fingertips had managed to latch on Ed's pant leg, so she didn't go as far as she might've.

Girl Ginger jumped to her feet and aimed an uppercut at Ed's chin, he leaned backwards to evade and landed a punch below her ribs. She grunted, but did not give. Setting up the blow had left Ed too close to her, and her knee found purchase in his own gut. She’ll be good at this, Ed thought as he geared up to pull on Ginny the same set of maneuvers he pulled on Harry, so that the boy could watch them. In seconds, Ginny was on the ground beneath his right foot.

"Zee two ov you are pretty evenly matched. You boz managed to land a hit each, and it took me roughly zee same amount ov time to take you out," Ed said, pulling his weak right arm across his chest. "I'm going to lead you bos zrough some stretches and zen I vant zee two ov you to spar."

Ginny and Harry looked at each other, shrugged, and mirrored the movement. He got through the set, disguising a few stances as additional stretches, and then set them against each other. It was gratifying to see the both of them with the firmer footing he had snuck into the lesson. It took a half hour before Alphonse noticed what was going on, giving them even numbers for practice.

"You aren't," he said. 

"I needed to get Potter's mind off ov Malfoy," Ed said. "So I told him to fight me. Girl Ginger saw, and she vasn't going to let zat slide."

"Vell," said Alphonse, looking a little lost. "Honestly I vas very close to giving up vis Ginny. Vas going to start teaching her vhen vee got to school."

Ed nodded – he'd thought that might be the case. "Zen I gave her a head start."

Ginny landed a solid kick to Harry's gut, and he landed between Ed and Al's feet. Alphonse grinned, and began to extend a hand to Harry but he leapt to his feet and back into the fray without it. Al blinked, and gave Ed an amused expression. In Amestrian, he said, "I think there might be some tension there."

Ed dissolved into laughter, and replied in the same, "I think you might be right, Al."

It turned out that both Harry and Ginny, along with most of the Clan of Red Hair, played a wizarding sport that was something like airborne rugby. Over the rest of that week, the skill transferred well. There were several moments where both Ginny and Harry managed to successfully tackle both Ed and Al from the front, fingers digging into the soft flesh next to their spines.

"Sports," Al said, musing. "Zey might not be as stupid as vee sought zey vere."

The four of them settled into a rhythm that last week – up and fighting an hour before breakfast, studying till lunch, and then back at it once the worst heat of the day had passed. With the extra partners, Ed reckoned that he and Al were nearing their original levels of fitness. Ginny and Harry weren't bad students, either. By Friday, Hermione and Ron joined them.

"Really don't see how this will help against wizards," said Ron. "But if you're all saying it's important?"

Granger expressed dislike over the idea, and so they set her on the simplest exercises. Her two cents were: "I hated gym in primary school, but I don't want to die."

Mrs. Weasley said nothing about the whole affair, but she continued to drag out her lawn chair to watch. "Take care of them," she told Ed privately. "I know you can, and I know you have the experience to pull it off."

So Al told her about the military. Ed looked to the ceiling, hoping that he’d left out the part about alternate universes. But Ed agreed with Mrs. Weasley. Anyone to target the Brood of the Red Hair Extended Edition would have to go through him.

"I promise," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I don't vant to see any ov zem dead."

"Neither do I." Whatever Al said to her had done the trick.

The regimen they developed did not have long to flourish, because Sunday September 1st dawned sooner than any of them expected. The animals – including Alphonse's kneazle kitten Eve – were all loaded into their respective carriers. Ed had packed his newly extendable briefcase days ago.

Outside, once again waited the similarly extendable cars. The Patron of the Red Hair had explained the night before that there would be an Auror guard waiting for them at the train station. Ed's heart soared at the word ‘train’ – finally a sensible form of travel from these people!

The Auror guard was quick and efficient, but their size and relative prowess made Edward uneasy. Still half expecting to be double-crossed at the last second, Ed reminded himself that he was a seasoned and versatile fighter. He could take them down. He just hoped he wouldn't have to.

As it turned out, he didn't.

After wading through the crowded train station, Ed stood with the group before the column between platforms nine and ten. Well. Maybe he'd spoken too soon when he'd rejoiced at sensible forms of transportation. "Vee haff to valk srough zee vall?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley. "Harry first, so we can get him out of the crowd."

One of the large man walked through the barrier with Harry, who was clearly disgruntled by being escorted. Tough luck, kid. Ed was vaguely sorry that the kid didn't have an Alphonse to speak on his behalf to the smother-mother powers that be.

"If you'd like to try going next, Ed," said Mr. Weasley. "Just make sure you hold Al's hand as you do, or the barrier won't let you through."

"Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous," said Mrs. Weasley. Ed glared at the both of them, slung his briefcase over his shoulder and poked the wall. It was undeniably solid until Alphonse grabbed his wrist. Then, his hand slipped neatly through the stone. What the actual fuck? Ed strode through the barrier, entirely unwilling to let his unease show. Harry and the stone faced auror were waiting on the other side when Ed and Al could see it.

Ed didn't pay them much mind - the scarlet steam engine that waited on the track was beautiful and well built.. Nothing like the oddly sleek trains back on the other side of the wall, this train looked like a more flamboyant version of the trains back home. "Look, Al!" he said, in Amestrian.

"Just like home." Al's voice was quiet with awe, and Ed felt a warm rush of nostalgia.

Their reminiscing was interrupted by Harry awkwardly waving at them. "Ron and Hermione have got a prefects meeting, and Ginny's sitting with her boyfriend. So it's up to us to find a compartment."

Boyfriend? Ed had been under the assumption that Harry and Ginny were at the very least unofficially an item. He gave Harry a confused look, but refrained from commenting. Instead, he turned to the business at hand. In the distance, he spotted Malfoy’s white-blonde hair. Better to keep Harry's eyes and mind off of him. "I bet zee train gets full quickly."

The three of them rushed to the edge of the platform, saying their goodbyes to the Matron and Patron of the Red Hair. Granger had helped Mrs. Weasley enchant another bag for Alphonse, so the two of them had no problem boarding, but they turned to help Harry who had the double problem of being laden with trunk and owl as well as being swarmed.

Oh. Ed had not realized that Harry was quite so famous. Ed took the trunk, as Al was laden by both bag and kitten, and pulled. "Come on Harry," he said. "Don't be avraid to shove."

"Right," said Harry, shouldering people out of his way. The hero-worship in the eyes of the people swarming him was plain, and Ed cringed in sympathy.

Once they were on the train, the crowd was no better. Several people seemed about ready to ask Harry to join their compartment when a young-sounding voice piped up from behind them. "Hi Harry!" "

"Neville!" said Harry with audible relief, and Ed decided to assume that the boy was a friend.

"Hello, Harry," said a girl with long blonde hair tucked behind her ears and abnormally large blue eyes. She looked and held herself nothing like Winry, but the color combination hurt all the same.

"Luna, hi, how are you?"

"Very well, thank you," she said. "Who are your friends? I'm afraid I've never seen them before."

"Oh, uh. This is Al and his older brother Ed. Al's a transfer student and Ed's going to be teaching here. So call him Professor Elric, I guess."

"I'm Luna," she said. "But most people call me Loony."

"Uh," said the other boy. "Don't call her that, please. I'm Neville."

"They fought with me last spring," Harry explained, and suddenly the unit of them made sense. Ed could see these two fighting along side Granger and Harry, Ron and Ginny.

"Pleased to meet you!" said Al, beaming.

"Likewise," said Neville. Luna hummed contentedly, and the five of them set off through the tight press of students.

When they found an empty compartment, Ed slammed the door behind them. The seemingly universal curiosity about Harry and his friends was oppressive.

"They were even staring at us!" said Neville, wonder in his voice. "All because of you, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes, clearly unwilling to accept all of the acclaim. "It's because you fought with me at the Ministry, I reckon. The press featured all of us."

"I thought Gran would be furious! But she was so proud." Neville pulled his wand from his sleeve. "She even bought me a new wand, cherry and unicorn hair! We think it was one of the last wands Ollivander sold, he disappeared the next day."

"Taken," said Ed. "He vas taken." But Neville had already dove under the seat after a toad that had jumped from the pocket of his robe. Alphonse tightened his grip on the cat carrier. No need for a small interspecies battle right there in the compartment. Just like Mei's panda, Eve was a vicious little thing when she wanted to be, and her eyes were already following the toad with a predatory interest. She and Hermione's cat had gotten into a few scrapes, and even despite Crookshanks's superior size and life experience it was hard to tell who was the winner of them.

"What will you be teaching?" said Luna, artfully changing the subject.

"Alchemy," said Ed. "I've heard zee science education among you vizards is rather lacking. If my brozer is going to go to vizard school, zee curriculum is going to be complete."

"Brother's a muggle," said Alphonse. "And neither ov us knew zat magic existed until zis summer."

"Wow," said Neville. "That's, uh."

"It must be quite an adjustment," said Luna. "I understand the frustration about the sciences – my mother was a researcher, and really there is no reason that science and magic can't go hand in hand. But most people never seem to investigate."

"We've been vorking out some equations," said Al. "And vee see no reason zat science can't be applied to it!"

"I like plants," said Neville, who had reemerged from the bench with toad in hand. "Studying 'em is much the same whether they're magic or not."

Luna turned to Harry. "Will we be continuing with the DA meetings?"

Neville jumped and sent a pointed look in Ed's direction. Luna laughed. "I rather think Professor Elric would appreciate the initiative."

Harry and Neville both seemed to give up in that moment, and Ed recognized that Luna likely had a talent for dropping bricks in conversation. Ed gestured at them to continue. "Do zee homevork I assign and I really don't care vat you do in your free time."

"There's no point really," said Harry, after a pause. "Now that we got rid of Umbridge."

"I liked the DA." Neville stuffed the toad back into his pocket. "I always learned loads with you."

"I enjoyed it too," Luna said, and Ed knew she was going to drop another conversational brick. "It was like having friends."

And there it was. Both Neville and Harry visibly cringed.

"Vell," said Alphonse. "Vee can be friends!"

Luna's answer was cut off when the door to the compartment slid open. Ed rolled his eyes, pulled a book from his bag. Harry seemed a good enough kid, but Ed wasn't going to deal with his fangirls. Ed let himself get lost in his book as the conversation shifted around them.

Eventually Hermione and Ron found the compartment and as with the cars, the space shifted to accommodate them. It didn't exactly stop the compartment from feeling cramped, and Ed was suddenly grateful that he'd snagged the window seat.

Just as he was moving from one book to the next, a student poked their head in. "I'm supposed to deliver this to Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Edward Elric?"

Ed stuck out a hand without closing his book.

"Bruder," Alphonse admonished. He took the note from the messenger and handed it to Ed. Ah. Another teacher had been relegated to riding the train. Reluctantly, he closed the book. It would be good to make allies of the other teachers. Tucking the book into the extendable briefcase and slinging it over his shoulder, he stood.

"Let's go, zen. Alphonse?" There was no way in hell he was going to leave Al in the compartment – Luna or no Luna.

What followed was one of the most awkward experiences of Ed's life. This Professor Slughorn liked to kiss up to people and network, but it was clear he was also not fond of surprises. Alphonse's inclusion in the party was one such surprise that Slughorn could not quite get behind.

"Vat," said Ed. "I'm protective. Sue me."

"A very good trait to have, young man, I am sure," said Slughorn. With a wave of his wand, an extra chair appeared. "Sit, sit!" and they did.

Ginny was sitting awkwardly at the other end of the table, and she shot the four of them a small wave and a halfhearted smile.

The whole dinner was clearly an attempt to curry favor with talented students, so why Ed had even been invited he was not sure.

"They say Alchemy is a dying art you know, I'm very impressed to see that two such young men have mastery over it." Slughorn thrust a tray of pastries under their noses.

"Our father vas –" Slughorn cut Alphonse off.

"Oh you were taught by your father! How sweet! Who exactly is your father?"

"Err," said Alphonse. "No. He left. We taught ourselves with the library he left behind."

"Trust me ven I say you vouldn't haff heard ov him," said Ed, laughing internally. "But he is a master, to be true."

"I shall simply have to meet him." Slughorn beamed, and Ed found himself calculating the difficulties of inter-universe travel. He snorted, but Slughorn did not seem to notice. "I am so excited to count you among my colleagues!"

"Sure," said Ed. "Vat vill you be teaching?"

"An art quite similar to yours, I am proud to say." Slughorn looked very self-satisfied. "I will be taking up the post of Potions Master."

Ed supposed that of all the hocus-pocus, potions was the one that best captured the spirit of alchemy.

"But Snape is the Potions Master!" Harry said, standing up in his chair. Ed looked at him strangely, shook it off. Perhaps Snape was a particularly good teacher, and Harry was sad to see him go.

"Why, Professor Snape will be taking up Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course."

Well maybe this Snape person wasn't leaving but Harry still looked stricken. "But," he said. "But."

"But what, dear boy?"

Harry sat back down. "Never mind," he said. His face was dark, and Ed knew better than anyone what that meant. Ed vowed to keep an eye on this Snape person. At least Alphonse well knew how to defend himself.

The lone green-robed boy among the bunch looked amused, and Slughorn reached across the table to put a hand on his shoulder. "I do regret not having the opportunity to be your Head of House."

The boy dipped his head. "My mother always speaks highly of your classes. I'm honored to be able to take them." Slowly, Slughorn – Ed couldn't think of a nickname any sillier than the name the man already had – worked his way around the table, plying his future students for their connections and their talents.

Yikes.

Ed resolutely vowed to watch over the students this man decided to pray upon. Maybe Slughorn could help them network, but he doubted he was giving out anything for free.

The conversation then turned to Harry Potter, the concept more than the boy himself, and the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. The boy in green made a disdainful noise, only to be thoroughly brought down by Ginny.

Interesting to know that she was already hexing her enemies, five minutes into being allowed to do so again.

"Zee vay I heard it, you all put yourselves in a stupid amount ov danger," Ed said.

"Shove off," said Ginny. "We were trying to do the right thing."

"Bruder!"

Ed shook his head. "I vould haff done zee same," he assured, and Girl Ginger settled. "I'm proud to teach people who aren't afraid to fight. But I've learned over zee years zat my example isn't alvays zee best one."

When the little party was finally over, Ed learned how the relatively unconnected Ginny had made it into the gathering. "He saw me hex Zacharias Smith," she said. "Thought it would be detention, rather than dinner."

It was then that Harry seemed to have an idea. Oh no. Harry made his excuses to Neville and Ginny, pulled an odd looking cloak over his shoulders, and simply vanished. Shit. "I'll go after him," Ed said, tugging Alphonse after him.

"Don't vorry!" Al said. "Vee'll make sure nozing happens to him!"

In his peripheral vision, Ed could see Neville and Ginny look at each other and shrug. But his eyes were zeroed on the ground, watching for disembodied feet. Now, whatever it was that made Harry invisible worked considerably better when it was only covering one person, but very occasionally Ed could see the flash of Harry's white trainers, and again they seemed to be following someone.

"It's the boy in green," said Alphonse, and from there they followed him as opposed to the occasional glimpses of Harry's feet.

Zabini – if Ed remembered rightly – disappeared into a compartment and the door was open just a little too long. Ed swore, and Alphonse carefully tapped his head with the massive ash wand. It felt like a broken egg trickling over his hair. Eeewwww. But then Al was tapping his own head, and in a trickling motion, his body began to blend with the hallway beyond them.

"It's not as good as whatever Harry uses, but it should be good enough that they can't see us through the door."

Ed nodded, and pressed his face to the glass. Inside, Malfoy, the very boy they had made their deal with was sulking. Ed knew that he wasn't sixteen like most people were sixteen, but this was ridiculous. "Is this just because he wasn't invited to Slughorn's thing?"

"Looks like," said Al, shaking his head.

"The fuck?"

Inside the compartment, a pretty girl was draping herself across the blonde boy's lap. "Well, clearly Draco, Slughorn has no taste."

"I don't need you to tell me that, Pansy."

She looked momentarily hurt, but shook the expression off quickly. Ed rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"They look kinda-" Alphonse paused, tilting his head. "Sweet? Almost"

"Adorable," said Ed. Almost was the word though. Neither Malfoy nor the pretty girl looked exactly comfortable. "I'm sure it's not because our erstwhile partner thinks of having a girlfriend as a status symbol."

Al winced and Ed knew that as naïve as Al might be, he saw what Ed did. A boy desperately trying to cling to the trappings of his status. "He just has some growing up to do," Alphonse said, taking the defensive.

"You're a year younger than him, Al."

"But we both know I'm not fifteen like most people are fifteen."

Ed snorted, knowing that he'd just had the same thought, he peered back into the compartment. He wondered where exactly Harry had hidden himself. "I swear if we have to sit here for the rest of the night to make sure Malfoy doesn't do something stupid, I may just go in and sit down next to them."

"We probably will," Alphonse said. "But barging in would accomplish exactly nothing. Wait, look. I think Malfoy just noticed Harry."

Ed groaned, and half to cause a diversion and half in the hope of oblivion, he slammed his head against the door of the compartment. Everyone inside flinched, looked. Malfoy stood up, strode to the door, yanked it open.

"No one here," he said to the cabin behind him, but his eyes were focused on the disillusioned Alphonse.

"Don't do anysing stupid, Draco," said Al, and Malfoy didn't flinch. Face carefully unconcerned he turned back to his compartment and resettled himself next to the girl. Alphonse switched back into Amestrian. "Was that wise, brother?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I think Harry's planning on staying here for the rest of the ride," Al said. "We can either wait here for the ride to end, or we can make our way back over here later."

Ed contemplated that possibility. Slughorn’s little party had run long. "We're almost at Hogwarts."

"You do know what it's actually called!"

Ed rolled his eyes. Hogwarts was an astronomically stupid name – it would be hard to forget. "Of course I know what's called. I'm teaching there starting tomorrow."

"We’re close." The hazy blob of Al's chameleon body twisted to look down the almost empty corridor. Groups of one gender or another were briefly stepping out of compartments to allow the occupants inside to change their clothes. "I should put on the uniform."

"It's a stupid uniform," Ed said.

"You think all uniforms are stupid. I can count on one hand the amount of times you wore your dress blues."

Ed shrugged. "I'll wait here. You go change."

The sound of footsteps was the first indicator that Al was doing as suggested. Safely past what was visible from the window to Malfoy's compartment, Alphonse winked into clear view. Ed shuddered. He was going to have to square with Al being a wizard eventually, but he wasn't happy about it. Alphonse disappeared into the compartment they started in, Luna and Hermione waiting outside of it already changed, and Ed tried not to feel like he was losing his brother.

Alphonse wasn't out of sight for long, and part of Ed wondered if he changed his clothes with magic. He certainly looked the part, stepping back outside in black robes that reached the floor. Ed felt vaguely nauseous at the sight. Even knowing that there was a fairly ordinary school uniform underneath it didn't help when all Ed could see of it was the knot of a white tie. Atop his head was the legendary black witches' hat. None of the other students were wearing their stupid hat, why did Al have to wear his?

Alphonse tapped his wand to the tip of the hat, and once again took on the colors of the corridor behind him.

When the blur was close enough to once again truly distinguish, Ed forced a smile. "You look like a wizard."

"Weird, isn't it?"

"What explanation did you give the group?"

"Just that we're keeping an eye on Harry," Al said, the ripple in the corridor indicating him moving closer to Malfoy's compartment door, stepped back as it opened. The pretty girl stepped out of the compartment, her uniform in her arms, and headed to the back of the train. Her eyes might have lingered a little too long on Ed's quasi-visible blob, but he could see her dismiss the oddity as quickly as she noticed it.

"You're getting paranoid, Pansy," she said aloud, cross.

Rightfully paranoid, Ed decided. If this girl ended up being one of his students, he would have to find a way to get that across to her. Rightfully paranoid.

She disappeared into the loo at the back of the train, ostensibly to change clothes, while Malfoy and the male contingent of his posse changed inside. "We're almost there," Ed said.

The girl, Pansy, returned to the compartment in her robes just as the train came to a remarkably smooth halt. When Malfoy said to go on without him, her eyes became dark and hard. But she gestured at the other boys to follow. Ed and Al caught the door as the biggest of the boys let it go, slipped inside the compartment.

The door shut almost as it should. Malfoy, at this point, already had Harry on the floor.

"Let him go," Al said, flickering into sight. Harry looked relieved, insomuch as his expression could even change.

"Now why should I do that?"

"You vant Moldy-man dead, yes," Ed said. Al tapped his want on his head, and Ed knew that he was now visible. He looked down at his torso. Yup. Visible.

"Shut up, Elric," said Malfoy. "Why are you even here? You're a muggle, aren't you?"

Ed shrugged. He wanted to see Malfoy's face when his appointment to alchemy professor was announced. This wouldn't give him quite the entrance he wanted.

"Zee enemy ov your enemy is your friend." Al flicked his wand at Harry, who promptly scrambled to his feet. He was not yet in his robes. "I know zat zee two ov you are not friends, but perhaps you should be."

"You can't trust him," Harry said, pointing his wand at Malfoy.

"Can't I?" Al said, and for a moment Ed was terrified that Al would tell Harry everything. Al seemed to be doing a lot of sharing lately. But he didn't. "He's in a fery bad situation."

"One he chose."

Malfoy scoffed, hand tightening around the wand he held. Alphonse put a hand on each boy's shoulder. "One his father chose," Al corrected.

"It can be hard to leave zee path chosen vor you by your fazer," Ed said. "Alphonse and I taught ourselves alchemy partly to feel close to our fazer, and even at zee time I sought he vas shitty bastard."

"Why?" Harry kept his wand pointed at Malfoy's nose. "If you thought he was such a bastard."

"Vee did it vor our mozer," Al said. "To make her smile. At least zat is vat vee told ourselves. Is zat really why? Probably not. Every child wants to feel close to zeir parents, whether zee parent deserves it or not."

"Yeah and what would you know of fathers, Potter," Malfoy said. "Where's yours?"

Harry forwent the wand and lunged at Malfoy. Al caught him on the shoulder long enough for Ed to get a firm grip on him. Ed glared at Malfoy. "Zee fuck, Malfoy?"

"Your overlord killed my parents," Harry said, trying to jolt from Ed's grasp. "And maybe I don't have much personal experience with fathers, but I know enough to know that Lucius Malfoy is a bloody piece of shit!"

"Yes," said Malfoy, crossing his arms. His wand dangled under one elbow, held by thumb and forefinger. But even so Ed could tell he was ready to draw. "And the Dark Lord is my overlord. So butt out."

Al looked at Malfoy exasperatedly. "Zat is not helpful." He turned to Harry, said, "Ve're staging a rescue. So are you in or not, Harry?"

Malfoy glared at Al unpleasantly enough that Ed wanted to let Harry go. After a moment’s more struggle to keep him constrained, so Ed did. Harry rather unexpectedly did not lunge. Ed hastily snatched Harry’s stick. Just in case. "What do you mean, a rescue?"

"Ollivander," Ed said. "Malfoy's our in, so vee are getting our friend."

"The last time I staged a rescue, it was a trap. The man I was rescuing hadn't even been taken, and he died trying to get me out," Harry said bitterly. Malfoy smirked. "Get that smirk off your face ferret. I put your precious father in Azkaban that night."

Malfoy’s smirk vanished, and Ed groaned. "Bos ov you need to stop zis bullshit. It's not a trap, Potter. Vee vouldn't haff even dragged you into zis iv you hadn't decided to put yourself in a stupid situation."

"Anyone can see your feet when you kick zee hem of zee cloak, Harry," Alphonse said, not unkindly. "You haff to be more careful. Now, you don't have to decide now iv you're going to help us, but I suggest vee go back to your compartment, get you changed, and go join our friends."

"Our friends? You’re friends with Potter?" Malfoy said, tucking his wand back into his sleeve. "I didn't figure the two of you for more of his lackeys."

"Go to your friends," Ed said to him. He wasn't Harry's lackey, but he wasn't going to have this argument now. "Vee can talk about zis later. Alphonse, you should hurry iv you vant to catch up vis zee virst years."

"Right," Al said. "I forgot about that." He dashed from the room, and Ed shook his head.

"Let's go, Harry." Harry scowled, but complied. Ed gestured at him to hurry. "You have to get changed."

"Fine."

By the time they got there, their original compartment was empty. But quick enough, Harry was dressed in his robes and Ed had on his red outer coat. They just barely made it to the carriages in time for Harry to board, glaring morosely back at the train. Waiting by the snout of a very odd horse for Ed was the stern-faced woman Ed had met his first night at the Burrow.

"Come along now, Professor Elric," she said, and Ed could not quite deny himself the title of professor. Instead, he got into the carriage she indicated, pretended the skeletal horses didn't bother him, and wondered what Hogwarts would be like.

Chapter Text

Ed wasn't quite prepared for the ruin of Hogwarts castle. Apparently, the first years were being taken on a winding scenic route that would give them an even more appalling few of the crumbling turrets, collapsed arches, and dilapidated brickwork as it emerged from the gloom of the evening. Ed couldn't comprehend that there might be a view more awful than the once he was being treated to. What were they trying to do? Traumatize the eleven year olds? That was the only endgame that made the remotest sense.

Somehow.

"Nobody told me zat zee school is a ruin," Ed said. "Vat zee fuck."

Stern looked down her nose at him. "It's an unofficial tradition. We wouldn't want to take away the awe of your first sighting."

Ed looked back out of the carriage, realizing that they were moving rather faster than the rest of the carriages. A moment passed while they overtook the one in the front. "Awe my ass. It's hideous."

"Ah," she said, putting a hand on his head and her wand to his temple.

"Vat zee shit?"

Before Ed could bat the wand away, here was a glow from the end of it and suddenly the ruin wasn't a ruin anymore. They were rounded a turn and suddenly Ed was blindsided by a perfect and stunning view of the functional castle. Stern tucked her wand back up her sleeve. "Muggle repelling charms. I was supposed to perform it before I brought you into the carriage, but you somehow managed to get that far without help."

"I realize now zat it helps to haff a purpose viz zese charms," Ed said. "It's easier to ignore zem vhen you haff specific reasons to bypass zem and rudimentary knowledge of zee entrance you're trying to go srough."

"And what was your purpose?"

Ed snorted, said, "Trying to get Harry off zee fucking train."

Stern folded her hands neatly in her lap and fixed Ed with, well, a stern look. "Tell me you'll clean up the language around the children."

Ed shrugged, tossing his bangs back from his face. "I'll try."

"You can't tell me it's a habit," Stern said, frowning at him. "English is a relatively new thing for you."

Ed grinned. "And Alphonse, zee traitor, burned my swear dictionary."

"And yet you learned them anyway, evidently."

"Ov course! I had one ov my Chemistry students write me a new one vor extra credit. Between you and me, zat is zee only vay he passed zee course. Only gave him zee opportunity because he vas actually trying."

"You're serious," said Stern.

Ed reached into the inside breast pocket of his red coat, pulled out the little handwritten book, and handed it over to his colleague. "Absolutely."

Written across the cover in surprisingly neat lettering was the title: Pocket Guide to Swearing in English by Frankie Whelan.

McGonagall took it and opened the booklet, snorted at the high school typical heading on the inside. Frankie Whelan, Chemistry, Mr. Elric, Period 1. "He took this seriously," she said, flipping through the pages and eyeing the carefully aligned columns of swears, their English connotations, and the German equivalent.

"He had a passion vor slang and could not remember chemical concepts no matter how vrequently he came to my office hours. And Al vouldn't dare destroy a gift vrom student." Ed cackled at that last bit. That had, in fact, been the real end game.

Stern handed the book back to him. Ed rather unnecessarily smoothed the pages before tucking it back into his pocket and looking out of the window. "Vhy are vee going so fast?"

"I need to be there in time to bring the first years in and you need to be there in time to be settled at the staff table before the upper years get there."

"Vhy?" Ed said. "Vat is zee point?"

"Dumbledore likes to have the teachers there as a united front during the sorting. Besides, I'm sure you would like to see your younger brother sorted. The staff table provides a very nice view."

Ed remembered some vague bullshit about houses. But did he even want to see Alphonse go through those rites of passage specific to wizards? He shook himself free of that thought. Edward wanted to cheer Al on through everything, even if there was a blossoming worry in his chest about being irrevocably separated from his brother. He and Al might grow apart in some ways, but he knew they’d always come back together again in others.

"I appreciate zat," he managed to say.

The carriage pulled up to the castle and, even despite McGonagall's spell, Ed had to fight against an irrational impulse to run away. Hogwarts, to half of his brain, was still a plainly bad news dilapidated wreck. But Stern placed her hands between his shoulder blades and shoved him through the doors. Once he was through them, the feeling faded entirely. 

"Sank you," he said, English suddenly nigh impossible. "Efen viz zee spell sing zat muggle repel shit vas," Ed shuddered. He didn't have words for what it was, let alone in English.

"The founders were unfriendly to muggles," McGonagall said, leading him through another set of doors to a giant room with five tables. "It was the middle ages. You can't blame them."

Ed could blame them as much as he damn well pleased. He looked up, to avoid the curious stares of the adults situated on the fifth table that was set on a sort of elevated stage from the vacant other four tables. What he saw there was enough to almost make him forgive those selfsame founders.

During the trek into the building, the sky had turned almost full dark. A wild array of stars were scattered across the what must be the sky, a last streak of pink invading the midnight blue from the west.

Granger had made both Ed and Al read Hogwarts: A History so he logically knew that there was a ceiling there and it was simply under a few powerful enchantments, but even having the information did nothing to detract from the sheer awe of actually seeing it.

There were a few chuckles, and that brought Ed back to reality. His attention snapped not only to Stern but also to the staff table.

In the center of it sat Old Man Dumbledore himself and placed along that half of the table were the people Ed assumed were his coworkers. The seating arrangement was clearly to discourage general hullaballoo throughout the rest of the hall, as every single seat faced the room.

In this world, Ed knew, there was a painting the scene greatly resembled. But he couldn't quite put his finger on which. He knew there was a betrayer in it though, and the irrational part of his brain wondered how far the comparison held true. 

To Dumbledore's right there were two open seats. Ed assumed that the closer one was for Stern herself and that the one to the right of it was for him. On the other side of those seats sat a morose and greasy looking man. Sandwiched between Stern and Sullen then. Fantastic.

Ed was thrilled to see that Nyorok was seated on Dumbledore's left, clearly in attendance to help with the distribution of wands to first years. To Nyorok's left sat a man who was a little taller and a little less gnarled than Nyorok himself. That must be the Lit Candle person, Ed thought. What was his name? Litwick? Something. But Nyorok must have situated himself near the half goblin on purpose, putting himself next to the only person besides Ed in the Hogwarts staff that he could actually abide. Fair enough.

"Ceiling's impressive," Ed said. "Slept enough nights under zee stars zat I appreciate a system that gives you zee beauty without zee inconveniences." The chuckles trailed off. Maybe Ed could see how his statement was a little alarming. Maybe. But there wasn't much he'd take back about his unconventional childhood. It had all worked out in the end.

And for all of the pain and uncertainty, Alphonse had his body back. That effectively negated the last of his serious regrets. Sleeping outside only got annoying in winter or when it rained.

Ed stepped up onto the elevated platform and stood across from Nyorok and Litwick. "You must be Edward Elric," Litwick said. "I am Fillius Flitwick, the charms professor. Please call me Fillius."

So his name was Flitwick. Huh. Ed nearly stuck out his left hand before remembering that there was no good reason not to extend his right as was custom. He adjusted, and gave his new colleague as firm a handshake as his recovering grip strength would allow. "Call me Ed. I'm looking forward to working wis you."

Fillius beamed. "You know, I was thrilled to hear that you enjoy a friendship with Garrick. There aren't many wizards who can keep up with him!"

Ed wasn't sure to grin at Fillius's lack of hesitation at the look of him or to be slightly insulted by the lack of emphasis on wizard. Either Dumbledore had not mentioned Ed's non-magical status or Fillius had entirely forgotten. He wasn't sure which scenario he liked better.

But either way, of all the staff, Flitwick seemed most eager to extend friendship, and so Ed decided not to try and read into slights that may or may not even be there.

"Where have you and Nyorok put zee wand station?"

"There's a back room to the Great Hall," Fillius said. "I set up a table and arranged the wands by wood, length, and core."

Ed nodded. "As good a system as any."

"We were planning on having any students who need one come up after the feast," said the woman next to Fillius. "That way they don't have to single themselves out right away before or after being sorted."

"And you are?" The woman had a kindness to her that struck Ed in a spot close to his chest. This was a woman who was clearly hardworking, kind, with a little mischievousness thrown in, who took absolutely no shit.

"Pomona Sprout," she said, with a gleam in her eye. "I would be somewhat out of the way, as I spend most of my time in the greenhouses, but feel free to come to me for any help, if ever I'm the most convenient option."

Ed smiled at her. "Thank you," he said. If ever he did decide to visit the greenhouses, he would probably need Sprout's help just to get back into the main building! That was a depressing thought. Would it be a fight to return to the castle every time Ed went outside?

"As to the wands," Flitwick interjected. "Each of the students for whom acquisition was an issue was given a notice in their letters about the plan. So they know where to go and when."

"And I didn't varrant a heads up?"

Nyorok snorted. "There isn't plenty of time to inform you now? I didn't realize that you absolutely had to have a note. I take back what I said about you being saner than wizards."

Comparing someone to a wizard was probably the worst insult in Nyorok's arsenal but his tone was light enough that he may have been joking. Maybe.

Ed glared at him good naturedly. "Oh yeah, because I'm zee one who educates children in a castle."

"Well," Nyorok said. "Technically you are."

Ed cursed. He would be teaching pre-teen and teenaged wizards alchemy in a castle in the morning. Right. "Zee crazy is contagious. I'd vatch out Nyorok, you spend a lot ov time around zem."

Nyorok glowered and twisted around to spread his ire to the various wizards sitting at the table. The bulk of them looked vaguely offended, but Flitwick was nodding along. Sprout and Dumbledore both looked amused, and McGonagall had no visible change to her expression except in that the corners of her tightly pursed mouth might have pulled up just a smidgeon.

Ed rolled his eyes and stomped around to the side everyone seemed to be sitting on and took his place in the seat he assumed was for him. He stuck out his hand to the sullen man on his right. "Edward Elric."

The man scowled at him. He looked highly offended at the gesture. "Severus Snape."

"I took a shower zis morning," Ed said suddenly. "So maybe you stepped in dog shit, but I hope I'm not zee reason vhy you look like you're smelling somezing foul."

"Are you planning to be this crass around your students?" Snape's lip curled when he spoke and Ed wasn't sure if he was supposed to be hurt by this over-the-top expression of disdain.

Ed shrugged. "I find it helps. Zee more a student relates to zeir teacher, zee harder zey tend to try."

Snape's expression turned into an outright scowl. "Leniency gets a class nowhere."

Ed stared at him. "Vhen zee fuck did I say lenient? If zey don't step up to bat zey haff to be out."

"Excuse me, Edward. Did you say out?" Old Man Dumbledore peered around where McGonagall was taking her seat.

Ed nodded. "Zee price is too high. I vill be taking every precaution against rebounding arrays. Zat means zat if a child doesn't understand certain concepts and consistently doesn't put in zee necessary vork, zey cannot be allowed to continue." Snape looked vaguely impressed, now.

"I'm afraid we don't kick students permanently out of classes in the middle of a semester at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.

"Is not a Hogwarts sing," Ed said. "It's a me sing. If you vant me to give zem bullshit grade vor semester, I vill. But I von't keep on students who are a danger to zemselves or to zeir classmates. Alchemy is not a core class, I don't see vhy it matters."

Dumbledore sighed, and Ed could see the mental math happening behind his eyes. Ed very much liked being a man that was exhausting to argue with. Well. Boy, he supposed. Technically.

"Fine," Dumbledore said. "If you insist."

Snape's expression had taken a very sudden turn from murderous to hero worshipping. Ed nodded at him, and turned his attention to the main floor of the hall. The big double doors on the end had been flung wide and students began to enter in a flood of pointed black hats.

McGonagall had not taken the seat available to her and Ed realized that she had disappeared. It wasn't until the crush of upper year students found their seats that Stern reappeared, a herd of small children and Alphonse following at her heels.

In her hands was an incredibly ragged hat and a wobbly stool that were placed front and center of the room.

Once settled, with the first year students fanning about her to give the stool a rather wide berth, she pulled a list from a pocket and began to read off names.

What followed ranked among the strangest non-lethal things Ed had ever seen. The hat began to sing, first years cloistered around it and all. Ed spared a glance at Alphonse. He looked thunderstruck. Ed winced; he was pretty thunderstruck himself. It took more self control than Ed had even six months ago to keep himself from demanding answers right then and there in front of everyone.

Teaching high school chemistry had taught Ed the value of patience, somewhat.

The singing didn't last long – the song gave a rundown on houses and the history of the school itself and encouraged students to look beyond the house divisions before falling silent.

Once it became clear that the rip in the fabric at the front of the hat wasn't going to open a second time, McGonagall called the name of the first student.

The hat was perched on the student's head and after a moment it declared Slytherin! to some applause. The little girl stood, placed the hat back on the stool, and went to the table dressed in green and silver where the pretty dark haired girl from Malfoy's compartment tersely pointed at a seat.

The line went by quickly. There were a few students who stayed on the stool for minutes, but the vast majority required only the deliberation of a few moments before being placed at a table. And then it was done.

Alphonse stood awkwardly by himself, having not been called with the rest of the Es, while McGonagall rolled up her list and turned to the staff table. The Old Man stood.

"Welcome Students, new and old! The time for speeches is not yet upon us, but there is one matter of business that must still be attended to before we can tuck into our feast! Please join me in welcoming the first transfer student Hogwarts has had the pleasure of receiving in over three hundred years, young Alphonse Elric!"

Al jumped about a foot in the air as the collective gazes of the student body turned back to him. Stern gestured him to the stool. He sat, body limp and surprised. Sheepishly, he pulled the conical black uniform hat off his head, and ducked as the Sorting Hat replaced it.

For a good five minutes, silence reigned. Whispers swept through the room. Ed spared a look at Malfoy, who had not yet noticed Ed at the head table. He was shaking his head, no doubt cursing the rather public entrance of his new ally.

Ed looked back to Al, and finally the hat's rip opened. "Ravenclaw!"

There was an audible Aw hell! from the Gryffindor table, but Ravenclaw was enthusiastic about their welcome. Al gamely plucked the hat from his head and joined his new classmates, sitting opposite the Luna girl from the train.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Tuck in!"

Immediately, the hall erupted in a cacophony of voices. Ed shook his head and reached for a chicken leg. "Don't they use tongs in Germany?" said the Snape man. Ed was torn between sheepishly reaching for the tongs or just wrapping his hand around the leg that had caught his fancy.

He decided on the power move. "Tongs?" he said in an innocent voice. "Vat is zat?" He tore into the drumstick.

McGonagall, who had just sat down, snorted. Snape looked dumbfounded. Ed smirked around a mouthful of chicken and very pointedly used the tongs to scoop some green beans onto his plate. "Ov course vee fucking use tongs."

Snape scowled, but Ed had realized that was the man's permanent expression. So he playfully punched the potions professor in the shoulder. This would be a long year if he didn't manage to befriend his coworkers.

Draco Malfoy had always considered Albus Dumbledore to be a fool, but he'd never viewed him as a personal foil until he'd been ordered to kill him. And suddenly, he hated Dumbledore like he'd never hated him before.

This was thrown into sharp relief when Dumbledore felt the need to announce the arrival of his new ally with the sort of fanfare only a Gryffindor would think up. True enough, the wizard Elric's (the only Elric worth noting, really) arrival would have been almost more conspicuous had nothing been said. Five complete and entirely unalike rumors would have been circulating by the time dinner was over. Still, it was the principle of the thing.

Alphonse Elric, thankfully, had not been sorted into the house of the brash and brazen. It was a small miracle, honestly, with the mudblood having already been brought into Potter's little crew. Draco was not thankful for much, but he was thankful for that. So when the white trim of Al's robes turned blue and bronze, he relaxed.

Throughout dinner, he did not look at the staff table. He did not wonder where the elder, muggle, Elric was. That Edward fellow was a muggle anywho. What did he matter?

Young Draco Malfoy was in for a nasty fucking surprise when Dumbledore announced the staff changes.

What!

Chapter Text

"He's a muggle!" Draco shouted across the Great Hall. Damn subtlety, he couldn't stay silent and calculating when a muggle was supposed to teach him Alchemy. He'd known Dumbledore had a screw loose, but to not even check to make sure his teaching staff were wizards!?

"Indeed," said the headmaster. Indeed? Indeed?

"You knew?" Draco had stood, and somewhere in him his inner serpent was admonishing him for being so very Gryffindor when he was in such a vulnerable social position. Well. There was time to be embarrassed later. 

"Of course. I must wonder how you knew, Mr. Malfoy. But no matter. Professor Elric has demonstrated that alchemy has no need of magic to function, and he is therefore fully qualified for the position."

'Professor Elric' for his part was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, looking utterly unconcerned. "So, I don't haff your magic bullshit," he said. "I can transmute circles around your best."

"Prove it," Draco said. Draco had seen proof, of course, but there was a part of him that was terrified of the consequences. A talented muggle? His muggle ally not being talented? He did not know which thought was worse, and he didn't want to examine it.

In different ways and for different reasons, either answer was disastrous.

"I don't need to prove myself to you," he said. "I am provessor here, and zat should be proof enough vor anyone."

Draco nodded, slowly. He couldn't even fall back on the old favorite: My father will hear of this! No. Lucius Malfoy was in prison and no one cared one whit about anything he had to say. Right. The other go to favorite, then, would be: Afraid, are you? But that too was inapplicable in the situation. Edward Elric clearly fell under the category of 'Suicidally Gryffindor.' Draco wasn’t sure Elric knew what fear was. 

"The simple truth," Dumbledore said, cutting in, "Is that there is not any wizard in Great Britain even capable of teaching the subject." Draco did not miss the way Elric flinched somewhere in that sentence. So maybe he did know what fear was. Interesting. 

Draco felt for the chalk he’d started carrying in his pocket. Alchemy was largely a forgotten art. Draco had known that, but somehow he could not conceive that a foreign muggle - seemingly afraid of the word ‘truth’ - was the most qualified person in Britain. Suddenly, Draco felt the eyes that had been on him since the start of his outburst. The entire hall was was watching him, watching him and feeling something about it. Theodore Nott in particular was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Slowly, slowly, Draco sat back down. There was not a fight here that he could win, and he already looked stupid for trying.

Instead, Draco burned, trapped in the moment where he had declared himself to be capable of besting the muggle's abilities with access to a proper teacher.

Oops.

By the time the feast was over, and Alphonse was being led to Ravenclaw tower with the first years, it had been hours since he and Ed had been separated on the train. Alphonse had become accustomed to being without his brother in the day - the Order of the Phoenix held him in the Burrow as a sort of collateral while Ed went to the muggle high school with Hermione. At night, though, Alphonse had not been without his brother since they'd landed in Berlin.

The boy and girl that led Alphonse and the first years up the steps looked to be roughly Ed's age (was that roughly Al's age too? Ed had always been so protective that Al forgot sometimes that Ed was only a year older than him). The boy officiously took the lead, and the girl seemed more amused by it than offended. Instead of fighting her cohort for the lead, she lingered and let the line of eleven-year-olds plus Al pass her by. She caught Al at the end though. "I know that you can't do much of anything about it, but Luna's in your year," she said. "And you seem to be hitting it off. She gets bullied. Watch out for her if you can and watch out for yourself too if people try to retaliate."

Al looked quizzically at the girl who'd pulled him aside, said, "I don't sink she's all zat strange."

She seemed satisfied as she flipped a sheaf of dark black hair over her shoulder. "Then I hope the two of you become friends,” she said. “I'm Padma Patil, by the way, and that's Anthony Goldstein. If ever you need anything, you'll come to us first."

"Thank you," Al said. "I will. To all three." And he really meant it. The idea of having wizards around to help him acclimate - ones he hadn’t lived with by force over the summer - was more reassuring than he expected it to be. 

"Good." With that, Padma shepherded him back into the line of first years, up the flights of stairs, finally coming to a stop before a portrait. The portrait smiled broadly at the crowd. "First years!" she said. "Welcome!"

Alphonse swallowed, looked at the floor. He had read about the portraits, of course. But there a dreadful sort of pain in the pit of his stomach when he looked at them, all the same. He kept his eyes averted, wondering why they’d stopped, until the portrait gave them a riddle. "I suppose I'll start you with the classic," she said. "What has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening?"

"Does anyone know?" Padma asked, gesturing at Alphonse to keep quiet. He hadn't heard this riddle before, but he guessed that it was a common one to this universe, because even the serious Anthony Goldstein wore an indulgent smile as he watched the eleven-year-olds ponder the question.

These children were not eleven like Al had been eleven and he was torn between finding them utterly endearing and being unspeakably jealous. That's not kind, Al he thought to himself. It's a good thing that these kids get to have a real childhood. A good thing.

One child was hopping up and down in excitement. "I know this one!"

"Have you heard it before or have you figured it out?" Anthony asked.

She pouted. "I've heard it before."

"What about you?" Padma said to one with a particularly thoughtful look on her face.

"I don't know," she said. "But I think. Maybe. If 'day' is metaphorical. Is it a person? A baby crawling, an adult walking, an elder with a crutch?"

The portrait was delighted. "Correct!" she said in a whimsical, sing song voice that seemed to be ripped straight from Luna. "Welcome to Ravenclaw!"

The portrait swung inwards to reveal the house common room. Alphonse would have to interact with it every day. Oh. Then it wasn’t something he could avoid. Al took a few steps back to let the first years all pass before him. Padma eyed him oddly, but he waved her through and let the door click shut. He turned to the portrait, who seemed surprised to see him still there. "Zis might be terribly impolite, but. Vat is it like?"

The portrait fixed a grin on her face, but must have seen something in Al’s face. She paused, and her expression settled into something more natural. "I can think," the portrait said after a moment. "If that's what you're asking. I thought I would be little more than a memory, when I commissioned this portrait to be painted. But I can think, surely enough."

"I'm sorry," Alphonse said, blinking away tears in the corner of his eyes. "I am so sorry."

The portrait shook her head, said, "Don't be. It was a choice I made myself, and Hogwarts is the best place in the world to be, for a painting. There is almost as much ground to cover within our collective backgrounds as the school and forest combined."

Alphonse nodded, trying not to cry. "I'll try," he said.

There was another pause, where it seemed like there might be something else the portrait wanted to say or ask, but it passed and the portrait swung open again. Al mumbled a thank you and stepped through the portrait hole.

Anthony was waiting for him. "Alphonse!" he said. "I already showed the first years their dorm. Let me show you the fifth-year accommodations."

"Thanks," Al said, careful of his th, and let himself be led up an additional five flights of stairs.

"Seventh years are at the very top of the tower, and it goes down by year after that. As a fifth year, your bunk will be in the room third from the top."

That would be one way to bulk up his legs - perhaps even to the point of one-upping Brother! Al may have always won their fights, but by bulk strength alone Ed was the better fighter. Ed was more creative, fended better against their enemies.

Brother would never throw a fight on purpose, but Al wondered sometimes if Ed subconsciously went easy on him. It was the only thing that explained how Al even managed to win even the fight over Winry's hand all those years ago.

He was pulled from his rose-tinted memory by Anthony poking his shoulder. "Are you alright Al? We're here."

Sure enough, just off this last flight of stairs was a door labeled with a list of names. Alphonse Elric. That was him. Al tentatively pushed the door open, thanked Anthony, and stepped inside. It was occupied. "Hi," Al said when the door clicked shut behind him.

"Hey," said the boy that sat on one of the beds. "I think you're by the window."

"Right," Al said. Sure enough, the trunk that he'd bought in Diagon Alley was resting at the foot of the bed by the window. He gave it a thankful pat, straightened to introduce himself to his new roommate, "I'm Alphonse Elric. Vat's your name?"

"Gerald," he said. "But my friends call me Gerry."

"Call me Al, zen."

"Hogwarts hasn't had a transfer or late start since 1542," Gerry said, putting aside the book that had been open on his lap. "And it was a Gryffindor that time. Can't believe Ravenclaw, class of 1999 got so lucky!"

Al twitched nervously. Lucky. Right. "I'm glad to be here!" There was a shaky false cheer to his voice that he could not quite make genuine. He knew that at this moment Ed was probably being shown his classroom and his office and his own bedroom, but there was a small and irrational part of Al that asked Wo ist Bruder? Woher?

"Vee haff early start tomorrow," Al said, English suddenly almost impossible. "I sink I schould get ready vor bed."

"Huh?"

Whoops. "I need sleep," Al said, trying again and brandishing the pajamas he'd pulled from his trunk. "Vor class tomorrow. Can vee talk more in zee morning?"

"You're right," said Gerry, picking his book back up. "I'm just trying to make the most of my last night of freedom. After tomorrow, all of my personal reading time will go down the drain. I'll draw my curtains so the light doesn't bother you."

"Sank you," Al said. "Enjoy your book!"

Once the curtains were drawn, they blocked sound so completely that they must have been bespelled. Alphonse, who still had trouble sleeping, was not sure if that was a good thing. The silence was eerie, but least no one would hear it if he woke up screaming.

Ed caught Malfoy in the hallway after the Welcome Feast, smuggled him behind a tapestry and transmuted them past the wall behind. "Are you fucking stupid?"

Malfoy's glare was defiant, clearly masking deep seated embarrassment. Ed snorted, and the glare turned offended. "At least I'm not a muggle," he spat. Ed hated that word.

"I could kick your ass so easy iv I vanted to," Ed said. "Makes no difference."

"Giving in to violent muggle tendencies, are you?"

Fucking brat. "Zee system zat has a one-hit-kill curse is less violent? Are you serious?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "At least you've done some research."

Ed rolled his eyes. "If you go srough your life assuming people you deem inferior are univormly stupid enough not to investigate zee enemy, you are going to be dead by zee time you're twenty-five."

"Shut up," Draco said.

"Oh, like you haff any place to talk about keeping your mouth shut! You realize zat I vill haff to talk to zee crazy Old Man about zis right? He vill want answers about zee shit you said tonight!"

"Well," Malfoy said, paused. His expression contorted in the dim light of the air holes Ed had left in the wall. He nodded after a moment, said, "Dumbledore would be happy about it, wouldn't he?"

"Do you want to involve zee Old Man in zee plan? Because I vas pretty sure you didn't vant to involve zee Old Man in zee plan. I didn't vant to involve zee Old Man in zee plan."

Malfoy grimaced again, said, "Well, I may have lost us that chance tonight. But we can adapt."

Ed supposed that was true. They could adapt.

"Vee need to do zis soon, or it vill be too late."

Malfoy met Ed's eyes, and Ed was startled by the determination there. "I know," he said. "We will."

For once, Ed believed him.

With a clap, the wall they'd hidden inside of peeled open, depositing them behind the tapestry. Ed sent Draco out, followed after five minutes.

Tomorrow would be the first day of classes and Ed still had no idea where his classroom was. Or his bed.

Somehow, Dumbledore refrained from accosting him before he found said bed. But peace from meddling headmasters aside, Ed did not sleep well that first night. Without Al being solid flesh and bone just a few feet away, it was harder to dispel the nightmares of a lifeless suit of armor with a worn-out seal.

Ed gave up at four in the morning in favor of reviewing his lesson plans. The little wizards weren't going to be getting into the meat of any of their subjects today, so the plan was mostly introductory. Did Hogwarts have printers? Shit.

Ed spent two hours hastily sketching out a hundred periodic tables before it was time to go to breakfast. He carefully rolled the fingers on his left hand - definitely some cramping there. But it was a good pain. It was better than being impaled, at any rate.

"Did you sleep well?" Stern said, when Ed joined her at the table and began loading up his plate of food.

Ed scowled. "I started writing out periodic tables at vour in zee morning. You tell me."

"Ask for help, next time," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"I don't zink you vant to be up at vour in zee morning helping me hand write scientific concepts."

She raised an eyebrow. "No. But if you'd brought one to breakfast I could have made copies with magic."

Ed swore, not sure if it was targeted at himself for not thinking of it or if it was targeted at magic for making up these crazy shortcuts.

Ed pretended that a printer wasn't a similar shortcut, and that he couldn't have made those copies alchemically, if he'd wanted to. Teacher wouldn't have approved. Ed didn't go through his life basing his decisions on whether Teacher would approve or not, but in his more lucid moments he could admit that her opinions had more of an effect on him than he pretended.

He remembered what happened when he ignored her advice.

Ed was distracted from his thoughts when Dumbledore joined them at the table. "Edward!" He said. "Would you mind coming to my office after dinner to discuss your first day of classes?"

Ed scowled at him - there was no way in hell they were going to be talking about his first day of classes, he was sure. "Yeah, alright Old Man."

Dumbledore gave him a serene look. "I wish you the best of luck today." For one moment, there was nothing Ed wanted more than to slap that serene look off his face.

Instead, Ed thanked him. If this was what being an adult was like, Ed wanted no damn part of it.

He ate his breakfast as quickly as possible and fled to his classroom instead. "I'fe got shit to set up," he said.

Ed had hoped that his first class of the day would be the fifth years with Alphonse, but no such luck. It was the sixth years, rowdy and angry and yelling at each other the moment they were assembled.

"Studying under a Muggle, Malfoy? What would Daddy say?" Harry said the instant he stepped in the room and saw Draco already in the front row.

Draco sniffed. "I don't see how it's any of your business." Sitting next to him was not the pretty girl from the train, but an entirely different pretty girl and one of the boys from the train. They both shot death glares at Potter, who did not even seem to notice them.

"Potter?" Ed said. "You're taking my class?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron refused, so Hermione wrote my name in without telling me."

"You may enjoy it, Harry," Hermione said, shifting her massive floof of hair over one shoulder.

"Come vor a few days," Ed said. "Drop zee class if it isn't for you. And zat goes to all ov you."

There was a ripple of murmurs. Ed rolled his eyes. "I von't lie to you. Alchemy is not easy. If you vant to learn enough even vor simple transmutations you must study thoroughly. It is not for everyone and it vould not be fair if I didn't give you an out."

Granger looked like she was on cloud nine as she took her seat. Masochist, Ed thought. But then, Hermione was not the only person who looked invigorated by the promised challenge. The group in blue and bronze looked pleased, the group in yellow and black looked determined, and the group in green and silver, well. They were smirking.

Those smirks wouldn't last very long, Ed was sure. In fact, they mostly faded when he passed out his handwritten periodic tables.

"You'll need to memorize zese," he said. "Name, symbol, atomic number, molar veight. Everysing."

The Malfoy brat was taking it in stride, but the boy and girl on either side of him looked utterly confused. "What is this?" the girl asked.

"Periodic Table of Elements," Ed said. "Everysing in zee universe is made up of zese base substances. Including us. You see, to successfully vork any transmutation zee alchemist has to understand vat zey are changing."

"That sounds suspiciously like muggle science," said the boy on Draco's other side.

"It is," Ed said. "I am not vizard. Alchemy can be learned by anyone, but it is vat inspired your transfiguration and zerefore it is at least historically important to you veirdos."

The boy decided to quit while he was ahead. Good. Ed wrote two phrases on the blackboard. One was the Law of Conservation and the other was Teacher's adage. "One ov zese is a universally acknowledged concept of Alchemy. Zee ozer is one zat my Teacher values, and zat I also value."

"Zee virst I will explain today. Zee ozer, you vill haff to vigure out on your own before I can teach you shit. I'll cover only zee chemistry and physics to alchemy until you all can answer me zat truth. And zen we can start learning zee runes and circles you vill need to draw."

There was immediate outrage from the class, and Ed almost wanted to murder them all. Instead, he plotted his revenge in the form of homework.

Run three miles before Friday. The outrage was even worse, but this time Ed just laughed at their pain. "Oh, come on you vlabby babies. You don't even haff to run it all at once!"

They settled, but it was a long time before Ed could even get into the very introductory lesson he'd planned for the day. Good thing he'd budgeted in extra time for chaos.

By the time the fifth-year class rolled around, and Alphonse shuffled into the room with the blonde girl from the train, decked in blue and bronze, Ed was ready to collapse.

"You little shits are lucky," he said to the fifth years. "You have my baby brozer in zis class - he's a hell ov a lot more patient zan I am, so you can use him as resource."

Al waved awkwardly at the rest of the room. "Please do," he said. "And if any ov you vant to help me vis magic, I vould be grateful."

With Al's help, lesson number whatever went much more smoothly than the others. Well, it probably helped that the volatile Potter-Malfoy duo wasn't in attendance. And Ginny, who might have been fiery enough to to start a fight over something, looked like her brain was broken after five minutes.

Which, Ed decided, was probably fair. He always forgot that most children didn't start studying advanced mathematics at three.

"Listen," Ginny finally said. "I want to learn alchemy, but what the fuck even is this?"

Ed laughed. "Keep studying and coming to class. It vill make sense eventually."

"Sure," she said, hiding her face behind her hair. The curse of red hair, there, is that it didn't do anything to make her less visible.

"If anyone needs help," said Alphonse. "I can host a veekly study sessions. It might help get you all caught up on zee math."

Ginny shot him a grateful look, and Ed realized that these wizards may actually be worse at science than his summer school kids. Perhaps even worse than Mister Needed-to-write-a-slang-dictionary-to-pass. Ed felt a small piece of his soul shrivel up and die.

But at least Ginny was thrilled to hear about the three-mile homework.

When the class ended, Al lingered in the classroom. Ed ruffled his hair and switched into Amestrian. "How was your first day of classes?"

Al smiled. "I'm only half way through, brother. But it's good!"

"How does the workload seem?"

"Honestly, I think it might be a lighter workload than Hermione had me on over the summer."

Ed laughed. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"It's weird, sleeping in a dorm," Al said. "I mean we slept in some pretty weird places back home, but dorms are a new level."

"We slept on park benches," Ed said flatly.

"I know," Al said, and Ed realized the subtext. At least on park benches, they were together, and Al's sleepless armor could watch him.

Ed understood absolutely. The separation anxiety had gotten to him too. Ed put a hand on Al's shoulder. "We'll get used to it," he said. "Even if we'd stayed home and I'd gone with my initial plan, we'd have grown up eventually."

Al nodded. "I know," he said. "But at least back home everyone knew the story."

Ed snorted. "It was a very open secret by the end of things, wasn't it?" The fact that they'd technically tried to hide their human transmutation was laughable in hindsight.

"We were never good at following orders," Al agreed, mirth shimmering in his eyes. Even after a year, seeing real emotion in his brother's eyes was a thrill. The armor had been surprisingly expressive, but it wasn't a human face.

"You should get to your next class," Ed said. "Last stop before dinner."

Al nodded vigorously. "It's transfiguration, and I think I'm terrified of Professor McGonagall."

"She's a lot like Teacher. That alone makes me glad I can't be a student here."

Al lightly swatted his arm, picked up his back, moved to the door. "Good luck in your last class of the day, brother!"

Then, he was gone. The last class of the day was miserable, and dinner was worse.

Up in Dumbledore's office, Ed punched the only wall that wasn't covered in bizarre trinkets. Only the delicate knuckles of his newly flesh arm stopped him from doing any real damage. Sure, the plaster crumbled minutely under his fist, but this wasn't the steel arm of the Fullmetal Alchemist. The wall didn't come down around his head.

"Are you alright Mr. Elric?"

Ed sighed, whirled from the wall, and sat abruptly in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. "Yeah," he said. "It vas a long day."

Dumbledore gave him an assessing look. "Well, I brought you in to talk about young Mr. Malfoy's outburst, but perhaps we should talk about your mental health. I don’t appreciate my professors punching walls."

"No," Ed said, absolutely unwilling to talk about his mental health. "Vee can talk about Malfoy. I sink vee may vant your help, anyway."

"We?"

"Malfoy, Alphonse, and I. Vee are staging a jailbreak."

Dumbledore blinked. "What?"

There were very few things, Ed was sure, that could render Albus Dumbledore speechless. But this did it. It took a moment of floundering before he offered a coherent response. "I'm afraid you've been duped. The child has been ordered to kill me by Tom."

"I know about zee orders from zee Moldy Bastard. I'm hoping to kill him before Malfoy has to act on zem. But who zee hell is Tom?"

Dumbledore gaped at him, and Ed never got a real answer to the Tom thing. "Severus says that he seems very devoted to the cause."

"Zee Moldy Man is using his mozer as collateral. Of course he's devoted to zee cause. But he'd rather get out ov it, so we're breaking in, getting out Ollivander and his mozer and vat ever ozer prisoners zey've managed to take, and vee're getting zee fuck out ov zere. If I get to kill zee Mold in zee process? All zee better."

"It must be a trap, young man," Dumbledore said. "The Malfoys have been practitioners of the Dark Arts for centuries."

Ed shrugged. "You can be into illegal shit vizout vanting Moldy people in power. Besides. Al bonded us in an Unbreakable Vow, so he can't do shit."

And that was when Dumbledore kicked him out of the office. "Get out. I need to think," he said. "You've thrown years of planning into chaos."

"It's vat I do best, according to everyone I'fe ever vorked viz!" Ed said with forced glee. He didn't miss the fact that the hand that closed the door on him was black and gnarled.

"All right," he said to the air in Amestrian, leaning against the oak of the Old Man’s office door. "I think that went well!"

Chapter Text

The rest of Ed's first week at Hogwarts left him damn near homicidal. He had students dropping from his classes left and right. Al's class, the fifth years, had the highest retention rate and while Ed had always known that Al would be the better teacher, there was something there that rankled.

Astonishingly, Potter was still holding on in the 6th year class, but Ed was certain that it was thanks to competitive stubbornness against Malfoy. Potter couldn't drop the class, because that would be admitting he couldn't hack something that Malfoy was decent at. And that had been a surprise.

Ed expected Granger to excel in Alchemy - she alone among the wizards had maintained her science education. Even the ones who'd been raised initially by normal, rational people, Ed found, had stopped their traditional education after being admitted to Hogwarts. She had a tangible head start and he wasn't surprised to see it bear fruit. Ed had also expected Malfoy to be all talk. He wasn't.

Friday's class proved that well enough, with Draco turning over his periodic table on his desk, standing, and elegantly reciting them in order by atomic number. Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron... "You didn't need to haff zat memorized till next veek!" There had been a quiz on the first ten elements, surely enough. But Malfoy hadn't needed to memorize all of them.

Malfoy gloried in his academic prowess, so Potter and Granger fumed.

After class, Ed caught Draco as he was leaving and asked about it. Draco gave him a rare tired smile - one that wasn't fueled by cock-sure sarcasm. "I told you that I studied Alchemy in my free time," Draco said. "I never got very far - I was working with the classical elements of earth, air, water, and fire. But I knew vaguely that Alchemy's output only ever equaled input and I had the benefit of needing maths for my arithmancy classes. I've even managed some small earth-based arrays."

Ed was caught somewhere between shock and horror at that statement. He feigned humor instead, snorted before he said, "You vere lucky you never suffered a rebound."

Draco nodded seriously, not taking the invite to feign good humor. "I know. But I wasn't trying to change composition at all, just shape. So, it wasn't the disaster it could've been. Seeing this muggle chemistry stuff makes everything click in a way it didn't before."

Ed took a moment to consider everything, leaning back on his desk and studying the boy who was technically no younger than Ed himself. "I know you haff had some successes, but please. Until you understand zee riddle. Don't try anymore arrays."

Malfoy put his nose in the air, and though he assured Ed that he would not, there was a defiant light in his eyes that made Ed sincerely doubt that he'd be following instructions. Ed rolled his eyes, said, "Iv you decide to ignore me, just make sure zat you haff more material zan zee transmutation calls vor in zee circle. Zee equation doesn't haff to use it all, but iv you don't haff enough it vill take it vrom you!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and stalked out of the classroom, and really Ed's only option was to hope for the best. If he was lucky, Malfoy wouldn't do anything stupid. "And this," he said to the empty classroom in Amestrian. "Is why I didn't want to teach them any runes too early." Because Malfoy hadn't figured out the riddle yet. None of them had. And worse, none of them even seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the concept. Magic had ruined them to understanding the normal flow of life.

"Brother," Alphonse said, when Ed bitched to him about it. "Be fair. It took us the whole month and we had the right set of environmental stimuli." Ed couldn't deny that. But. Wizards were still astronomically stupid.

That night, Ed checked in on the running logs. Flitwick had provided him with charmed wristbands for each student that tracked their distance and time and automatically recorded it all on a chart that hung in his office. Granger, ever the overachiever had clocked in at four miles exactly. Malfoy had done only the three. The other Slytherins in year six had each done two and a half, except for the Greengrass girl, who'd done three and a half.

The Hufflepuffs had mostly done the assignment. The Ravenclaws had done the least running combined. The standout achiever, from all the grades, had been Ginny, who'd run a full six miles before Friday. Her Periodic Table quiz, which had only required memorizing the first ten on the table, stood among the worst though, so her score for the week came to average.

Ed was frustrated, sure, but he was so exhausted that he fell into the first true and deep sleep he'd had at Hogwarts. It had just taken minor fury at his students to get him there.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear - the sun fell across Ed's face, waking him from that blessed nightmare free sleep. The sheets slipped across his skin and across the pressure plates of his automail leg. Then set in the blood curdling sensation of wondering what time it was and whether he'd missed breakfast. The sun was high.

Ed rolled toward the edge of his bed, forcing the sleep-stiff port of his automail leg to cooperate. Wham. Well. He was off the bed, and the fall had chased the last of the cobwebs from his eyes. He stood, stretched, and glanced to the time. It wasn't as late as he'd feared.

If he put his hair into a ponytail instead of a braid, he'd make it down to breakfast with enough time to shovel some food into his face.

"Slept in, I see," said Greaseball Snape, voice snide, when Ed shuffled into the Great Hall.

"Vell," Ed said, debating between answering sincerely or sarcastically. "At least zee sleep did somezing vor me. You could sleep vor days and your face would still be awful."

"Charming," Snape said, scowling as Ed took his seat next to him.

"You started it." And on Ed's other side, McGonagall was smirking into her tea, so he figured he won this round. "And I'm doing you a favor - I sink I haff supplanted you as least vavorite teacher here." He piled eggs and bacon onto his plate, just glad that the table hadn't been cleared for the post-meal fruit and coffee.

"Yes, I'd heard about your ill-advised attempt to make the children exercise."

"Ill-advised my ass," Ed said. "To train zee mind, one must first train zee body. I don't sink vizards understand zee principal."

Snape was clearly not going to set himself up for a losing battle, so he just scoffed. Dumbledore, who was sitting on Snape's other side, long mustachios dangling in his pumpkin juice, said, "If you would like to be the faculty advisor for a gym club," Dumbledore said, "We can meet in my office to arrange it."

Ed swore, and McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. "I would hate to think you're all talk."

Hilarious. Ed had nothing against starting a gym club (aside from a feeling of general doom at the thought of accepting more responsibility), but he also knew Dumbledore was just trying to get him back into his office to plan other things. He snuck a glance at the Slytherin table and sure enough Malfoy was scowling at an owl.

Dumbledore reached over Snape and handed Ed a piece of parchment. "Today at one, do you think?"

"Fine," Ed barked. "I'll bring any students who vish to be involved viz me."

"Perfect," Dumbledore said, pulling the orange-stained ends of his beard out of his pumpkin juice, finally. It dripped onto his elaborate robes and Ed wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps age was taking a harder toll on the headmaster than any of them expected.

Across the Great Hall, at the Ravenclaw table, Alphonse too was looking at a letter. He looked up and the brothers locked eyes. Ed nodded. Be ready, Al. The blonde girl next to him – what was her name, again? Her performance was somewhat above average, but she was so permanently in the clouds Ed was terrified for the day she attempted a transmutation – looked up with a sharpness that belied her usual disposition. She sent Ed a smile, a clear attempt at projecting her usual haze, but her eyes remained speculative.

Ed shifted his gaze from his brother to his student, nodded again for good measure. Her smile widened, and he could see her work to project a hazy expression. Clouds drifted over the blue in her eyes in time with the clouds that crawled across the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling.

(Ed hated the ceiling. Truly. He'd spent so much time sleeping under the sky that eating under a fake was half depressing and half insulting.)

Alphonse, for his part, did not miss the exchange. He poked his classmate, and the girl's deliberate inattention was broken. She turned to Ed's brother and Ed turned to Snape, whose verbal harassment Ed had probably tuned out too much of.

"-muggle. Of course, you'd want a gym club."

Ed wasn't sure what had preceded that line, but he was going to answer it the same way he'd answered Malfoy in the hallway. "And zat is vhy I could kick any vizard's ass anytime no problem you overgrown greaseball. Including yours."

"I would like to see you try."

"A few years back," Dumbledore said mildly. "I put Severus in charge of keeping students alive in the face of Gilderoy's disastrous dueling club."

And that was a referential statement that flew right over Ed's head. Gilderoy? He was so done with wizard names. But he understood the implication. "You haff tried to teach zee magic children how to fight," Ed said. "I vouldn't haff expected it ov you but zere it is."

"I do have some skill," Snape said. There was something sharp in his expression that Ed knew meant something. What it meant, he wasn't sure.

"Vell – proof? – prove it." English man. Ed still hated it. "Vee should fight."

Snape drew himself up. "You propose we settle the matter with a duel."

"Fuck zat duel shit. Zee rules ov engagement are vor people viz death vish. Let's fight." Dueling. Was that even a thing past 1870?

"I don't know what example that would be setting for the students," McGonagall said, but her tightly held mouth was contorted in the closest thing to a grin that Ed had ever seen on her face.

"You vant in? I don't know how I veel about hitting old voman, but."

"Do I want in? Are the professors all engaging in a full-staff fighting tournament then?"

"Vhy not? Let zee students see some real-life applications vor zee sings zey learn. I'd bet zat charms especially vould be hilarious to vatch."

Flitwick, the only normal-sized person on the teaching staff, who sat on the other side of the staff table, piped up there. "Charms are wonderfully effective in dueling."

"Fillius championed the tournament circuit for many years." Dumbledore said, sending the goblin-wizard an indulgent smile.

"And I retired to teach charms for a reason!" Flitwick said. "They were my specialty both academically and in the arena!"

"I vould love to fight you, zen too!" Ed said. "I know how to fight alchemists, but vizards I really don't know how to counter, and I clearly need to learn."

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked, a warning glimmer in his eyes.

"Knowing how to vight is important," Ed said, raising an eyebrow. Did the Old Man think he was some kind of amateur? "You never know, really."

"Sensible. Is this something you learned from your alchemist father?" This came from Slughorn, who Ed had temporarily forgot existed. How he'd done that, when conversations with the man were all uncomfortable as hell, Ed didn't know.

Ed's father. Technically, if it hadn't been for Hohenheim's disappearing act, Ed wouldn't have learned to fight the way he did. He wouldn't have gone to Teacher and even his attempt at resurrecting his mother may or may not have happened. Ed wouldn't have joined the military. Ed swallowed. He thought he'd outgrown blaming his father for everything, but a kernel of resentment still swam somewhere in his belly.

"He didn't teach me. But I suppose he's indirectly responsible," Ed said, immediately cringed at how that probably sounded. Sure enough, there was thunder in McGonagall's gaze.

Slughorn just hummed. His expression didn't change much, but Ed could see that the great walrus was alarmed. Good.

"I wasn't under the impression you had much access to your parents," Dumbledore said. "You've raised your brother all by yourself, after all."

Raise wasn't the right word – Al was only a year younger than him, after all. But aside from Dumbledore and McGonagall themselves, the wizards all thought Ed was eighteen, bringing the age gap to a full three years. Still. There was something in the statement that rankled. "Our teacher raised us," Ed said. "And zen vee raised each ozer."

And he wasn't even going to address the other part of the Old Man's weirdly personal public question. Asshole. Asking that sort of shit at the breakfast table. The rest of the table descended into awkward silence.

Ed shoveled a last few bites of eggs into his mouth, wrapped up three pieces of toast in his napkin, and stood. "I guess I'll see you at one. To start zee club." He left the Great Hall with clunky steps and his head tilted forward.

The first place he went after his sulky exit was the owlery. He'd not made it there yet in his week-long tenure at Hogwarts, but the portraits pointed him in the right direction. On the double doors was a sign: 'Please close the door behind you." Normally a sign like that was an invitation to misbehave for Ed, and he had every intention of leaving the doors open until he'd opened them.

"Oh shit!" Ed said in Amestrian, shutting the door jerkily behind him. The owlery was an odd combination of exceedingly neat and the largest mess he'd ever seen in his life. Even though it looked like the hay had been laid out recently, poop was all over the place. And. Was that an egg? Was Hogwarts speed dating for owls?

Every side panel to the room was made up of giant glass windows that stood proudly open and owls swooped in from outside and back again. That brought Ed to the owls themselves. They were all perched imperiously on fake branches that were hanging in midair at various heights. Up near the ceiling, Ed could see owls that were clearly off the clock for the day. They were cozied up and grooming each other in some cases, and in others they were simply off in corners by themselves or in piles, beaks tucked into their wings.

Perched on branches that hung within arm reach were the birds that felt themselves ready to work. Distantly, Ed spotted Potter's owl among them and he hightailed it to her. "Hed-vatever," he said in English. "Can you take zis to Potter?"

Her cold stare told him that she was offended that he even felt he need to ask. She thrust her leg pouch in Ed's general direction and he sheepishly tied the letter in place. "Thanks."

He turned to the owls at large. "Anybody else villing to help me out? I need two more volunteers."

The owls blinked at him and Ed tried not to scowl as he marched over the section of school-owned owls. "Two of you."

Two nondescript brown owls hopped down from their perches and Ed tucked the letters to Alphonse and Malfoy into their pouches. "You know zee people?"

The owls gave him disdainful looks before alighting through the windows and disappearing with their identical messages – 12:30, Alchemy Office. We need to iron out details before meeting with Dumbledore.

He wrote it to Alphonse in code, but he just had to risk interception of the other letters and hope that the messages were vague enough to be potentially about a gym club instead of the half-cocked infiltration of enemy lairs.

"Sanks," he said with a heavy tinge of sarcasm. The birds' distain didn't rankle. Really it didn't. But Ed was glad to leave the owlery and the imperious gazes of the birds that lived there in exchange for quietly waiting in his office, flipping through Al's year of magic textbooks and arranging his own curriculum for Monday.

Really the owlery was almost as bad as the Great Hall.

Once settled in his office, Ed alchemically made copies of worksheets that had students match atomic numbers to symbols to names of the elements for the paper homework. Made passive aggressive slips with the words "All is one, one is all" to hand out. Just to be a dick and remind the students of the very important not-riddle that stumped them all.

It took you and Al a month, Ed. In the perfect scenario to find the answer. His students would find the answer with time and the extra exercise was good for that kind of thinking. Maybe he could plan a field trip to the greenhouses. Pomona had told him that she would be available to help him with anything. At the very least he could have his students start feeling out the elements in the soil and the plants and little animals carefully moving around and fueling the system.

Could a wizard understand soil microbiology? Good question. Even Amestris hadn't paid much attention to microbes.

Ed sighed, put the slips aside, slid from his chair to the floor and began counting out pushups. He didn't stop until his muscles were screaming – the weakened right arm especially – and he'd thoroughly lost count of how many he'd done. He rolled out of the position and started in on squats, attempting to engage his automail limb as little as possible. Relying on that strength was one way to keep a workout going nowhere fast.

When those muscles were burning and angry he turned to gently stretching out the hip and thigh that led to the prosthetic, wincing when he went a little too far in any direction and the metal port tugged slightly at the scarred skin it was grafted to.

Winry was damn good, but even her work couldn't keep Ed running perfectly after so long without her maintenance. Idly, he wondered if a quick reparo would do anything to help him. If it acted anything like an alchemical repair, Winry would kill him if he so much as tried it. But there wasn't time to do any of that now, with Alphonse and Potter and Malfoy no doubt on their way. So instead of dragging out the oil and getting it over with, he rolled onto his back and set in on sit ups.

He and Alphonse hadn't sparred at all this first week, they'd been too busy with schoolwork and with making sure the kiddos were running their miles. They weren't even running together. Alphonse took the morning shift and Ed took the evening, to give Al time to do homework. They each ran several miles each night, watching for what students showed their face.

Flitwick had assured him that the charmed wristbands he'd given each student would faithfully record their running, but neither Ed nor Al were quite ready to trust magic. Especially when it came to teenagers who might find some magical loophole to avoid their assignment.

So instead of sparring on the green together, they ran laps around the school in shifts and damnit Ed was missing his brother fiercely. They would have to find the time, especially with their break-in looming ever closer.

He had just switched from sit ups to burpees when there was a knock on the office door. He paused mid leap, took his landing carefully, and opened the door. Potter, Malfoy, and Alphonse weren't alone and in retrospect Ed wondered how he'd expected differently. Next to them were Granger, Boy Ginger, and the blonde girl from the train. Granger looked sternly disapproving, Boy Ginger was rippling with hostility, and Blonde Hair Blue Eyes was looking in completely the wrong direction at the vacant hallway. Why the fuck were they here?

"-uck you too, Malfoy. Really why are you even here?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Potter, you self-righteous cretin."

"Do you even know what the word cretin means?" Granger said.

"I used it correctly, didn't I? Really it's your little ginger boytoy you should be worried about."

"Oi!" said Ron.

"Shut up, all ov you, vee haff work to do."

"He started it!" Harry said.

"Did I? Because I seem to recall – "

"I don't giff a shit, get in."

Behind them, Alphonse was shaking his head gleefully. "Zey're just like you, bruder."

"I am nothing like that muggle," Draco said. "I have subtlety, for one thing."

"Do you?" Ed said. "Because I haffen't seen you use it. Vhile I may not be subtle vor shit, I know plenty ov scheming bastards vis political aspirations. You don't efen rank."

Ed grabbed them both by the collar and dragged them bodily over the threshold. When Alphonse and the rest of the brigade stepped through, Ed slammed the door and Harry pulled his wand out of his sleeve.

"Vat are you doing vis zat?"

But Potter somehow refrained from pointing it at Malfoy, instead turning to the door and pronouncing, carefully, "Muffliato." Ed didn't see any change, but the wizards in the room all seemed to feel it take, quirking their heads to one side in identical expressions of curiosity.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno what it is. Think it might keep us from being overheard."

The group at large looked stunned, and Ed couldn't blame them. Harry had not seemed to be the person in the group to come up with new spells on a whim. That was Granger. Every single time. "You tried an unknown, untested spell on Professor Elric's door?" Granger said. "That is so irresponsible, Harry."

"You aren't efen supposed to be here, Granger," Ed said.

Her mouth dropped open, then closed resolutely. She said, "We're a unit, the three of us. You want Harry, you get me and Ron too."

"I didn't vant Harry, eizer," Ed said, scowling. "Zee smaller zis operation is, zee smaller the risk."

"The larger the operation," Granger said, "The more backup you have when Malfoy inevitably turns on you."

"Last veek you vere defending Malfoy to me against Potter's paranoia." Ed gestured from Malfoy to Harry and saw that Malfoy looked almost touched at that. Conversely, Potter looked betrayed.

"He's always been an egotistical, spoiled, blood purist," Granger said, and Malfoy's grateful expression was replaced with disdain. "But before the train ride we didn't have proof that he'd taken the Dark Mark and was hosting Voldemort at his house."

"We weren't exactly having tea every afternoon, Granger." The disdain had turned to fury. Ed knew he wasn't one to talk, but really this child's blood pressure must be through the roof. "Excuse me for doing anything I could to avoid torture."

Granger blinked, crossed her arms to compose herself. "There's always a choice."

Malfoy scoffed and turned to Ed. "Why is she even here?"

"You heard her," Ed said. "Iz not like I invited her. But Potter comes in a pack ov three."

"You could use us both," Granger insisted. "We've gotten Harry through five years worth of scrapes. We can get all of you out of this one."

"Really Professor," Ron said, stating his own case. "Someone needs to be the normal bloke with common sense. Even 'Mione can't help you with that one."

Ed clenched his fists, grounding himself with the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms. This was getting ridiculous. "Alphonse and I haff gotten ourselves out of more scrapes zan you can imagine. But. Iv you insist, you do already know about zee scheme. So, vat all five of you – don't sink I vorgot you, Blonde Girl – are going to do is sit down and shut up. Alphonse and I vill go over zee details."

"Do you forget, muggle, that I have the plans to the house?"

"You vill haff your turn to talk Malfoy. But right now, you are going to listen vor once in your fucked-up life. Verstanden?"

Malfoy soured but joined the circle of teenagers perched on Ed's desk. It struck him, then, that this was the first time in his life that Ed was scheming with people his own age. Ed grinned. Surely, surely, fellow teenagers would be more willing to jump into stupid situations than say Mustang or Hawkeye or Armstrong.

Ed could not contain his shit-eating grin at that thought, even when his students began to look more than a little unnerved. "So. Zee plan is zis. Malfoy's personal elf is going to appearify (or vatever it's called) us into zee Bad-But-French place. Probably next weekend. Vee can iron out zat date viz Dumbledore. Vee vill haff people vee need to hide and as much as I kind ov dislike zee Old Man, he's zee one vis access to safe houses."

"You're using an elf?" said Granger, standing up from her own perch on the cluttered desk. "And here I thought that you and Alphonse would be a shoo-in for S.P.E.W."

"Vat's spew?"

Granger began to spell out the acronym, but Boy Ginger proved himself useful by cutting her off. "Don't ask, mate. Err. Prof. She'll go on for hours."

Ed grimaced, he wanted to know, but now wasn’t the time "Vee can talk about it later, Granger?"

She scowled but nodded and shuffled back on her perch. Ed continued onward. "Zee elf will take us directly to zee prison area, and Malfoy will go from zere to collect his mozer. He vill zen make his own vay out of zee manor. Zee elf will stay vis us, because vee aren't keyed into zee Malfoy wards and Malfoy, obviously, is. Vrom zere, vee vill collect zee prisoners and apparate zem out ov zere by twos to vatever safe house Dumbledore sets up vor us. I vill leave last."

"But!" Potter said. "You can't leave last! You don't even have magic!" He brandished his wand, sparks shooting from the end. He jumped at that, and carefully pointed it back at the ground. Ed rolled his eyes. If that had been a gun, the entire room would have just been sprayed with bullets. Idiot.

"A wand may be more versatile zan gun, but please treat it like veapon. Anyvay. Alphonse'll leave last vis me," Ed said, glancing to Al who confirmed that. "Vee haff a sing vee need to try to do vhile vee're zere."

Potter glared. "What thing, Professor Elric?"

"None ov your business."

"I think it's the Chosen One's business," Potter said. "If everyone expects me to finish Voldemort, I deserve all the information."

Ed sighed. That. Was not incorrect. He weighed the costs and benefits in his head and knew that if Potter knew that part of the plan, he would try something vaguely suicidal to help. It's what Ed would do and while Potter was technically Ed's age, even he didn't have the same kind of battle experience. Ed suddenly and unexpectedly found himself empathizing with the adults in Amestris who handcuffed him to hospital beds.

"Trust me," Ed said. "Al and I haff it covered, and it's personal besides. Iv vee need to get out fast, zee elf vill be vis us."

"We've been in worse scrapes," Al said, sounding almost properly British. Ed winced at the sound of it, but disguised it by reaching for the floor plan to Malfoy Manor that Draco had spread on the desk. He studied it for a moment.

"So many vorse scrapes," Ed said, placing the plans next to a stack of blank paper. He reached for a vial of ink, dumped it over the blank stack. Granger winced at what Ed was sure looked like a heinous waste of paper. "I'm making copies." And with that, Ed slapped his two flesh palms together through his gloves, closed his eyes as he felt the equation balance, and opened them again as he crouched down and slammed his hands to the stack of the paper.

Distantly, he could hear gasps of astonishment. It had been so long since he'd performed alchemy in front of even a small crowd, and he could feel the adrenaline of it thrumming in his blood. The ink seeped into the paper and arranged itself. Ed glanced back at the original plans for reference, but really, that detail had been keyed into the very equation in his mind. In the corner he included Elric Print Services. There. Perfect.

Ed picked the small stack up from the floor when the last of the blue lightening faded. "And now I hope you all see vhy I am alchemy teacher."

"All right I mean I logically knew there hadn't been back when we first met, but. Where was the transmutation circle?" Granger said. Malfoy glanced at her, having clearly noticed the same thing. Shit.

"Don't ask," Ed said. "Iv you follow any ov my instructions, it vill be somesing you'll never be able to do."

"And you don't vant it, either," Al said. He smiled, his face betraying a lingering sadness that stabbed Ed somewhere in whatever pocket he'd stored his ample residual guilt. "It isn't worth zee cost. Iv you learn how to use basic circles creatively, it can be almost as vast."

"I don't understand this bloody circle business," Boy Ginger cautioned, hands splaying palms out and shoulder width apart. "But does that mean you can do it too?"

Alphonse cringed, and Ed understood that his brother may not have wanted to give that away. "I can. But you don't vant to know vat vee paid."

Blonde Girl's eyes gained a moment of clarity, haze lifting from her expression. She placed one hand on Al's shoulder and the other on Ed's, fingers landing where the next piece of metal was beginning to surface. Ed winced, but it was almost as if she'd predicted tenderness and inflammation there, because her fingers landed gently and sapped the heat from the spot even through his clothes. "Certain admission prices are altogether too high. There are some plays that I would rather miss, no matter how philosophically relevant they are."

There was subtext behind those words. "Admission price?" Ed asked, eyes shifting to Blonde Girl.

"Even just to get through the gate."

What. "Vat did you say your name vas, again?" Even Alphonse was visibly perturbed, gently patting the hand that was on his shoulder before carefully extricating himself from it.

She smiled, the haze slipping back over her eyes. "Luna. Luna Lovegood. I hope you've been assigning my grades to the right person."

Ed blinked. "I can assign grades just vine. Anyvay you're zee only one who didn't explain. Vhy are you even here? Zose three may be a solid unit, but I sought you vere more an auxiliary arm."

"That was cruel, Professor Elric," Granger said, thought for a moment. "But actually, I have no idea how she found out about this."

"My fault," Al said, sheepishly. "She saw zee note zis morning and, well."

"It feels wrong, somehow," she said, with that airy voice. "To sit back when I know there's a fight somewhere that I should join."

"How thoroughly Gryffindor of you, Looney," Malfoy said, lip curling. He turned to Alphonse. "How could you let her come?"

Al shrugged. "Eve insisted?"

"Zee cat?" Ed said.

"She's part kneazle," Luna said, as if that was any proper explanation.

And somehow Ed knew that was the best answer he was likely to get. "Fuck zis," he said. "Vee need to meet vis Dumbledore in like five minutes."

Granger frowned, waved her wand, said, "Tempus." Her eyes flew wide. "We're going to be late!"

"Vho cares? He is bastard anyvay," Ed said. Al switched to Amestrian to give Ed a thorough tongue lashing on that one, and Ed winced. "All right! Iv being punctual is so important to all ov you, let's put your running homework to zee test! You're all Gym Club founding members, avter all!"

He didn't even wait for his shitty wizard students before kicking open the door and pelting down the hallway.

"Bruder!" But Ed knew he could trust Al. Sure enough, Al kept to the back of the pack watching for stragglers. And maybe it had only been a week, but a week of consistent running (none of Ed's new students were fit enough to manage three miles in one go) had made them all nearly capable of a five-minute dash to the headmaster's office.

"Zat vasn't very nice, brother," Alphonse said when they came to a halt at the gargoyle-entrance. Even Malfoy's hair was bedraggled from the run, and Ed was sure Malfoy used spells to keep it in place. Granger looked like she sorely wanted to chew him out, but all the kids were breathing too hard to do it. Ed's favorite way of avoiding confrontation. When, at least, he was pretending he didn't thrive on confrontation.

Alphonse very politely gave the gargoyle the password and the spiral escalator-style staircase descended into view. Granger gave Ed one last glare and huffed out one last hard breath and stepped onto the stairs before everyone else.

"I suppose she's allowed to be pissed," Ed said before following her, not looking back to make sure the rest of his small crowd of students and compatriots followed. They did, of course, and even Dumbledore looked a little uncomfortable with how many people were abruptly involved in their scheme when they came into view of the office. Because really. Seven was excessive.

"Dear boy," Dumbledore started with, which had Ed bristling before their conversation had even begun. "I thought you said you wanted to be discreet."

Ed sighed deeply. "I had zee best of intentions."

Alphonse snorted, said, "Brozer isn't a naturally discreet person."

"I gathered." Dumbledore waved his wand and chairs abruptly appeared behind each of them. "Please sit, have a lemon drop." Alphonse's hazy blonde housemate was the only one to take one.

"You're zee one who got caught by Head-In-Clouds, Al. Shut up. Anyvay, Old Man, who are you to talk about discreet? Zee only vay you can think to meet viz me is by contriving a Gym Club?"

"This isn't helpful," Granger said, spreading her copy of the plans to Malfoy Manor on the desk. If she looked a little too satisfied with herself to be pushing Dumbledore's papers into disarray, Ed didn't comment on it. "We need to have a solid plan and really we should do this before next weekend."

"So soon, Miss Granger? I was under the impression that you were the sensible one."

Granger scowled. "The longer we stall, the longer we give Malfoy here to betray us."

"He von't," Ed said, the phrase almost rote.

"Really? And you know this how? You've known him so long, after all."

"Please," Malfoy said. "Like you know me so well."

"I know you well enough to punch you in the face." That sort of threat didn't sound like Granger. Ed glanced sideways at his student, and then back at Draco, who winced. And really, that wasn't threat in Granger's eyes. Was that nostalgia?

"Please tell me zat really happened," Ed said.

"Bruder!"

"Should detentions have been assigned?" Dumbledore said, eyes still twinkling. Damn that twinkle.

"Yes," Malfoy said at the precise time Ron said,

"No. Bloody jerk had it coming."

"Thank you, Ronald," Granger said.

"Not the sort of thing a proper witch would do," Malfoy said, and Granger had her wand pointed at him in seconds flat, almost as though trying to prove that she could fight like a witch.

"Glad to see you're still a blood purist," Potter said. "We can't trust him."

"I sink everyone needs to take large steps away from each other," Alphonse said. "We have zee allies we have, and zere's nothing we can do about it."

"Why do you two trust him?" Ron said. "I mean I know I wasn't exactly suspicious of him before the train fiasco but why are you willing to put our lives – your lives – in the hands of this prat?"

Ed sighed. "Vould it be weird if I said zat vee put our lives in worse hands before?"

"What?" That was said almost simultaneously by all quarters of the room.

"They had their reasons," said Luna, one of the two holdouts from the chorus.

The other holdout was Dumbledore. "We cannot allow discord and malcontent to spoil our plans," he said, changing the subject entirely. "And we must start on those plans at once. If the seven of you cannot put your arguments on hold for just a few minutes there is no possible way that you can enter a combat scenario and come out of it with your lives. Please. Learn to work together or leave this to your comrades. Young Mr. Malfoy is our in, and without him this whole mission would not be possible."

"Exactly," Ed said, finding himself in rare agreement. "Now shut up and let me talk."

Dumbledore extended an inviting hand and Ed took his cue to rehash the plan they'd decided upon in his office. "So really, zee only question is when."

"Wednesday night," Granger said immediately. "It would be the most inconvenient time for students and teachers to leave the school, so it'll make our identity not immediately obvious."

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Do you remember your third year?"

Her expression turned guarded, hand twitching as though she wanted to reach for something. "Yes?"

"And you remember your schedule?"

"Of course," she said. "But I gave that back."

Dumbledore gave her a disbelieving look. "Did you?"

"You think a fourteen-year-old could have made a fake to fool Unspeakables?"

"I don't know."

"Why is this even a factor?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, and Ed had come to recognize that as a tell for when she felt backed into a corner. Potter and Boy Ginger both clearly recognized that tell too, because they were looking at her like she'd grown a second head.

"Wouldn't solid alibis do you all favors?"

"I gave it back," Granger insisted.

There was a pause, after which Dumbledore sighed. "What a pity," he said. "But it's probably for the best that you didn't attempt to steal from the Department of Mysteries."

"But," she said, her voice breaking with anxiety. "I may have taken it apart and rebuilt it and made one myself. If that might help."

Dumbledore visibly flinched, and Ed knew that the Old Man had barely restrained a jump. He'd thought her capable of making a convincing fake, but not capable of making the thing itself. Huh.

Malfoy and Luna both looked befuddled, and Ed knew he himself was.

"Vat is it, exactly?" said Al, and Ed nodded, gesturing at Granger to get to the point. She eyed them all warily, then her hand quaked up to the gold chain that disappeared into her jumper. Granger withdrew the pendant on its end, and Ed's heart stilled. An hourglass imbedded in several golden circles all marked with numbers.

"You made a time turner," Malfoy said, face slack with shock. "At fourteen."

Luna's own confusion lifted. "Oh that," she said. "You mean none of you knew? I thought it was rather obvious."

Ed, however, was stuck on ‘time turner’. While his brain short circuited, the plan moved forward.

"We move Wednesday morning," Granger said. "After we've already done the whole day once."

And finally, finally, Ed reacted. "Vat. Zee. Fuck." Dumbledore looked triumphant.

Chapter Text

They called it a time turner. A time turner! The glimmer of gold at Granger's throat – the one Ed had always disregarded as probably being a sentimental choking hazard – was a time machine.

What? The fuck?

Ed had already been a fan of that phrase in Amestris. But here, in England or Scotland or where ever he was, it had eclipsed even the usual favorite of "who are you calling invisible to even an amoeba's naked eye?!"

"Vhy didn't I come across zis in any ov zee books?" Ed finally said, because it seemed odd that he somehow missed the existence of literal time machines. Granger winced, and Ed blinked at her, said, "You didn't!"

"Well," she said, crossing her arms defensively, "I didn't want you and Alphonse to figure out that I had one before I was ready for you to know!"

"Bloody hell, Mione," was Ron's input. "Didn't want them to know? You didn't tell me and Harry either!"

She froze, face going from defensive to extraordinarily guilty. Ed pinched the bridge of his nose, but it was Alphonse who swooped in to save the day. "She's entitled to her secrets. I just wish zat she hadn't destroyed books."

"What?" she said, not looking away from Ron's face. "I didn't destroy any books. I just put strong notice-me-not spells on the relevant pages."

"Typical Granger," said Malfoy. "Can't destroy a book even to keep vital secrets. You realize that one of the Elrics, at least, could've done a finite." 

Ed snorted. Malfoy could play it cool all he wanted but Ed knew that he was as surprised about it as he was.

"Al's too trusting," Granger said. "He wouldn't have thought to." Still, she did not look away from Boy Ginger and Potter. "I'm sorry," she said. "Really, I am, but I wanted to use it as little as possible."

"We wouldn't have abused it!" said Ron, with a sort of soft outrage that Ed would, on anyone else, consider paradoxical but seemed to be one of Ron's base expressions. It was outrage, but it wasn't the outrage of Major General Armstrong. Or the outrage of Teacher. Or the outrage of – well. The list could go on. But Ed knew one thing.

"If zee sree ov you are going to be fighting, I von't bring any of you on Wednesday. Vee will find some ozer method of covering our tracks because even a time turner isn't worth working wis an uncooperative team out in zee field."

"You're at var vis Voldemort," Al said. "Don't confuse zat vis each ozer."

With that, they turned back to ironing out the details of their jailbreak. Once that was done, and the group had trekked from Dumbledore's office to their respective beds, the time turner and who knew about it when and what methods went into its concealment went unmentioned.

The implications of time travel certainly haunted Ed's thoughts, but he had bigger fish to fry. Somehow, somehow, he had to make this warring group of teenagers into a cohesive unit of fighters.

As the days ticked closer to Wednesday and Ed taught his alchemy classes, he forced his "Gym Club" members out for extra runs and long sparring sessions on the green. He made Malfoy and Potter do trust falls.

"He's not going to catch me!"

"You're a madman!"

And that was what they said before he made them do it on broomsticks. Even Boy Ginger and Malfoy got along with better grace, and Ed was certain there was some generational family feud going on there. Oh, the "You dirty blood traitor" and "Your Daddy" insults continued undeterred, but they were automatic and didn't interfere with the two of them fighting cohesively against Ed and Al.

Ed and Al still destroyed them. That was a given.

Luna oddly turned out to be the strongest contender. She was rail thin and didn't really have the muscle to put behind her attacks, but once she started actively dodging getting in a hit would be grueling if not for Ed's springy metal leg.

Though, again, Ed and Al could subdue her quickly enough, the rest of the fledgling Gym Club was at a loss. If all wizards had similar limitations, Ed hoped that Luna's fledgling dodging skills would be enough to get her through this whole scheme.

"Aren't Ravenclaws supposed to be nerds?" Ron said, readying his wand to fire at Luna again.

"Vicious nerds," Malfoy said. "You think Slytherins are bad but just be lucky that Ravenclaws don't take their noses out of either the books or the clouds long enough to try and take over the world. Stupify!" Luna dodged, and silently from her corner came a spell whose color Ed didn't recognize from any reading.

Ron barely leapt out of the way in time. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!" came Luna's singsong voice and suddenly she was running again, putting her full running speed behind a hit to Malfoy's sternum. He just barely twisted out of the way and Luna tumbled with her built up momentum. She misjudged that one, sure, but to her credit, she immediately rolled into a crouch and stood.

Overwhelmingly, Luna won the fight and the teenagers continued to squabble. By Wednesday morning, Ed's nerves were shot. The universe must have known it, too, for it was Wednesday morning that Girl Ginger caught onto the ruse and cornered Ed and Al after the fifth-year section of Alchemy. "Okay what's with this gym club?"

Al blinked guiltily. Ed leaned back against his desk, trying to look casual. "It's just a trial run," he said. "We'll accept more members on Monday."

"Draco Malfoy warranted your trial run and I didn't?"

"We tried to keep it to six-years," Al said, and Ginny shot a pointed glance to Luna, who was packing her bag with deliberate slowness.

"Would you accept starting zis weekend?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "You're dead, Elric." With a toss of her Weasley-red hair, she flounced out of the room, robes billowing about her.

"Tread lightly, brother," Al said in Amestrian. "I don't think we want to be on her bad side."

Ed laughed, replied in the same. "I mean everyone tries to kill us eventually." He switched back into English, "Now you two should get to your next class."

"Herbology!" Luna said brightly. "It isn't Care of Magical Creatures, but there are always things hiding under the leaves and plants are vital to understanding the broader habitat needs of different species!"

"Have fun!"

Ed turned to the chalkboard, clapped his hands, and returned the chalk he'd used to the stick. No point in wasting it. He had another class to get through before lunch. And then, cursedly, he was clear the rest of the day for office hours and grading.

He was careful to show face at dinner, getting into a loud and playful argument with Snape about the interrelatedness of Alchemy, Potions, and Transfiguration.

McGonagall mostly stayed out of it, but she put in her two cents here and there. If only he could punch either of them in the face, Ed might have blown off some steam.

As it was, by the time he was scheduled to meet with the Gym Club, it was a strain to fake his usual devil-may-care attitude. He leaned against the gates and didn't even notice the approach of Granger, Weasley, and Potter under the invisibility cloak until he was poked in the shoulder by air.

He'd encased the trio in rock before he realized that these were, in fact, friends. "Shit," he said, transmuting the stone fist back into the ground. "Sorry."

"Jumpy, are you?" Malfoy said, appearing himself out of the gloom.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Potter said from under the cloak. Malfoy startled. He must not have noticed them, either.

"Jumpy, are you?" Ed repeated back, sticking out his tongue.

"Shut up, Elric."

"Zat's Professor Elric to you."

"Bruder!" said Al, walking down the path with Luna. He'd come into hearing range just in time to scold him. "I expected better vrom you."

"Well," said Granger, cutting the group off before it could descend into squabbling. "We're all here."

Malfoy startled again. "How are you invisible?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Weasley said.

"I guess we're all here," Malfoy said with a sour expression. He shot a glare in the direction of the voices. "Let's move."

Ed nodded, pushed open the gates and stepped off Hogwarts grounds onto the road to Hogsmeade. The group shuffled through behind him, and he kept his sights carefully on the ground to note the occasional flashes of trainers from under the cloak. Once he was sure they'd all passed through, he shut the gate behind them.

Granger stepped from under the invisibility cloak and ushered everyone behind the nearest tree. They were probably still visible from the road, but barely.

She unhooked the necklace chain and when she tossed the end of it, it grew and navigated snakelike through the air to wrap around everyone in the little circle.

He could even see it wrap around an invisible lump that had to be Harry and Ron.

"We need to go back nine hours," Granger said, when the end of the chain had found its way back to her. "To this morning."

Ed barely had time to nod before she was caving her body around the machine, hiding the way the mechanism worked from view. He counted five seconds before the world around him began to spin and spin and spin and if he really tried to look he could almost see time moving backwards but only when focused because the pace was so fast. The sun passed overhead from west to east and once again the world slowed, stopped, and restarted in the right direction in real time.

He looked around at his Gym Club, and up at the suddenly eastern sun. "Vat. Zee. Fuck."

Malfoy was the first to orient himself. He pulled an intricate puzzle box from his pocket, worked the mechanism, and improbably pulled a used tire from the small space.. "Everyone grab on," he said.

"I thought your elf was bringing us," Granger said.

"She'll meet us there," said Malfoy. "The fewer times we pass the wards the better, and this way Beany doesn't need to go out of the wards once first."

Granger gave Malfoy a hard look. He raised an eyebrow, but after she had her moment to glare, Granger settled her hand on the other end of Malfoy's used tire.

Weasley, too, ducked from the cloak and joined the circle. Potter, Ed noticed, only stuck out a hand, preferring instead to remain otherwise invisible.

"If you betray us, Malfoy," said Potter's disembodied voice as he adjusted his grip. "I'll kill you."

Malfoy snorted. "If I betrayed you in the middle of Malfoy Manor you'd be dead before you could try."

Of the wizarding children, Luna was the last to grab on, if only because she was distracted by examining a leaf. As she settled her hand she turned, said, "Well come on, then." Ed traded a bemused look with Al, complied.

Just as soon as Ed and Al had settled their hands on the tire, Ed jerked not forward but in some ineffable direction by the navel. It would have been nauseating, if time travel hadn't been so much more disorienting. Ed lost awareness of his body. His entire consciousness was on his point of contact with the portkey, as if even his brain had migrated to his hand. They landed somewhere no less dizzying, a stench of mold and sick flooding him. Weasley let out a few dry heaves, but Ed was so busy trying to figure out which way was up again that he hardly registered it.

"Ed? Is that you?" came a small, feeble voice in the gloom. Immediately, Ed knew where he was and which way was up. He bolted toward the sound.

"Garrick!"

"Mr. Ollivander!" Al somehow got there first and had his ash wand out in a flash.

"Wait," said Malfoy, "The wards. And be quiet. There will be someone guarding the main door."

At the sound of Malfoy's voice, Ollivander visibly flinched. Ed put a hand on his shoulder, pulled it back when Ollivander flinched again. "It's okay," Ed said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his borrowed black robe. "He's an ally."

"He's the one who put me in here."

The air turned oppressive. "I know," said Malfoy. "But I'm here to get you out."

Ed could hardly see it in the dim light, but Malfoy extended his wand, tapped the shackles that held the wandmaker, and was briefly illuminated by a silver glow. The shackles fell free. Ed pulled Ollivander into a standing position just as the chains hit the ground.

"I'm a Malfoy," Malfoy said. "I'm the only one here who can do any magic in the dungeons without it being logged for perusal in the wards. Anyway. Beany!"

A small, ragged looking creature popped into view. Ed tensed, every instinct screaming chimera at him. But no. The goblins were the way they were naturally. He had to believe, at least for the sake of this mission, that Beany's morphology was simply her natural biology.

"Young master?" What the ever-loving fuck?

"Go get mother. Tell her I need her."

Beany looked around at the dungeon surroundings. Granger knelt to the elf's eye level. "Please, Beany. We really need your help."

Beany looked at Granger like she'd grown a second head, but with one last questioning glance at Malfoy popped out of existence just as suddenly and just as loudly as she'd come. After a moment, Beany was back, holding the hand of a tall woman with carefully styled blonde hair in elegant blue robes. "Draco? Why are you home?" She registered the rest of the group, and even in the gloom Ed could see her eyes grow wide. "And in the dungeons with this sort of company?"

"We're leaving," he said. "I need you, and Beany, and Ollivander to disapparate. Now."

Mrs. Malfoy looked around the gloom. Her eyes locked on Ollivander, who was half hiding behind Alphonse. "Draco, what on Earth are you talking about?" Her eyes went from Ollivander, to Alphonse, to Granger, to Weasley. "Why did you bring the better half of the junior division of the Order of the Phoenix here?"

Ed grasped her arm, and she jerked away as though burned. He sighed, said, "Just go, Frau Malfoy. Aren't you sick ov being a prisoner in your own home?"

Mrs. Malfoy's glare put Granger's to shame. The power of it was near enough to make Ed quail. But he held firm and finally Mrs. Malfoy sniffed, turned to Draco. "Where, son, do you imagine I will go?"

"We have a safe house set up," Draco said. "It's very secure."

"And you're certain it's not a trap?"

"They don't have an ounce of cunning in their bodies mother. Too much valor." Even in the gloom, Ed could see the glimmer of humor on Draco's face. The red-and-gold house was no longer his personal boogeyman. Good.

Draco's expression seemed to resonate with Mrs. Malfoy, too. She extended a hand to Ollivander who gingerly took it. Beany grasped onto the hem of her blue robes and the three of them disappeared with a crack!

Malfoy stared a moment at the spot they vanished from before shaking himself. "All of that," he said, "and the wards still haven't blown."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Boy Ginger said. "Don't jinx it."

"We have more people to evacuate," Granger said. "We should maybe get on that."

"Right," said Potter's disembodied voice. Malfoy didn't argue, for once in his life, and it was he who blasted open the door. It was so loud that they almost did not notice Beany reappear. Ed did, though, so he took the opportunity to give direction.

"Stay close and quiet, Beany," Ed said. "We may haff need ov you, but I sink zere would be a riot iv I tried to send anyone back now."

Beany nodded her understanding and slid into formation with a know-how that belied the idea that she was purely a domestic servant. But asking her why was perhaps not a relevant question.

They took the rest of the dungeon in pieces, going down first the right hallway and then the left, sending Beany out with small groups of no more than three or four at a time and then again with the next batch.

"Won't zis many disapparations show in zee wards as an anomaly?" asked Alphonse, and Malfoy could only shrug.

"I don't know much about elf magic," he said. "But I'm more worried about the wizard presence in the disapparation overpowering the elf presence and thereby registering with the wards as wizard magic."

Ed thought he knew where that train of thought was going, but he'd only just begun reading about warding magic when they'd finalized this shenanigan. Alphonse began to pitch a counter theory, and for once in his life Ed could only tune out the educated conversation. He fought down an instinctive pout, scouted ahead, instead.

The people held in these cells were in awful shape. He could see in the quivers of their body that they'd been subjected to the harshest of interrogation tactics. Ed was a member of the Amestrian military; he was unfortunately familiar.

Even before things all went to hell, they'd given him mandatory training in resisting interrogation immediately after he passed his State Alchemist exam. That training would have been hard for an adult, and Ed suspected that it had been toned down for him on account of his age.

It was enough to recognize the shaking in the limbs. Enough to recognize the round eyes and trembling fingers.

When they made the last rounds through the gloom, and they'd assembled the last few prisoners, Ed turned to Alphonse. "I want you to oversee zee last evacuations. Get zee rest ov Gym Club out ov here when zat is done and zen come find me."

He turned to the rest of the group. "Malfoy, Potter, and I will go confront zee Mold. I vant zee rest ov you to stay wiz Alphonse and leave once all ov zee prisoners are out."

Lovegood nodded gamely, her gaze directed somewhere at the ceiling, but Granger and Weasley clearly wanted to pitch a fit. "It's a matter ov numbers!" Ed said. "A small group can sneak around better zan a large one and Malfoy is zee only one here familiar wiz zee terrain!"

"Listen mate," Ron said. "I trust you. But I don't trust the ferret. And if he turns his back on us and you and Harry don't have enough numbers to escape, I'm laying the blame at your feet because we warned you." He looked to Malfoy, and said, oddly enough, "Take care of 'em. If you don't I reckon 'Mione'll punch you in the face again."

“If you punch him, please do it in front of me,” said Ed, remembering the glorious moment he discovered this point in Granger’s past. “I missed zee first time.” Granger assumed her customary glower, and this time it was hard to tell who at.

"He was asking for it," she said. "I don't start fights. I only finish them."

That was a blatant lie, but Ed was too busy laughing to call her out on it. When he managed to compose himself, he returned to business. "Let's go," he said, and he turned one way with his party and Alphonse turned the other with his.

The instant they were separated and there was a group active in the dungeons unaccompanied by someone on the approved list, the alarms went off.

Shit. Be careful, Alphonse!

Ed, Malfoy, and Potter turned up a narrow staircase, climbed a rickety ladder, and continued up into the main house, even as Ed's stomach sunk below the floor. Al would be alright. They'd fought separate battles before.

Like in those other battles, Ed took a moment to transmute a spear from the stone floor. As the hall lit up blue around him and the stone streamed into his hands, Ed felt better. The long familiar balance to the weapon was instinctive. The spear settled into his hands, and his gut settled too.

His gut settled to stone when Ed stabbed the spear at their first hurdle. A Death Eater went down to both Harry and Malfoy's alarm, but with the room cleared, they slammed the door shut and moved to the next.

He wiped a blood spatter off his brow, and tried to ignore the horrified expressions of his students. The Death Eater would live, Ed was sure. 

It was in the drawing room that they found Voldemort. Malfoy shrunk instinctively back from the door, but Harry continued inside as though tugged by a string.

"Zat him, Harry?" Ed asked, following him through the door. Maybe he shouldn't have bothered asking, because Harry and the snake eyed man were staring each other down with mirrored expressions. There was revulsion, there was hatred, contempt, but there was also a curious recognition. In both of them. "Oi! Snake face! You zee Mold?"

For the briefest flicker, Voldemort's attention redirected to Ed, looked at him, then beyond him, and hissed something incomprehensible.

Harry flinched, clearly recognizing whatever it was, and turned to Ed. His mouth opened, and oddly enough another set of hissing issued from it. Voldemort flinched, his attention directed back at Harry.

Snake face hissed again, this time at Harry, as opposed to whatever was behind Ed. Behind Ed. Oh shit! Ed whirled around and to the side just in time to avoid the snapping jaws of the largest snake he'd personally ever seen.

Ed swore, jumping into the air, raising the spear he'd transmuted. He swung down, only for his spear to be met with the snake's lashing tail. He took the resulting fall well, letting the spear clatter to one side as he clapped his hands in time to break his fall with Scar's destruction alchemy.

The snake exploded.

It was the first time Ed had ever used that array on a living, breathing, animal, and as he rolled the rest of the way out of the fall, covered in blood and chunks of flesh, he retched. Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

"Nagini!" It wasn't a hiss, but Mold's anguished howl was almost as incomprehensible. He turned to Ed, slit-like eyes narrowed with fury. "You."

"Me. Sorry about your pet. But she vas trying to kill me." Ed moved before Mold had a time to level his stick, ducking to the side for his spear and back again, keeping just fast enough that wizards would have difficulty tracking him.

But not too fast. Ed had a feeling that, even if he ended this quickly, he would have to fight his way out of this place. They'd brought down as many Death Eaters as they could on the way there, but the alarms were wailing, and Ed was sure backup had been called for. He spared a moment to glance to Harry, refocused to duck away from a beam of green light. It whizzed past his ear.

What a terrible green.

He did see that Harry was on the move. Good. Ed clapped his hands and exploded the ground in front of him, clapped his hands again and set the dust to dissipate. He repeated it, to keep Mold's attention. If the spells were ever redirected back towards Harry, Ed had failed.

The next green flash of light passed closer than was comfortable. He darted left, clapped again, feeling the crackle of the tectonic energy under his palms. This was good. He'd forgotten what this felt like, the heat of the battle with blue lightning crackling about his hands.

And to think he'd been willing to give it up when he activated the forbidden array to bring Alphonse home. Ed bent, brought his crackling hands to the ground and finally, finally, sunk the ground under Mold's feet.

He advanced. "Fuck you," he spat, clapped his hands, and prepared to place them around Mold's cranium when instead the doors burst open.

There was Alphonse, wand leveled, eyes burning, and - for the first time that Ed had ever seen - he moved with killing intent. "Avada Kedavra!"

As Tom Riddle fell dead, Alphonse Elric fell to his knees.

Ed rushed to his brother, panic cloying in his throat. Alphonse met his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But I saw Draco loitering in the hall and I was so scared."

Malfoy peered around the door, stricken. "What just happened?"

"Ed? Al?" This came from Harry, hand raising shakily to point. Ed's eyes tracked the motion as black smoke issued from the corpse, and the corpse itself crumbled into dust. "Do corpses normally do that?"

"No," said Al. "No, zey don't."

"Let's get out ov here," Ed said, grasping Al's hand and helping him to his feet.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yes."

"Please," said Alphonse, voice small.

Ed wrapped an arm around him. Al hadn't shivered this much since he was newly reacquainted with his body.

"Absolutely," Malfoy said, casting a disturbed glance around the room. "Did everyone else get out alright? Yes? "Beany! Beany!"

The elf appeared with a pop! "Yes, young master?"

"It's time we got out of here."

It was a somber party that made the trip back to the castle from Hogsmeade that Wednesday mid-afternoon. For all Ed and Al's talk of killing the Mold-man, Ed had expected he would be the one to kill him. He'd been ready to add more blood to his hands.

But Al?

The four of them had clustered under Harry's invisibility cloak and Harry kept sending them both glances that trended between horrified and grateful. Malfoy, on the other end of the huddle and carefully holding his end of the cloak so as to come into as little contact with Harry as possible kept his silver eyes on his shiny black shoes. Even through the whole debacle, the glamour charms held up on them.

Ed could respect the wand work.

"Brother?" Al said in Amestrian, and Ed tightened his grip on Al's shoulders and lifted the cloak a little further above their heads.

"Yes?"

"Why aren't we home?" Al's voice was so small, that Ed felt his stomach churn all over again. "If that was the imbalance we had to correct why aren't we home?"

Oh shit. Al was right. "I don't know, Al."

"What if we were wrong? What if this isn't why we were sent to this universe?"

"How could there be anything else? How?"

Al shrugged, and Ed tightened his grip again. The fabric of the cloak jerked slightly, as though someone on the other end had tightened their fist.

"Care to share with the class?" Malfoy asked, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Nein," Ed said. "Go back to glarink at your shoes."

"Are you two okay?" Harry said, his expression once again switching from horrified to worried.

"We're vine," Al said. "It's vine."

"Are you sure?"

"Leaf it alone," Ed said. "Bitte. Please."

To Harry and Malfoy's credit, they did.

They were met at Hogwarts's gates by Dumbledore, who ushered them all to the hospital wing. "Just to check in," he said.

The prisoners of Malfoy manor were being treated at various Order homes, but Granger, Weasley, and Luna had been returned to Hogwarts. They were all sitting up in hospital beds by the time Ed, Al, Harry, and Malfoy were brought in.

"We're fine," Granger said, when it became clear that any injuries would make Alphonse cry. "The Headmaster just wanted to be sure."

"Really," said Luna. "The Death Eaters were swarmed by nargles. None of them could fight properly."

"Regardless," said Dumbledore. "I have asked Poppy to put you all up for the night."

The rage was universal, but somehow Dumbledore managed to keep everyone in beds. "Professor Elric? If you would join me for a debriefing?"

The rage was once again universal, but somehow the Old Man managed to get Ed out of the hospital wing and up to his office without any of the students.

Ed knew a losing battle when he saw one so, instead of fighting, he relayed the basics.

"Tom's dead?" said Dumbledore, eyebrows rising into his hair. "I wouldn't have thought that possible."

Ed shrugged. "Well. He disintegrated into smoke."

"Did the smoke dissipate or did it go in a concentrated direction?"

Ed had noticed that, yes. "It stayed together. Went out a window."

Dumbledore sighed so heavily it had to be scripted. The man had expected this and was more prepared for it than he necessarily wanted to seem. "This is why I needed to get you alone."

"Zey all could haff heard it, I am sure."

"They're children, Edward. You, at least, they believe are a legal adult."

Ed himself began to feel rage on their behalf. "What is so bad, zen? Zey risked zeir lives for you, under your direction!"

"The fight isn't over. Voldemort is still alive."

And somehow, despite the concentrated smoke and even Voldemort's previous "return from the dead" Ed had not seen this coming. "Zat is impossible. Al killed him! Life only moves in one direction."

The body crumbled before Voldemort could have received magical attention. There was simply no way. Hadn't Ed seen that bringing back the dead was impossible? Hadn't he seen it again and again?

Dumbledore's eyes somehow still maintained a melancholic twinkle and Ed wanted to punch him in the face because what the hell was wrong with this fucked up universe and these wizards? Dumbledore took a lemon drop from his dish and looked at it, said, "He has anchors that keep his soul tied to the world." He popped the lemon drop in his mouth, probably to give himself a valid excuse for staying infuriatingly vague.

But Ed's mind was already racing, thinking back to the blood seal he'd painted on the rim of Alphonse's armor so many years ago. Anchors. Ed could handle anchors. Once they were broken, the soul would travel to the gate and there was no way for it to come back this way then.

This was why he and Al hadn't found themselves back at the gate, when Voldemort fell.

"So, he was never really dead. Vee can fix zat, iv we can find zee anchors."

Dumbledore blinked, adjusted the glasses on his nose, and worked the hard candy in his mouth somewhere more convenient for speaking. "You're familiar with the concept?"

Ed nodded. "It can be done viz alchemy – if someone is very newly dead and zeir soul hasn't past zrough zee gate, it can be sealed to an object. Zere vas a government lab zat made its guards vrom death row inmates. I blew it up."

Dumbledore blinked, but Ed was fairly certain that nothing he said there would give away the dimensional location of his homeland. Probably. "Do you make a habit of blowing up government laboratories?"

"I mean zee government was corrupt and knew zee answers to some questions I was asking in my research, so even zough I technically worked vor zem, well. Zey were paying me to do research."

"And research involved blowing up laboratories?"

"When zey're top secret labs in my field zat my bastard boss somehow didn't see fit to tell me about, zen yes. Blowing zem up was basically my job description."

"And you know how to destroy these anchors?"

Ed looked at him quizzically. "It isn't hard," he said. "Zee weak point ov zee fighters zey made zis way vas zat if I could get to zee seal to mar it, zee alchemy holding zeir soul in place would stop working."

Dumbledore looked bemusedly down at his withered hand. "I'm afraid, young man, that perhaps the magical variety is more difficult to destroy."

And so, began the most surreal discussion of Ed's life. He'd theoretically known that souls could be split – in a philosopher's stone bits of them could be used at a time. Hell. His own riskier healing alchemy could almost count as tearing away part of his own soul as payment. But the unit of measurement, there, was in lifespan.

To split a soul and therefore make that soul immortal, that, Ed could not quite believe was possible. But then, the Truth had given some vague warnings about how fucked up this world was. Ed had just assumed that the fuckery was a sort he was familiar with. Perhaps even fuckery he could find in Amestris. But it was not.

"Horcruxes," he tried, being excruciatingly careful over the English syllables. "Invented by Herpo zee Foul?"

"Correct."

"Man, you wizards haff weird names. And Herpo is zee only one in history to do it, ozer zan Moldy-man."

"Correct."

"And Moldy-man did it six times?"

"I think he was going to make the seventh with Harry's murder." There was something quiet in Dumbledore's face when he said this, and Ed was certain certain that Dumbledore was holding something back.

Something about that last sentence, but Ed wasn't quite sure what.

Did wizards think that the soul split with every murder or did they think that a sacrifice was necessary to split a soul? Those meant two very different things and in one case, they would react very poorly to Ed's body count, by the end of things.

He'd mostly avoided killing humans. But the Homunculi did carry the last remnants of thousands of people. And what about all those people he'd failed to save? Ed could easily believe that his soul had torn at each of those deaths.

"I remember at zee beginning of all zis, I heard zat Harry was prophesied to defeat him. Why are you telling me zis, and not Harry? I sink he needs to know."

"Harry should be allowed a childhood," Dumbledore said. "And with his discovery of the prophecy last spring and the simultaneous loss of his godfather, I want to preserve what he has of it."

Something hardened in Ed's gut there. Preserve Harry's childhood? "I am sixteen, too," Ed said. "You would not preserfe my childhood?"

That hit the mark – Dumbledore looked visibly stricken. Admittedly, Ed hadn't responded well to Mrs. Weasley's attempts to do just that, but Ed hadn't been a child in a long time and while Harry was more childlike than Ed had been since age eleven he still had every right to know about the responsibilities already on his shoulders.

"I know that you are only sixteen," Dumbledore said, having reigned his expression back to center.

"But I am not sixteen like Harry is sixteen. I know."

"Have a lemon drop," Dumbledore said, and Ed looked skeptically at the dish. He was not one to turn down food, but there was food and then there were lemon drops.

At least it wasn't milk. With that thought, Ed took one, sniffed at it, popped it in his mouth. "Why?"

"I've found, in my life, that sweets are good for morale."

Ed shuddered at the thought of morale and what Colonel Bastard's opinion on morale was. Morale led to Hawkeye putting bullet holes in the wall. "I guess," he said. "But do lemon drops count as being a sweet?"

It was sour against his tongue, and he would be surprised to hear that this was a common candy choice among children.

"I think so," Dumbledore said. "But what does it mean to be a sweet? And what does it mean to be sixteen?"

Ed couldn't help but laugh. "I sink zat I am zee last person qualified to answer zat question."

"Or maybe the most?" Dumbledore pinned Ed with an uncanny expression. After a moment of that gaze, Dumbledore nodded to himself, settled, said, "Mr. Elric. You of all people know what young Harry can and cannot handle. What do you think I should do?"

That was not part of the carefully constructed character profile Ed had built for Dumbledore. "You don't sink you know best?"

A pained expression flitted across the old man's face. "When I think that I know best is when, historically, I've made the worst of my blunders. So please. Permit an old man his question."

Ed raked his bangs out of his face, said, "You already expressed an interest in giving Harry more sorough instruction. Tell him everysing. And whatever it is you have not told me, in zis conversation – I know you have not told me everysing – you need to tell him zat too."

"It is such a burden to place on his shoulders."

"And it will be easier to carry, having known about it in advance," said Ed. "Look. When I was involved in a huge conspiracy and everyone was going to die unless I got sings exactly right, we had little time to prepare. Iv it wasn't vor some last-minute quick sinking vrom Alphonse, we would all haff died. Don't leaf zis fight up to chance."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will think on this."

"Sehr gut." With that, Ed left the office. He had to bring Eve the kneazle kitten to Al's hospital bed. And maybe book one for himself. He didn't want to leave Al isolated. Not after this.

Chapter Text

There was a moment, when Ed brought Eve down to the hospital wing, that Al could not bring himself to touch her. Ed placed her on his stomach, and Al's hands hovered an inch above her fur.

Avada Kedavra was bloodless, but that didn't remove the foul spot that lingered in Al's vision. He'd killed a man, and sure enough he could still see the blood on his hands. Eve, he was sure, didn't want it on her fur. She was a fastidiously clean kitten. But Eve was also a sensible kitten, and, to Al's brief horror, she responded to his reluctance by butting her head against his palm.

There was a moment where all Al could see was blood getting caught in her fur. All he could see was the inevitable corruption of everything he touched. And then he steadied himself. Literally, at least, his hands were clean. Eve was clean. She gave a dissatisfied little chirp and Al knew to refocus his scratching to under her right foreleg.

He looked up to Ed. "Thank you, brother."

"You're welcome," said Ed. Pleasantries done, he continued with a complete non sequitur. "He isn't dead, you know. Magic sucks."

Al blinked. "What?"

"That's what the Old Man wanted to talk about. Voldemort isn't dead. He'll break the news to Harry tomorrow."

Al looked at Harry's bed across the Hospital Wing. They were in earshot, and Harry was looking at them with worry and just the littlest bit of suspicion. Harry, at least, spoke no language but English.

Hermione, with her decent French and native English might have had the vaguest prayer of understanding some Amestrian, but she was buried in a book. From what Al saw of her eyes, she wasn't faking.

Ron was asleep. Malfoy was scowling. Luna had climbed out of her own bed and was advancing. Probably to pet the kitten. She and Eve got along very well.

"Will he break the news to all of them?"

"If he doesn't, I will. I just want to give him the chance to do the right thing."

Al snorted, torn between calling his brother mistrustful or, on the other hand, completely naïve. He settled for mistrustful. Regardless of his personal doubts, Alphonse wanted to believe the best of people. "Brother, you don't have enough trust in people."

"Oh, do you think the man-of-stupid-secrets will abruptly want to spill his guts to a collection of fifteen and sixteen-year-olds?" Ed crossed his arms over his chest, and he blew his hair antenna out of his eyes.

"Probably not," Al said. "But you never know. We managed to get out of a Death Eater stronghold without any fatalities on our side. That says something about these kids."

"No shit," Ed said. "But ostrich syndrome is ostrich syndrome and none of these wizards like the idea that children become adults if they live through childhood."

There was something about the words ‘ostrich syndrome’ that snapped Alphonse's mind to attention. "Wait. He isn't dead?"

"No," said Ed, giving him a concerned look. "Weird magic soul binding shit."

"Don't swear brother," Al said reflexively before returning to the pressing issue. "Life only moves in one direction!"

"He came back from the dead once," Ed said. "We knew that."

Al looked at Luna, who'd begun to stroke the line of Eve's back then down at his hands. Had he killed a man for nothing? "I know," he said, shuddered. "But. I. I guess I assumed he'd faked his death or something. It makes sense now, why Truth would send us here ."

"Truth has a shitty sense of humor," Ed said, face in a snarl. Eve flinched and hissed at his tone, and Al doubled down on his petting. Luna looked up with only the mildest of curiosity.

"She's very defensive," she said, voice and gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. "She'll bite when threatened, Professor Elric. Like you?"

Like Ed? Sure enough, but. Didn't everyone bite when threatened? Al blinked at her, ready to laugh. He switched to English. "She's like eferyone we know."

"Really?"

Ed nodded, also switched to English. "Just about. Demon cat."

"Don't be rude, Bruder."

"Almost as bad as zee demon panda."

"Demon panda?" Luna said. "Is it like the pandas at the zoo?"

"I've never actually been to zee zoo, or seen a normal panda," Al said. "So, I wouldn't know. But from what Mei described, I sink? Just smaller."

Al refocused his fingers to Eve's favored spot behind her right ear and tried to superimpose the image of Xiao Mei over her. It was easier than he thought it would be, and there was something in there that was delightful.

He wondered, if somewhere in an alternate universe (literally), Xiao Mei was keeping Mei company on a sleepless night. Actually. Wait, scratch that. Mei had enough trauma in her short life and Al wasn't going to wish more of it on her just to feel a little less lonely.

No. Somewhere, in an alternate universe, he hoped that Xiao Mei was curled up on her master's pillow, tangled in her long hair. He hoped that the both of them were sleeping soundly through the night.

Yes. Much better. Al smiled at the image and looked at his brother and Luna. "She’s a very sweet panda, and belongs to a friend."

Ed snorted. "She liked you because you didn't scream when she bit you."

Al couldn't deny that one, so he shrugged. Luna smiled her Luna smile. "Everyone has the metrics by which they judge respect," she said.

That was when Harry decided to butt in on the conversation. "Who's the friend with a pet panda of all things?" He had an odd expression that Al couldn't quite place. There was something bitter in the depth of it. Something sad.

"Someone from Germany?" asked Hermione, who'd closed the book and put it to the side.

"Yup," said Al, at the same time Ed said,

"Somesing like zat."

"Something like that? What does that even mean, Elric?" This from Draco, whose suspicious nature was frankly adorable. Al couldn't help but laugh a little, which didn't help. He searched his brain for a good alternative to saying She's from Xing, and visited A.U. Germany, called Amestris, to find the secrets of immortality. Al didn't really know much about this world, even with all the knowledge of the Gate of Truth shoved into his very soul.

Somewhere in the east. But now the silence was dragging on too long, and Harry was putting his suspicious face back on.

"She's from China," Ed said, saving the day. Which is just as well, as he was the one who got them into the mess. "From a rich family zat could afford to send a kid gallivanting across zee world."

Alphonse nearly sputtered at that injustice, so in Amestrian he muttered, "That's not true, brother."

Amestrian it might have been, but something in his tone must have conveyed his sentiment. "Defending your girlfriend?" said Draco, because Draco never let anything lie.

Alphonse nearly sputtered at that injustice too. "She's like, zirteen!" Mei was awesome, and he liked her a lot. But dating was a question for later, when they were older and wiser and not coming off a war. For when Ling was safely installed on the Xingese throne and Mei's family wasn't engulfed in political chaos.

Besides, she hadn't even seen him yet. Not really.

"Everysing about Germany is complicated," Ed said. "Better not to ask, if you don't really want to know."

Hermione blinked at them owlishly. "But I want to know everything."

Al laughed, because he could truly relate. Ed, he noticed, looked wistful when he said, "Yeah. I used to want to know everysing too."

Ron let out a particularly loud snore, and the conversation was over.

For Harry, that night in the hospital wing after breaking out Voldemort's prisoners was bewildering. While Ron snored, and Luna floated around Al's cat, and Draco fiddled with his thumbs, Hermione was swathed in blankets on the bed on Harry's right. He could practically hear her mind churning on the subject of Alphonse.

Hermione's carefully built character profiles for both Elric brothers had probably been thrown into turmoil. (And she said Harry was too suspicious. Honestly.) But Hermione hadn't seen him. There was something about Alphonse blowing into a room, wand raised, eyes blazing with the fires of self-sacrifice, that looked comfortable on him.

Al had done this before, Harry was sure. Not murder. No, Al's breakdown was enough to see that Al had kept his hands free from that kind of blood. But the single-minded determination to save his brother had seemed almost customary.

Of course, Alphonse would wear that expression. Of course, kind Alphonse would do anything to keep his brother alive. Of course. This might be the sweet Alphonse. The innocent Alphonse. The too-shy-to-talk-about-his-girl-back-home Alphonse, the Alphonse that patiently helped anyone who needed it. But when you put it all together, Harry decided that it fit.

Maybe it wouldn't seem to, if Harry hadn't been there. But Harry had been there, and he'd seen Nagini explode and Voldemort struck with a beam of green light and Harry almost wasn't surprised.

He would never see the Elrics in quite the same way again, but he wasn't surprised. So, he didn't contribute much to their weird and cryptic conversation about life in Germany. It was cryptic enough that it might have set off Harry's alarm bells, but instead it set off some bitter place inside him. Ed and Al had people out there who cared about them. Weird people with pet pandas, but people. People outside the realm of Hogwarts - the only place where Harry had ever had anyone.

He didn't want to linger on it, even if Draco Malfoy was going to tease Al mercilessly.

When Ron's loud snore punctuated an already stilting conversation, Harry turned on his side and fell into a deep and solid sleep. It was the first night he'd had in a long while where didn't have flashes of Voldemort.

He tried to relish it, but his dreams were troubled by flashes of the Dursleys instead.

When Harry was called to Dumbledore's office the next morning, he assumed it was for congratulations on a job well done. He exited the hospital wing as cheerful as he'd been in a while. He grinned at Ron and Professor Elric, who both resented being stuck in hospital berths.

Voldemort was dead, and Harry was free, and he practically skipped to Dumbledore's office.

He sat down, and Dumbledore shattered that pipe dream. Voldemort wasn't dead. It was a solid punch to the stomach. "But I saw Alphonse kill him!"

Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. "I'm afraid there are things about Tom Riddle I haven't told you."

What.

"They aren't confirmed, but I'm afraid they've become horribly likely."

"I don't care if it's confirmed, Professor, I need to know as much as I can." Dumbledore had been more open with Harry in the last few weeks than he'd been all of fifth year combined, but damn it, Harry was sick of the lies. He was sixteen years old! He was more than ready. More than adult enough.

Dumbledore seemed to see this play out on Harry's face, and Harry averted his eyes. No need to encourage legilimency. Dumbledore's expression faltered. He said, "I know. I was going to have you do the legwork first and tell you my suspicion once I knew for certain, but young Professor Elric gave me some wise advice last night."

Harry tried to reconcile wise with volatile Professor Ed and mostly failed. Ed was loud and brash and shouted at his problems. Wise? Ed? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore shook his head and smiled. "I admit I don't know much about their circumstances," he said, "but I know that the Elric brothers have seen and done more than they let on."

More than they let on? Seriously? "They already seem like they've been through a lot," Harry said, thinking back to the look in Alphonse's eyes as he shouted the killing curse in Malfoy Manor.

"There is something about them I cannot put my finger on, I must confess," Dumbledore said. His eyes flashed, and Harry suspected it was costing him to share like this. "But Professor Elric gave me a sound bit of advice and I will follow it."

Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk, healthy hand atop the shriveled. "The Voldemort young Alphonse nearly killed last night is only a fraction of Tom Riddle's original soul."

"What."

"He tore his very soul apart for the sake of immortality."

"You can do that?"

Dumbledore bowed his head, said, "It sacrifices your humanity." There was an untold but yes, to that.

Harry swore and slumped in his chair, letting him sink deeper into the plush cushioning Dumbledore preferred. Dumbledore gave him a disapproving look, and Harry muttered an apology. "So, he's impossible to kill, then."

"Nothing is impossible," Dumbledore said. "The vessels holding the pieces of his soul must be destroyed, first. And I have collected a few memories that might help us find them."

"Memories? What do you mean by memories?"

Dumbledore smiled, pulled a vial out of his pocket, and gestured to a stone basin in the corner of his office. "Shall we get to work, then?"

The Daily Prophet was oddly quiet, on Thursday morning. Hermione had thoroughly blackmailed Rita Skeeter to ensure it. The surprise was that nobody else had broken the story - Malfoy manor ransacked, Malfoy matriarch missing, son still at Hogwarts.

If Hermione was a reporter, she'd have jumped at the story. If she was a Death Eater she'd have done everything in her power to put it out there. Painted Narcissa as a kidnapping victim. Didn't Voldemort's people own the press?

Hermione owned Skeeter, of course. But the loyalty of the rest of the staff had seemed clear. She narrowed her eyes, sharply folded the newspaper shut and looked around at her infirmary-mates.

Harry was already gone, off for a not-so-secret meeting with Dumbledore. Professor Elric and Al were sitting in their beds, talking in rapid-fire German she hadn't a prayer of following.

Malfoy was scowling. Luna was humming into Eve's fur. Ron was still asleep.

Hermione relaxed back against her pillows. Merlin. She was tired. She'd slept fairly well, given yesterday. But there was something about her yearly death-defying adventures with Harry Potter that sucked the energy from her muscles and laid her flat.

Her parents always worried, when said adventure happened too close to the end of the year. They worried when twelve-year-old Hermione had come home and flinched at the sight of their brand-new fancy chess set. They worried when thirteen-year-old Hermione came home blabbering about cave-ins and ghosts and nearly-dead little girls.

Each time a little sore, a little weak. And so on down the line, worse every year. It was nice of Voldemort, she supposed, starting small and hitting them harder later. Neither of those younger Hermiones would have survived the Department of Mysteries. But sixteen-year-old Hermione had. Nearly-seventeen-year-old Hermione had walked straight into Voldemort's lair and emerged in victory.

Finally, Voldemort was dead.

"Alright kids," Professor Elric said, sliding from his hospital bed in a way that spelled trouble. "I gave zee old man a chance. But he took Potter upstairs alone, so he's fucked it. Zee Mold isn't dead."

Bloody hell , Hermione thought. For good measure, she firmly reprimanded Ron for actually saying it.

He glared at her. "He's back from the dead, 'Mione! Again!" She supposed that his reaction was fair, but she scowled at him anyway.

"He vas never really dead," Alphonse said, staring at his hands. " Bruder, explain it."

The elder Elric did. Even as he spoke, Hermione categorized the grief in his eyes and the disbelief in his jaw.

She didn't know how, and she didn't know why, but coming back from the dead was personal for the Elrics. 

It was Luna who brought her attention back to the actual conversation. "Horcruxes," she said, fixing her hazy blue eyes on Alphonse. "You know, my mother mentioned them as a theory."

Hermione's knee-jerk reaction was to call bullshit, but she swallowed it down and managed to ask, "What did she say about them?"

Luna looked at her with her blue smile and Hermione almost flinched. "Just that she suspected Voldemort of having anchors, and that the magic invented by Herpo the Foul seemed likely."

There was a pause. "Would you look in her sings?" Alphonse said, standing from his own bed. "She might haff written somesing in her notes?"

Luna nodded, the closest to serious Hermione had ever seen her. "I was nine when she died, and while she was fairly liberal with what she told me, she might have kept a few things back."

Hermione knew that Luna and her father were both nuts, but she'd read a few of Pandora Lovegood's papers. Her experiments were eccentric, and her hypotheses not always supported by the end, but she kept to the scientific method with a will and Hermione could feel the brain behind her writing.

Maybe she did have something on Voldemort's soul pieces. "How can we get you to your home?" Hermione asked. Elf? Portkey? Was a fireplace secure enough?

Luna shook her head. "I have her lab with me, Dad gave it to me when I was eleven. I always take it to Hogwarts. Her notes should be there."

"What?" said Ron. "How'd you take a whole bloody lab to Hogwarts?"

"Is it like brother's trunk? Zee one zat has all his books?"

"That's just a simple undetectable extension charm," Hermione said. "Luna. Was her lab a portable room?"

Luna nodded. "I can take a look tonight," she said. "I'll be sure to tell you what I find tomorrow."

Hermione liked to think of herself as a patient person. But right now, she wanted to march over to Luna's bed, grab her by the collar, and say, not tomorrow, Luna. Now! Do you understand me? Now!

But there were a few things to keep her from that course of action. The first being that Alphonse was standing from his bed, looking at Luna like she held the key to salvation. She might not have seen the killing curse coming from Al's wand, but she could picture it. She didn't want his wand or alchemy leveled at her.

The second thing was her own principals. Malfoy and enemy combatants are the exception. I don't manhandle people. I'm not that kind of girl. She sniffed and somehow managed to say, "Thank you, Luna."

Professor Elric was watching her with a weather eye and no small amount of amusement and Hermione belatedly realized that her inner turmoil had been plain on her face. She sighed. Well. That was a reason the hat had agreed to sort her into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. She had no subtlety.

The hat had said so himself.

Ravenclaw can teach you to be subtle. Ravenclaw can help you hone your knowledge into a sharp and powerful weapon.

Little Hermione had furrowed her brow. I don't want to be subtle. I want to be bold.

If you're sure. Well. Then it had better be Gryffindor!

Professor Elric had been little Hermione's idea of the perfect Gryffindor, she realized. She was torn between horror and delight at that thought. Though she'd met him wearing a beige work suit, as soon as he was in a room with the flamboyant Weasleys the coat had grown to his knees and turned as red as the Gryffindor banner.

He was the quintessential Gryffindor, really. He was brash and loud and utterly brave. He was exactly the sort of man that little-Hermione had adored in principle and despised in truth. She'd warmed up to his sort, after living among them for five years. Was Edward Elric the kind of adult Hermione wanted to become?

"I would love to read your mozer's notes," Professor Elric said. "We grew up on our fazer's, and I need to read some science applied to zis magic shit."

"Your father's notes?" Hermione could not help but say. Ed scowled but Al gave her a soft smile.

"We learned alchemy vrom his notes," he said. "He's brilliant."

Ed muttered something disparaging in German, and Al rolled his eyes. " Bruder's just bitter."

Desperately, Hermione wanted to ask more but Ed was giving her a look that forbade it. Even Al wilted when Ron was tactless enough to ask, "Why's he bitter?"

Hermione sent a discreet stinging hex his way and huffed when Ron glared at her.

After a moment, Professor Elric waved it off. "Why is any child bitter? Normal shit."

"And who exactly is your father?" asked Malfoy, leaning forward in his bed.

Professor Elric raised a disbelieving eyebrow, his hair antenna straightening infinitesimally. "He's a muggle alchemist vrom Germany. You wouldn't know him."

Malfoy winced, and Hermione cheered internally. She almost wanted Ed to continue about his father, if only to see Malfoy's face get progressively whiter as the he listened to the life of a muggle man. But it was not to be – Al changed the subject.

"What did your mother like to research?" Al said to Luna, who smiled and lifted Eve above her head.

"Spell creation, with magizoology on the side. I can take you through some of her equations if you'd like."

At the mention of maths, both Elric's eyes lit up. By the time Madame Pomfrey came to collect their breakfast plates, Hermione, Luna, Al, Malfoy, and Professor Elric were engaged in discussing the finer mathematics involved in Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration while Ron stared at them slack jawed.

"Save it for class," Madame Pomfrey said. "You're all free to go."

Hermione nearly ran from her bed. She had classes to go to.

Across the castle, Harry left Dumbledore's office with renewed purpose. He had objects to find, and he had to find them before Voldemort managed to regroup into a fresh body. Neither can live while the other survives, indeed.

Chapter Text

Mundungus Fletcher was a desperate man.

He knew how to turn a coin, but that didn't translate into employability or long-term financial savvy. He was broke again shortly after every big score. On this cold mid-September evening, he could not fish even a stray Knut from his pocket. So, as he had many times before, he thought of where he might make a spare bit of cash.

With a crack! Mundungus landed in the abandoned kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. He kicked the wretched house elf in the head and wondered if he would ever be in a position where it was his will that decided the course of his actions. Instead, his driving force was always and only his poverty.

That same night, after Alphonse had pretended at innocence in his classes and after he slid into his pjs, he loitered around the Ravenclaw common room with a book. Eve was lying on the hearth stones, taking up the heat of the modest fire that flickered there.

Just looking at that cat made Al's heart swell.

It was dangerously close to curfew when Luna slid smoothly down the banister of the stairs to the girl's dorm. She, too, had changed into nightclothes. The mostly white nightgown sported a faint paisley print in soft yellows and pinks. It was so indescribably Luna that Al snorted.

"Let's go," she said, clutching at an object that hung from a chain around her neck.

Trying to ignore her white-knuckled grip on the necklace, he said, "Where?"

"Seventh floor," she said, tucking whatever-it-was back under her paisley nightgown. "Across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

"What? Why?" As far as Al knew, that was just an empty corridor. But Luna shook her head, took his hand, and led him down the spiral staircase towards Ravenclaw's riddle-guarded entrance. Quietly, quietly, Eve meowed from her place on the hearth. Al smiled tentatively first at the kitten and then at Luna's back.

He could trust Luna. Firm in that belief, Al shook himself, followed her down the stairs and out of the portrait hole. He followed her back up again to the seventh floor and around to the tapestry. The corridor was, as he remembered, otherwise vacant. He caught Luna's eye. "What is zis?"

She shook her head again, holding up a hand. She paced down to one end of the hall, muttering something under her breath. She turned sharply back around, paisley nightgown swishing around her ankles so violently at the turn that Alphonse was surprised she didn't trip.

Luna was walking toward him, but her eyes were focused at her bare sooty feet. She passed him, and Al turned to watch her walk away in the other direction. At the other end of the hall she turned back toward him again.

He counted the paces, recognizing that something in this act was magic. He could almost feel the particles of it stir in the air. In his mind's eye, the hallway was lit with the golden dust of children's books.

Three times, she paced up and down the hallway and the feeling of magic in the air thickened. Really, Al could almost see it. He certainly felt it settle over his skin. Luna stopped in front of him, and he was so distracted by the blank and distant look on her face that he missed an obvious change in the environment until she regained herself and gestured at it.

Across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy a wooden door had set itself into the stone wall. "Vas?"

"It's called the Room of Requirement, or the Come and Go Room," Luna said. "We used it last year for training."

Al had known, in a nebulous way, that Harry had trained with the people who'd accompanied him to the Department of Mysteries. But it wasn't till now that he realized exactly how covert and organized that operation had been. It had Hermione's name all over it.

Luna tilted her head toward him, torchlight catching the pale curve of her jaw, said, "Shall we?" and pushed open the door.

They stepped into a replica of the Hogwarts Library. Al stopped short. "Vas? Why zee library?"

Luna furrowed her brow. "We're doing research," she said. "I thought it might be helpful to have the school's reference texts nearby. Besides, you'll find I added some legroom."

It was true. Unlike the cramped and cozy Hogwarts Library, there was ample space between the stacks. Luna began to march her way through them, towards the restricted section. Al scrambled to follow. There, instead of a closely guarded gate afore a shadowy set of bookshelves, was a wide expanse with a pile of books on a small table.

"I had the room pull all the books on immortality," Luna said. "And the rest of this space is for the lab. Ample space in case the pocket dimension collapses or explodes." She was gripping at the pendant around her neck again. It was, if he was seeing it correctly through the grip of her fingers, a small silver box.

Alphonse had seen the chain that tucked neatly into her shirt before, but it was always drowned out by loud wine-cork necklaces and large radish earrings.

He eyed it warily. One girl had already pulled an object of awesome power from around her neck in the past few days and if that trend kept up, Alphonse would look at every necklace in Hogwarts askance.

Luna let go of the pendant, let it fall to her chest, and lifted her straggly hair over her shoulder to access the clasp at the nape of her neck. When it was free, she placed it gingerly on the floor and tapped it with her wand.

The box expanded to the size of a park bench. Even more gingerly than she'd tapped it, Luna lifted the lid. The box sunk into the floor, the lip of it now only a small step. Alphonse leaned over it to see a flight of stairs leading down into nothing at all.

He looked at Luna, who smiled. "Welcome to Pandora's Box," she said, stepping over the lip and down onto the staircase. "My mother is a fan of puns. Come on," she said. "I think I know where she keeps the Volde-notes!" She winced. "Kept."

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Al followed Luna into Pandora Lovegood's laboratory. Gamely, he told himself. Unbidden, his mind whispered back, trepidatiously .

His trepidation subsided at the very sight of Pandora Lovegood's laboratory.

"Your muter is incredible," Al said to Luna as he looked around the impressive room. It was primarily a functional space – unusual in wizards. But the tasteful hints of silver and green littered around the room hinted at house affiliation. Al still couldn't believe how seriously Hogwarts graduates took that.

Luna smiled at him. "Thank you," she said. "Sometimes I like to do my homework in here – there's a rather impressive library in the next room and it makes me feel close to her."

Al looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "You were nine, right?"

"Yes, nine," she said. "And I'm perennially surprised by how the feel of it lingers."

Alphonse nodded. "I was four and it seems like yesterday."

"It always will," Luna said. It shouldn't have been a comforting thing to hear, but somehow it was. After a moment, she turned toward one of the bookcases and pulled out a plastic three ring binder. "The ones who love us never truly leave us. And sometimes, they can be helpful from beyond the veil."

Veil sounded a little too much like gate for Alphonse's taste, but Al was able to fixate on the binder to avoid flinching. It was the sort of thing he'd seen in Ed's muggle chemistry class – he'd not seen one since coming to Hogwarts. But there it was: the simple utility of being able to reorder pages had lured Pandora over to muggle technology. It was the sort of thing he himself was going to have to bring back with him to Amestris. His alchemist's notebook was never going to be the same again.

On the spine he noted careful lettering: Flight from Death. Right. That was the literal translation of Voldemort, wasn't it? Al's French wasn't great, but it was the sort of thing he'd picked up via osmosis, studying English from Amestrian and German.

Luna put the binder on a nearby podium, flipped it open. "My mother liked to make little books of things, so she could find it all again later."

"Makes more sense zan my Dad's organization."

"What was his study like?"

Al shook his head with a sort of fond exasperation. Ed would be furious to know it was the same sort of look that Al frequently directed at him . "Hard to sort srough," he said. "Zat's all."

He tapped on the first page of the notes. It said, in one large word across the page, "Niffler."

"What's a niffler again?"

"They like shiny things," Luna said, but nothing else. Alphonse had heard of them and wondered if Luna's enthusiasm for animals didn't extend toward those that were readily acknowledged by the public.

Alphonse tried to translate that. "So," he said. "Like magpies. Her point is zat Voldemort liked to collect things."

"Yes," Luna said, turned the page. Contents , it read, and under that was a numbered list. If Pandora Lovegood had managed to index her note-taking once it was done, Al was going give his father a binder and a pointed look when he got back home. That was just how it was going to go.

Although, Al couldn't quite help the smile that came when he thought of his younger self pouring through scrambled note-taking. And when it was organized, it was coded. Alchemists are so paranoid , Al thought fondly.

By contrast, Pandora Lovegood seemed to rely on enchantments to keep the unwanted out of her study. She didn't try to make her work impenetrable. Instead, the table of contents read, very plainly:

How Many Did He Intend to Make? … page 3

How Many Did He Actually Make? … page 5

What Might He Have Used? … page 10

What Happened? … page 25

Where is he Now? … page 56

It was plain, but Al realized that Pandora had somehow managed to index her entire notebook about Horcruxes without once using the word. Maybe Pandora's and Van Hohenheim's notes had more in common than Al initially supposed. You'd have to be looking for information on Voldemort's horcruxes specifically to know that's what she was talking about.

In fact. Had she even used Voldemort's name? Al checked the index and the first page again. No. She had not. He looked at Luna. "Can we make a copy of zis? So, we can read at zee same time?"

"And perhaps an extra one for your brother?" she said, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

"Zat would be great, Luna. Sank you."

"Do you know the duplication spell?"

"I don't," he said. "But wis zee right materials I could alchemically create a copy?"

Luna sent him an intrigued look. "And I would bet that it wouldn't decay more quickly over time, like copies made with Geminio do."

"Zee trade-off is transmutation marks." Al picked up a nearby pile of blank parchment and pulled an inkbottle and some chalk from his pocket. He drew the circle on the floor, placed his materials and Pandora's original notebook inside it, and felt his soul soar when the laboratory glowed with the blue light of transmutation.

When the glow faded, he broke the circle and looked back up at Luna who flicked her wand at the original. " Geminio ," she said, and another duplication appeared.

She picked up Al's alchemical copy and her own magical copy, examined them. "So, these little scuffs are transmutation marks?"

Al nodded, taking the magical copy from her to inspect it. "It still surprises me zat objects created by magic don't have zem. I keep sinking I'm used to it, and I just get surprised all over again."

"I like the transmutation marks." The statement was a declaration and Luna hugged the alchemical copy of her mother's notes before handing it back to Al. He looked at her, tilted his head.

"You do?"

"It's a reminder of the power that went into it," she said. "Wizards take magic for granted. Maybe transmutation marks help keep an alchemist humble."

Al didn't know if that was true, but he laughed, and placed the alchemical copy on a table for Ed to have later. Al planned to use the magic copy. Obviously, he decided, the original copy should stay in Pandora's laboratory.

Actually. With that thought, Al quickly assembled fresh materials and placed it with the original into a pile – he didn't bother with a circle this time. Instead he clapped his hands together – reveling, as always, in the fact that he could truly feel it – and let the equations and runes balance in his mind.

When Al opened his eyes again, Luna was watching him with an unabashed fascination. He placed Pandora's original reverently back on the shelf, shyly handed Luna the second alchemical copy.

"So, you don't haff to feel weird about writing in it."

"Thank you, Alphonse," she said, taking it from him. "I wonder if Professor Dumbledore would like how many copies of these we're making."

"Probably not," Al said. " Bruder says he likes to keep sings under wraps. And zis is zee exact sort of sing zat would make him very paranoid."

"I think so too," Luna said. "But while Professor Dumbledore certainly has his patterns, he can still be surprising."

Yes. That was true. Al thought back to his hushed conversation in the Hospital Wing with Ed, only a night before. Ed had been as straightforward and forthright as always about the important details of his conversation with Dumbledore, but there was a glimmer of surprise in his expression that told Al that Dumbledore had probably done something out of character.

He wondered what it was, and what it would mean for Luna's question, and the question of the rapidly multiplying copies of her mother's notes. He suspected that he wouldn't make it more than a few days without making several more.

"Should we make extra copies?" he asked. Luna shrugged, her eyes suddenly a little bright.

"I think my mother would want to help however she could," she said. And so, Al turned back to his pile of extra materials and began to clap his hands.

His hands fell back to his sides when he flinched, and it took him a moment to recognize that it was because Luna's hand had landed gently on his arm. His sensory processing still wasn't the greatest, and something inside Al was rueful. He looked at her and she shook her head, lifted her wand.

" Geminio, " she said. And without the blue light of transmutation, several copies of Pandora's notebook appeared on the stone floor of the laboratory. Once they'd been shrunk into the pocket of Luna's nightgown, she beckoned him through a doorway on the right of the back wall. Through it was a cozily decorated library. Green and silver were still the predominant colors in the room, but the silver accents glowed with the rosy hue of fire once Luna had set her wand on the fireplace.

They settled into enormous emerald armchairs and began to read.

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry was looking at his Potions textbook. It had already won him a vial of Felix Felicis and given him Muffliato. He'd continued to use it in class, but with all the excitement in other areas, and with 'Gym Club' running him absolutely ragged, he hadn't had much time to look at it.

Even with the morning's news that Voldemort wasn't dead, Harry felt lighter somehow. His sleep had been marginally easier, for sure. His classes were going well enough – even Alchemy. It was hard and annoying and memorization-heavy, but there was no way Harry was going to let Malfoy outlast him in Professor Ed's class, even if Malfoy's grades were consistently ranked just below Hermione's.

With success wrapped around his shoulders, Harry was floating. For once, Harry could take the time to read for fun, even if it was a textbook. He shuddered. Maybe Hermione was contagious. But how could he help it when the Half-Blood Prince was just so insightful?

Everywhere, there were little scrawled improvements in the margins. Each potion made more potent. Made better. Harry didn't know much about potions or academia in general, but even he could appreciate the elegance to the changes in the book. The Half-Blood Prince knew his stuff. Idly, Harry wondered what he was doing now. He would have been a better Potions Master than Snape, anyway.

Later that night, Harry would ill-advisedly try Levicorpus on Ron. But for now, he just read. He wasn't the strongest reader, but he was content to take his time with it. This Half-Blood Prince character made Potions fun . Who knew that was possible?

In his office, Ed was grading quizzes. Or pretending to grade quizzes. Or something. It was some of the most mind-numbing work he'd ever done in his life – even after teaching plain old chemistry to high school delinquents. Fuck these wizard kids, honestly. But he wasn't the Colonel Bastard – he didn't shirk his paperwork. Hell, even in the early days, when his pressure plates broke his pencils and his left hand wobbled, he'd gotten his reports in on time. How else would he get his State Alchemist Tab paid off and requisition resources to help rebuild the towns he cheerfully destroyed?

He buckled down and was pleased to see that Girl Ginger's most recent quiz grade was slightly less abysmal than the last. Really, if she didn't improve drastically and soon, he'd have to remove her from the class. And she was pissed at him as it was!

But if Ed was supposed to be a Real Adult, he'd have to maintain his distance from the children that were his age-peers. It was the only way to keep his students and his classroom safe . Kicking out Ginny if she didn't improve was unavoidable.

He was already writing up dismissal notes for some of the cockier Ravenclaws. To avoid disaster, Alchemy needed that hardworking Hufflepuff spirit. It was the only way, really.

And okay, maybe Ed was the poster-child for brash and loyal Gryffindor, but he was a muggle and so they'd never know that for sure.

He marked Girl Ginger's quiz score in his ledger, moved the sheet of parchment to the 'Already Graded' stack, picked up the next. Luna's, because of course that was his life. Her quizzes, while technically correct, remained painfully nonsensical.

Ed liked Luna, really, he did. He liked how she was kind to Alphonse, and he liked how she looked at life from a crooked angle. But Ed frankly didn't have time for her shit. He lived and breathed directness and so did his favorite people. The alchemists that tried to put too much artistic flair in their arrays usually ended up blowing themselves up. He'd have to watch her. He had a funny feeling that Luna's calculations would end up being needlessly convoluted and that was an easy way to make a mistake.

Her quiz, however, managed to maintain its logic train and arrive at the right answers. Good for her. He marked the top margin with an A, swore, scratched it out, and re-marked it with and O. Stupid grading system. Just like every part of this stupid castle and these stupid wizards.

Luna’s mother had supposedly been a brilliant researcher. He could see the ways in which that had bled across the generations. He could only hope that there was a careful element to that inheritance.

Looking at Luna's quiz, Ed wondered where she was. If she'd meant tomorrow when she'd said tomorrow, or if she'd really meant not with Hermione's common sense breathing down my neck. If it was the later, and Ed was increasingly certain that it was, then Luna was sitting in her mother's laboratory at this moment.

And Alphonse was probably with her. Ed felt a brief streak of jealousy. He'd do anything to see Mrs. Lovegood's notes. From what he'd heard, her work might be the only place he'd really see the scientific method applied to magic. And he bitterly wanted to see it.

Ed shuffled Luna's quiz to the bottom of the pile. The next was a Ravenclaw in their class. He received an E. The next quiz after that however, earned the 'T' Ed marked on the page. Fuck that kid. Was he even trying?

Ed huffed, blowing his bangs out of his face and his hair antenna higher. Alphonse was the one who'd managed to befriend the girl who honestly creeped Ed out a little. He had every right to be the one on the Pandora Lovegood mission. And he was no dumber than Ed was. Ed would just have to quash the jealousy and let his little brother succeed in peace. Al had every right to succeed and flourish and Ed would just have to let it happen.

That decided, Ed gave the next series of students slightly easier grades. Maybe that one kid hadn't really deserved the 'T.'

Sometimes, even after all his years, Albus Dumbledore wondered if the world was coming to an end. He'd seen so many catastrophes that, most of the time, he held a strong faith that the world – that life, that magic – would always continue in the face of strife.

But when fate spelled his death in the charred flesh of his injured hand and placed the responsibility of the world on the shoulders of a child, Dumbledore could not help but wonder.

"Who are they, Albus?" asked Minerva from across his desk.

And that brought Dumbledore around to the Elric brothers. The children on whom – though Harry's age and younger – Dumbledore had come to trust, and even , rely . He would have to do something about that – blind trust could never stand.

There was something about them that seemed to call for that reliance and blind trust. That sort of innate charisma was a dangerous thing. Dumbledore had thought himself immune to it. Something had to be done.

"I don't know," Dumbledore said, smiling deliberately. "Isn't a mystery exciting?"

Minerva pinned him with that glare of hers. The one that reminded Dumbledore that she wasn't a Hogwarts student anymore. That said she wasn't his transfiguration apprentice anymore, either, and that he'd better stop treating her like one.

Telling her everything was out of the question, of course. But if Dumbledore couldn't trust his own apprentice, he wasn't as good at indoctrination as he thought he was. She had proven herself time and again as his colleague. Really, the only reason Dumbledore trusted Severus Snape over Minerva McGonagall was because he had things to hold over Severus's head. Minerva had nothing to hide – and she knew better than to tell him if she did.

She deserved to know something.

Dumbledore peered at her over his half-moon glasses, resolved to give her some of the truth. "I truly don't know," he said. "I have managed to uncover nothing substantial about their lives."

"Nothing?" Minerva said.

Dumbledore rummaged in his desk, withdrew a slim file. "These are young Edward's transcripts from the University of Berlin."

The file slid easily across the sleek finish of his wooden desk. Minerva caught it deftly with a slim and wrinkled hand, opened it. "These are very sparse."

They were. Edward Elric had taken exactly the number of classes needed to graduate with a degree in science education. He'd achieved average grades – not a hair under or over. He'd received no honors. There were no extracurriculars listed, no notations from professors who'd been either fond of him or furious with him. Dumbledore took off his spectacles and folded them on the desk, said, "I believe these records to be fake."

Minerva nodded. "I agree. I can't see that boy doing anything but excel in muggle university. It says here he got a C+ in Chemistry."

"I assume you are familiar with the muggle grading system?"

Minerva dealt him an unimpressed look. "Of course," she said. "Did you try to contact one of the lecturers listed on his transcript?"

Dumbledore had been planning to. But he could see that Minerva's discontent with him might fade if she had a task to accomplish. "I was going to ask you."

"You want me to go to Berlin? You are the one of us who happens to speak German."

"I would be most grateful, and you are proficient in translation charms," he said. "There are projects here I cannot afford to abandon."

She was giving him The Glare again. "Only because I wanted to make a working model for the magical rediscovery of dead languages. My knowledge is very hypothetical."

"Don't be modest. You're much better at conversational language conversion than I am."

"Is there a reason I can't cast a translation spell on you, then?" Her lips were in the grimmest line Dumbledore had seen from her in a while, and the Scottish accent she usually kept to a prim minimum began to flavor her intonations.

If it were not from decades of established trust, Albus knew that he would be under the point of her wand right now. This was a Minerva McGonagall who was done. So, he gave her the most plaintive look he could muster. "Please, Minerva," he said. "You are the best person for the job. You know how to navigate in the muggle world rather better than I do."

"On the weekend," she said. "If we manage to get through the week without the castle collapsing."

"It is Thursday night," Dumbledore said. "The week is almost done."

"And it's been more than eventful enough for it only being Thursday," Minerva said. Dumbledore could not help but nod in tandem with her. She'd spent most of Wednesday night establishing a reasonable alibi for herself before leaving the castle to help Molly Weasley manage the freed prisoners.

Ollivander had to be restrained from returning immediately to his wand shop, and he was not the only person anxious to return to their former normal. But the news that Voldemort was at least temporarily dead had yet to break. Dumbledore was certain that there was an advantage in that – it was good sense to keep quiet as many details as possible. Get as many things done as he could while the rest of the world didn't even know there was something that needed doing.

Voldemort's prisoners, for the time being, had to remain missing.

Indeed, the chaos had only begun with the prison break itself. Dumbledore had received no fewer than three howlers from Molly Weasley about sending children into danger. And don't tell me there was an adult in the group, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! We both know that Edward Elric is not an adult!

When she'd figured that out, Dumbledore did not know. But he supposed that it would be natural for a mother of seven to know a child's age to look at them. Especially when that child was around the age of her own.

The politely worded, but no less scathing, letter from Arthur Weasley had been a surprise. Thank you, Professor, for giving my son this excellent field opportunity. We are very proud of him, and we understand that to a certain extent you cannot control what he decides to do on his own. However, until he turns seventeen, he is still legally a child and I would appreciate it if you'd account him in your plans as one. The same goes for Harry. Really you rely on that boy too much.

Minerva rapped her knuckles on the desk. "Albus," she said. "Albus."

He started and was pinned firmly by her gaze when he made the mistake of making eye contact. "Yes?"

"If I'm going to the University of Berlin, we need to come up with a plan."

Dumbledore gave her a small smile. "Of course, Minerva. We can start on the preparations right away." With a twirl of his wand, he pulled out a map of Berlin at large, and another of the University itself. "Here is the library," he said, tapping the spot with his wand. A purple floral mark bloomed over it. "With the librarian who vouched for him."

"And the Chemistry building is where?" Minerva bent over the map, seeking the legend, and Dumbledore knew he'd directed her sufficiently.

Chapter Text

Just after the last of her classes on Friday, with her Saturday morning trip to Berlin feeling all too close, Minerva found herself staring questioningly at her fireplace. It was Molly Weasley who had nursed young Alphonse Elric back to health from whatever it was that had him so horrifically emaciated. For all her upcoming trip to Berlin, was necessary, there was an adult in closer reach that one of the Elrics trusted.

As a rule, Minerva didn't avoid the Weasley home, but she did not go out of her way to go there, either. The cheeriness rubbed her a little raw. The coziness – so disparate from the spartan lifestyle she'd adapted to – pinged at a bittersweet place that Minerva preferred to ignore.

She gave one short shake of her head. Now was not the time for foolishness. So, after poking her head into the Floo to check with the Weasley matron, Minerva stepped on through. "Thank you for extending hospitality on such short notice," she said.

"Oh, nonsense! You're always welcome in my home Minerva," said Molly. Molly Prewett had been one of Minerva's Gryffindors not so long ago. She'd loved the fire-y little girl as much as she'd loved any of her lions. Molly shuffled Minerva to one of the wooden chairs that circled her well-used wooden table. "Now what is it you'd like to discuss?"

Before she knew it, a clay mug of strong black tea was pushed into her hands. Molly was mothering her. Minerva stifled a short laugh by taking a sip. It was good and hot, and there was a pip of brandy in it. She gave her old student a look and Molly grinned.

"If I might be frank, Professor," she said with a certain amount of mischief tucked into the corner of her mouth. She sounded like the newly-seventeen-year-old girl she'd been when she eloped with young Arthur Weasley in the dead of night. "You look like you need it."

Minerva gave her a small smile, before refocusing her thoughts on the present. She took another, longer, sip from her mug. "The Elric brothers."

Molly eyed her own mug on the table. Minerva wondered how much brandy was in that mug. The youthful mischief in her voice was gone. It had been replaced by the stone that Minerva cultivated in her own voice. "You mean the boys that led a crew of children to You-Know-Who's feet?"

"They managed to kill him," Minerva said. If anyone had a right to know the details, it was Molly Weasley.

Molly blinked. "Don't tell me poor Harry had to kill a man already."

Minerva shook her head and took another sip of her tea. She wasn't sure if the brandy was steadying her nerves or making it worse. "Elric did it. It's only temporary."

"Temporary? What do you mean temporary?"

Minerva scowled. "Albus hasn't explained," she said. "But he insists it's temporary. Something about that prophecy."

There was a pause while Minerva swallowed her bitterness. A pause while Molly's expression went through several permutations that Minerva forced herself not to categorize. She took another sip of her tea, trying not to look away from the younger woman. If Minerva was less disciplined, her eyes would be roving the walls of the Burrow's warmly lit kitchen.

Instead, she traced the lines of Molly's face – there was something beautiful about her in the orange glow of the kitchen fire.

"Edward isn't much older than Harry," Molly finally said, brown eyes shining with a sorrowful balm. "I know he's seen more than his age would suggest, but I'm sorry he killed a man."

Edward? What? Minerva sighed, brought her own mug close to her chest. "It was Alphonse."

"Alphonse?" Molly's mug slammed on the table, a splash of her tea-and-brandy sloshing out onto the table. It puddled there.

"Alphonse," Minerva said.

Minerva watched as Molly forced herself to relax back in her chair. Minerva could hear the slow exhalation from her nose. It took a moment before she spoke. "I get the sense that Al might actually be the less naïve of the two of them, sometimes," she said. "He's the one who told me, you know, about his brother's issues with his arm."

"What? Arm issues?"

Molly shot a rueful look at her mug. "I guess if I didn't say anything, then you probably don't know. Poor Ed. Always puts on that strong face."

"Indeed?" Minerva managed to stop herself from asking a direct question. But it was becoming clear that this tea-and-brandy wasn't Molly's first of the night.

"They didn't explicitly explain much of anything, but they did say that the only reason Ed has an arm at all is because of a burst of accidental magic on Alphonse's part."

"Truly?"

Molly nodded, pulling her hands from her mug and adjusting her shawl. "Apparently, he had a muggle prosthetic before. And pieces of it are still caught in the magically generated new arm. Alphonse was willing to accept help for his own, more obvious, health issues. But convincing Ed to let me help him was nearly impossible. I mean, I managed. But. I don't know what happened to that boy. He's too used to taking care of himself."

"And taking care of young Alphonse," Minerva said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Even though he's only a year older."

"Only a year older?" said Molly, who looked up sharply from the fringe of her shawl. "I knew it. That boy is not eighteen."

Minerva's lips pressed into a grim line and she looked more closely at her cup of tea-and-brandy. Cautiously, she sniffed it. The drink had to be stronger than she'd thought.

Molly laughed, evidently aware of Minerva's thought process, said, "Weasleys are always as generous as they can afford to be."

Minerva frowned, said, "You're a Prewett." And then she brought the conversation back to itself. There was work to be done, and she had a portkey to Berlin to catch in the morning. "But Edward. Does he still need medical intervention?" The poor boy had been missing an arm. And what it said about Alphonse, that a burst of accidental magic had restored his brother!

"Basic scans were showing him to be mostly clear by the time he left," Molly said. "But there were still a few deeper pieces that I didn't want to mess with. I'd hoped he would schedule an appointment with Madam Pomfrey, but that was clearly wishful thinking."

"Probably," Minerva said. "Poppy would have said something to me if she'd known about this. If only so I'd know to keep a closer eye on his mental health. I can tell that both Elric boys are deeply traumatized but knowing that their situation was that physically dire means a different set of potential problems."

"You couldn't tell their situation was physically dire from Al? He had to have been starved."

"Starvation is a different sort of physical danger than the loss of limb," Minerva said, tapping her wand on the rim of her mug to refill it. "I was looking for that kind of trauma. In any case, I'll be sure to notify Poppy. He won't appreciate it, but he is a child in my care. And if anyone has luck forcing Edward to comply, it will be her."

Molly nodded. "I hope she does."

Minerva took a tentative sip of her refilled drink. Making magically-multiplied food delicious wasn't the easiest technique when a witch was completely sober. But she'd managed the spell beautifully. Of course. Minerva forgot sometimes that she wasn't just a promising transfiguration apprentice anymore. "I want to know who these Elric boys are, Molly. And Albus does too. If you know anything."

"I can't say they told me much," said Molly. She placed her elbows on the table, leaning forward to rest her forehead on her hands. "I can tell you that they've seen combat before?"

"I figured that out," Minerva said. "Back when I first met them."

Molly inclined her head, ceding the point. "I'll admit I was blinded by their age. I just hate the thought of adults letting children see combat. I wanted to believe that they had protectors."

"You were very young when you joined the Order of the Phoenix."

"I was seventeen and already married to Arthur," Molly said. "Based on what they told me, they might have been as young as eleven and twelve at their first actions."

"Young Mr. Potter might not find that so odd," Minerva said. Merlin, but thinking about eleven-year-old Mr. Potter facing Quirrell all by himself. Maybe she shouldn't be using the exception to prove that children could fight.

"I think they were fighting in an institutionalized context, Minerva." Molly pulled at the ends of her shawl again. The brown fabric stretched over her shoulders as she pulled it tighter around her body. "I should have reported it, I know. But I was so grateful that Al trusted me enough to tell me."

Minerva felt her lips tightening again, and she composed her expression into a schooled and elegant sheet of ice. "What did Alphonse tell you?"

"Ed joined his country's military when he was twelve years old."

That was not the confession Minerva was expecting. "And they let him? It's my understanding that most European muggle militaries don't allow in children!"

Molly's left hand drifted under her bangs to rub at her temples. "I'm trying to remember what exactly Alphonse said. Something about their military wanting a leash on talented alchemists? So they could kill them later? I know that Edward got involved in a coup d'état that was successful. Al said, 'Ed himself struck the final blow on the man -' actually can I just give you the memory?"

Having gone as still and quiet as an un-enchanted statue, it took a moment for Minerva to force herself to give a staid nod. "Of course. I appreciate you offering it."

Molly didn't properly respond, but she produced her wand from her apron and slowly, slowly, raised it to her temple. The whispery-liquid-blue of memory issued from Molly's skin along the tip of her wand. Merlin's bollocks, where am I going to put it? Minerva hastily conjured a vial and held it out for Molly to funnel her memory into. When the last drop fell into the vial, Minerva stoppered it.

Her hand was steady as she folded the vial into her robes. "I will view this as soon as I can," Minerva said. "Thank you."

"No matter who those boys are or were, they're good people." The skin around Molly's eyes was tight with seriousness. "Keep them safe, Minerva. Please. Edward might be a teacher but protect him as though he were one of your students."

Minerva nodded. "Of course. Thank you, Molly."

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

There was a pause as Minerva rose from her stout wooden chair and searched for the right words. "Albus has me going to Berlin tomorrow. To young Edward's alma mater."

"Oh," said Molly. "You'll find something, then."

"Something, perhaps. But who knows what, and if it'll be of any use." Minerva smoothed her robes and strode toward the Weasley fireplace. How did German child soldiers end up teaching Chemistry to high school students in muggle London? And how was it that Alphonse's report matched nothing that Minerva had ever heard about the region?

"You'll figure it out, Professor." Molly rested a hand on Minerva's shoulder and guided her the rest of the way.

When the flames burned green and Minerva stepped back through to her rooms at Hogwarts, she wasn't sure she felt any better than she had before her visit.

She ran her hands down the front of her bottle-green robes and pulled the vial of Molly's memories from her pocket. I should give this to Albus, she thought, inclined her head gently in the direction of Dumbledore's office.

But.

Hell mend ye, Minerva! She could not help herself from sliding the vial into one of her desk drawers and bespelling it shut. She just wasn't ready to relinquish that memory yet. She would turn it in to Albus once she'd already seen it herself.

With a nod, she turned her wand on her wardrobe and watched as a few days' worth of necessaries sailed into her open trunk.

Even with her mind made, sleep did not come easy that night. She drifted on the edge of consciousness and what little dreamlets she had were plagued by images of Edward's arm being blown off in an explosion. Or being cut off by a faceless torturer. She held a younger Alphonse as he screamed, holding him back from rushing toward his brother's attacker. It was protective rage that had turned his wand against Voldemort, and Minerva would not let him loose it now.

Minerva knew, somehow, that if she let him go, he would die.

The whole dreamlet long, she was still vaguely aware of her bedroom and the feeling of her cheek pressing into her pillow.

It was not long before she sat up in bed, fed up with the exercise of trying to sleep. A quietly cast tempus told her that it was nigh breakfast time anyway. So, Minerva slid out of the blankets, feet unerringly finding her slippers on the stone floor.

It wasn't hard to pull on a set of grey traveling robes. It wasn't hard to shrink her trunk to fit in her pocket. It wasn't hard to slip her wand up her sleeve and lace up a pair of sensible boots. But when Minerva turned to her chamber door, she was waylaid by a sense of difficulty.

It was Saturday and, while Minerva wasn't a person to sleep the day away, she'd ordinarily have slept a little deeper and a little longer. There was a pile of papers to be graded on the desk in her official office. There was another pile here on the desk in her own room.

Damn Albus for making her behind in her grading schedule. She'd have to give the students an extension on their next homework if she wanted time to properly catch up. But that probably wasn't the real reason she couldn't twist her stone-hewn doorknob.

She looked back at the door she was avoiding, back at her grading, nodded firmly to herself. With a gesture, the papers were shrunk to fit her pocket too and Minerva was striding out her door like there'd been no difficulty to begin with.

By the time she'd reached the Great Hall, her boots clicking on the stone floor, there was a sprightliness to her step again. She took her seat at the head table, unsurprised to find that she was the first person at it and began buttering a bit of toast that appeared in front of her. A pot of jam intended to be communal appeared a little further away. Minerva reached for it and began to spread that too.

While traveling by international portkey on a full stomach was a generally poor idea, it was worse on an empty one. So, she ate a modest breakfast, and she was nearly done with it by the time the usual crowd of early risers began to trickle in the doors.

A few Slytherins chatting quietly over policy, a few Ravenclaws hefting stacks of parchment. A moderately large contingent of Hufflepuffs that looked like they might have actually brought homework to the breakfast table on a Saturday. There was a paltry number of Minerva's lions. She was reasonably certain they'd thrown a party the night before. She couldn't judge them, though. Not when she'd spent the night at the Burrow drinking muggle alcohol with her former student.

She was unsurprised when Edward and Alphonse made their way in together. They were covered in sweat and smiling brightly. She remembered the wonderful post-workout euphoria of her quidditch days so fondly, that it brought a happiness to her heart to see that expression on her students.

Minerva felt a flood of relief to see them acting like children, and she finished her toast and a piece of sausage with a lighter heart than when she'd started her breakfast.

When she'd wiped her mouth and finished a cup of tea, she walked down to where the Elric brothers sat at the Ravenclaw table. Usually, it was absolute anathema for professors to eat with the students, but weekend breakfasts weren't especially well attended and everyone with half a brain could see that Edward Elric was not over the age of seventeen.

He'd occasionally sit with his brother? Well Minerva certainly wouldn't kick up a fuss over it.

She cleared her throat, and they looked up from their mountains of food. Minerva couldn't help a smile. Full English breakfasts for each of them, and more besides. Alphonse had a cup of milk clutched tightly in his left hand that made him look even younger than usual.

Minerva glanced down the table, noting the group of early-bird Ravenclaws at the other end clustered around several pieces of parchment. One of them threw a die that would not have been out of place in an arithmancy classroom and began to talk animatedly to her classmates.

She looked back at the Elrics. "How are you two this morning?"

"Sehr gut!" said Alphonse brightly. "Zee weazer today is beautiful!"

"Is it?" said Minerva. "That's good to hear." It was, really. The weather in Scotland might not be a good indicator for the weather in Berlin, but she decided to treat it like a good omen.

"Are you going somewhere?" said Edward. He shook his head so that the odd fringe of his bangs lifted out of his eyes. Together with the elevator shoes, Minerva couldn't help but wonder at the depth of his height complex. Just how embarrassed about it was he?

"I'll be out of the castle this weekend," Minerva said. She had a feeling that Albus wouldn't approve of her telling them about her trip to Berlin.

"Where to?" Edward said, took a bite of egg.

Minerva pursed her lips. "To run a few errands." And if she sounded annoyed about it, all the better. Minerva was annoyed about it.

If the Elric brothers thought it odd that 'errands' would take her out of the castle overnight, they didn't say so. Edward just nodded as though it made perfect sense, and Alphonse sent her a dazzling smile. "I hope it all goes smoozly!"

"Thank you, Mr. Elric," Minerva said. Guilt warred with her genuine curiosity about them in her belly, but her legs were steady. Her back was firm and straight. "I appreciate it."

Edward, Minerva noticed, was looking at Alphonse with a proud fondness, and Minerva wondered why a brother only a year older than his sibling would feel so entirely parental. Especially when the younger sibling had his own feelings of protectiveness, strong enough that he would lethally level his wand at a dangerous opponent.

Berlin, Minerva thought. In Berlin, some of these questions will be answered. Not all of them, of course. But she gave both boys firm pats on their shoulders and walked beyond them.

Before she left, Minerva made a point to visit the infirmary. Interrupting Madam Pomfrey with a student, she briefly pulled her aside to explain the Elric situation. Poppy's mouth firmed into a grim line rivaling Minerva's most dire expression and assured her that the Elric brothers would be taken care of.

Minerva almost pitied them. But she wasn't going to let those boys live in pain.

Satisfied, she walked out of the grand doors of Hogwarts, out beyond the gates of her grounds, turned on her heel and vanished. When Minerva landed firmly on her feet in the international portkey office in Edinburg, she set straight to business.

With her no-nonsense attitude and matronly disapproval, Minerva was at the Nord Campus of the Humboldt-Universität of Berlin before 9 o'clock.

The International Statute of Secrecy was indeed international, but wizards on the continent mostly didn't agree with Britain's puritanical separation of magical and muggle folk. British wizards didn't go to muggle universities. When individual wizards decided to pursue muggle education, they did it on their own. Often, they would be the only witch or wizard of their entire graduating class.

This was not so in Germany. Pursuing muggle tertiary education was encouraged, and there was plentiful infrastructure to support it. So, when Minerva arrived, it was directly into a small stall in a room on the Nord Campus designed specifically for magical travel. She opened the door to her stall simultaneously with a student who'd arrived next door.

The student waved brightly, said a German greeting, and bustled off. Minerva gave a small grim smile and cast her translation charm on herself. She hadn't lied to Albus when she said that she'd developed her version of the spell to decipher ancient texts when read aloud. But the spell she'd developed it from was a simpler audio-translation spell. So, with any luck, it would work well enough for the task at hand.

When Minerva stepped out of the larger room, she found a woman standing in the hallway. She was evidently waiting for her. "Hello," she said. "You must be the professor from Hogwarts."

"Yes," Minerva said, confident in her translation charm. "I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall. I teach transfiguration."

She extended it, and the other woman took it. They shook firmly, and the other woman said, "Helmina Adler, Dorm Matron here at the Dormitory for Wizards and Witches. If you'd follow me, I can take you to my office?"

There was a part of Minerva that was deeply curious about this Dormitory – the Humboldt-Universität didn't have a huge number of wizarding students, but enough that a separate Dormitory had been made for them – a place where they could live and study without having to hide their magic. There was another part of her that wanted to be immediately directed to the Chemistry faculty offices, the records office, and the North Branch Library where Elric had done work-study during his supposed time here.

It boiled down to which curiosity she wanted to sate first, and with so many questions about Elric left to unravel, Minerva decided to nod. "That sounds lovely, thank you."

"I can mark up your map of campus while we're there," Adler said. "I'm sure you already have a plan for what you would like to accomplish here, but I can add a few other things. The better coffee shops, for one." Adler turned, keeping one arm extended behind her toward Minerva. "This way."

Minerva wasn't much a fan of coffee. But she wasn't going to say no to a genuine attempt at kindness and hospitality. She followed Helmina Adler down the hallway, around a left turn, and up a flight of stairs.

Her office door was off a brightly colored study space. She could see a handful of young people sitting on soft chairs and talking in discernably happy voices. Of course. It was a Saturday morning at a school. Students, able to put off their coursework for a day, were happily plotting mischief in a beautiful city.

Minerva felt a twinge of warmth for them and kept her eyes on them while Adler tapped her wand on her office door to communicate with the wards. When the lock clicked, Adler held the door open for her. Minerva nodded her thanks as she passed through and turned her attention to the new space.

It was brightly lit and well-decorated. The chairs were of a spartan design but looked quite comfortable nonetheless. When Adler gestured at one, Minerva took a seat. Adler herself ducked around her desk and sat in an identical chair behind it. Adler flicked her wand, and Minerva knew that the space had been warded against sound.

"So," said Adler. "I know I promised coffee shop details. But what exactly brings you to Humboldt University? Your boss said something cryptic about student records? I can bring those up for any wizarding student here, but I'd like a compelling reason. To protect their privacy, you understand."

Minerva sighed. She never let up her outward steel, and she forgot sometimes that women in power often hid their steel behind a layer of outward softness and cheer. But she couldn't blame Adler for misleading her. The students in Adler's care were all legal adults, but that doesn't always change teacherly feelings of responsibility.

"Of course, Mrs? Adler," Minerva said.

"Mrs. Adler is fine," Adler said. "And you? Professor McGonagall?"

Minerva inclined her head. "That is fine," she said. "But to business. I'm not actually here about a wizarding student. There is a young student in my care whose older brother is a muggle. That muggle attended this institution, and it's him I'm looking into."

"A muggle student?" Mrs. Adler said. "Really?"

"He graduated this past March, with a degree in science education, concentration in Chemistry. Campus Mitte? I believe?"

"And perhaps with his harder science courses here on Campus Nord," Mrs. Adler agreed.

"I know he did work-study at the North Branch Library which, aside from the ease of taking a portkey to this building, is my main interest in Campus Nord. I'd like to see his former workspace, maybe talk to some coworkers."

Adler hummed, after a moment said, "What is your interest in the student?"

"I'm afraid I don't know that I can share. I'm here out of concern for him and his brother, in any case. They came into our care battered. I'm trying to piece together exactly what happened."

"Is the muggle brother staying at your school also?" Adler sounded surprised, and Minerva supposed that there was no way out of admitting that he was.

"Indeed. Somehow his younger brother's magic went undiscovered until the pair came to England. Whatever they went through left them quite codependent."

"He wouldn't let the younger brother go to your school alone?"

"And vice versa. Young Alphonse quite refused to come to Hogwarts without him. And he was already fifteen, so you can see why it was imperative that we got him there."

Mrs. Adler winced. "That is. Not ideal. Our systems here in Germany are quite good. I'm surprised he slipped through the cracks."

"So, I've heard. Do you mostly funnel students to Durmstrang?"

Mrs. Adler looked both amused and affronted by that question. "We have our own schools. Some parents, of course, choose to send their children abroad."

"Better than Great Britain," Minerva muttered. "We've just the one."

"And it doesn't even cover before age eleven!" Mrs. Adler said. "How many students are missing fundamental skills?"

"They catch up," Minerva said, refusing to admit the true numbers. "But our education system is in dire need of reform. We just have more pressing things to worry about at the present time."

"That Voldemort fellow," Adler said. "I was surprised you were checking up on the background of any student at all, to be perfectly honest. I've heard it's bad."

Minerva smiled grimly, said, "There are reasons this student and his muggle brother are a priority."

Mrs. Adler raised an eyebrow and hummed again. She looked so supremely unconcerned to hear it that Minerva was certain that Mrs. Adler was very concerned indeed. "Do you have a map you've already marked up?"

The abrupt change in subject, a change to directly helping Minerva get her information, confirmed that theory.

"I do," said Minerva, pulling it from the inside pocket of her outer cloak and spreading it on the table.

"I see you've marked the library already," Adler said, tapping it with the tip of her wand. It glowed briefly. And this building. "Okay, so you'll go out the front door – I'll walk you there – and then you'll turn right." Keeping her wand-tip pressed to the paper, Adler traced out a route that marked itself in a soft gold. It didn't quite glow, but there was something luminescent about it regardless. "This route is the most direct, least crowded one. It also passes my favorite coffee shop."

When Adler's wand reached the library, she lifted it and tapped the unmarked coffee shop. "Right there. You'll want to make a stop there at some point. International Portkey is taxing. They have excellent pastries, too. And their tea is also very good, if that's more your speed."

Minerva doubted that very much. She was tactful enough not to say so, though. Un-British tea was better than no tea at all.

"To get to the science – Chemistry concentration, did you say? – departments, you'll turn right again out of the library doors. The offices for all the science departments are in one building. I see you already have it marked." Adler tapped it anyway. "I'm fairly sure that the Chemistry office is on the second floor. But take that with a grain of salt. Most of my kids aren't studying science."

Adler continued. "Anyway, the main records office and the education department are located at Campus Mitte – I'm glad to see your map includes both campuses. If you come back here after your visit to the library, I can Apparate you to the magic-friendly study room at the Jacob-and-Wilhelm-Grimm Center. That's the main library at Campus Mitte."

Minerva hadn't marked Mitte's library, but Adler did. "From here, you'll go along this path to the records office, and from there to the education department offices." Once again, Adler traced the route, leaving Minerva a clear path to follow. "And of course, here are some of the better lunch spots on Campus Mitte. I'm sure by that time you'll be famished. It's already ten o'clock." A few more spots on the map lit gold and Mrs. Adler tucked her wand into some unseen fold in her robes and slid the map back across the desk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Adler," Minerva said. "I appreciate your help."

"Please," said Mrs. Adler. "Call me Helmina."

"Minerva, then, Helmina."

Helmina Adler beamed, rose from her desk. "Let's get you to that library."

Minerva stood, transfigured her cloak to pass for a long muggle coat, and followed Helmina out of her office, past the joyful group of students, and to the outside world of Humboldt-Universität Campus Nord. Helmina waved her off, and Minerva began her trek.

She had a few librarians to talk to.

The walk across Campus Nord was quick. She passed the coffee shop on her map, nodded at it. She wasn't ready for more food yet but perhaps before she left for Campus Mitte, she would make a stop. When the library loomed large in front of her, built with the sort of architecture that hinted at both modern and classical aesthetics and managed neither look especially well, Minerva looked off to the west. Where Britain and Hogwarts might be. And she wondered how the Elrics were doing, and whether they really deserved this sort of invasion into their lives.

But Albus wasn't alone in being concerned about who they were. In Minerva's not inconsiderable experience, newcomers with an interest in Potter were misguided at best and murderous at worst.

And a pair of boys more obviously full of lies every day they spent in the castle? They might be children under her charge. Edward might be the quintessential unsorted Gryffindor – one of her own lions. But she needed to know as much as she could.

With her mind settled, Minerva ascended the stairs of the library.

It was much like every other academic library Minerva had ever been to. The main room just beyond the doors was staidly colored but laid out to be welcoming. Overstuffed armchairs and couches were crowded around coffee tables.

On a Saturday, few of the students sitting in the space looked to be working on anything academic. But they had their heads together seriously nonetheless. To the left of the room was the circulation desk, and Minerva figured that was as good a place to start as any.

A librarian at this library had written Edward's letter of recommendation to the job at the British high school. In it, she'd referenced the strong opinion of the supervisors working under her.

Looking back at her notes, Minerva approached the desk, said, "Hello. I'm looking for Dr. Lena Boden? Or perhaps Ms. Juna Klemm?"

The student worker behind the desk swiveled in his chair. "Juna?"

"What?"

"Someone's here for you! Probably a professor?"

A woman in casual dress in her upper-middle years poked her head around a partial wall that obscured much of this back space. A curtain of soft looking blonde hair fell over her shoulder, obscuring her face. Ostensibly also her view, because she stepped into the open and brushed her hair out of the way with an annoyed mutter. The sort of fragment sentence that translation spells didn't work so well for. She sidled up to the desk, movements stiff.

"I'm Juna," she said. "And who are you?"

"Professor McGonagall," Minerva said. "I teach at a school in Britain, and I have some questions about a student you used to supervise?"

"I remember all my students," Juna said with the fond-but-weary smile of a veteran educator. "Who've ya got for me?"

"An Edward Elric? I do hope you remember him. He would have left your employ this past March."

Juna grinned. "Ed! Great kid. Are you thinking of hiring him? Because I swear, I told Dr. Boden everything that shoulda gone in that letter of rec."

Minerva gave the student worker a hard stare, watched him swallow. When she raised an eyebrow, he fled. The woman – Juna – cackled. "Nicely done." Despite the wildness in her laugh, there was now a more serious element to her expression. "Still, if this is a private conversation, I'll take you to the back. Leave poor Oskar at his post."

Minerva inclined her head. "That would be most courteous of you."

Juna smiled tranquilly, her face going the sort of blank that Minerva usually associated with the Lovegood child, and gestured Minerva around the desk. "Oskar!" she called, loudly enough for a student sitting at a nearby table to flinch.

Oskar appeared from the back, and Juna pointed at his workstation. "You're good to be over here. Thanks kid!"

Minerva looked at Oskar again, pursing her lips. Terrorizing young men was even more satisfying than terrorizing eleven-year-olds. He swallowed again, sat nervously in his chair. Minerva gave him a thin smile before allowing herself to be led into the back.

Ms. Klemm led her past the interlibrary loan station and into a break room. There was a toaster and a coffeemaker. A kettle and a crumbling pressboard table. The light overhead was faintly yellow, and Minerva kept expecting it to flicker.

Juna gestured at a hard metal folding chair, took one herself. Once she sat, knees splaying wide above neatly hooked ankles, she said, "Alright what's up with our Edward. He works for you?"

Minerva took the indicated chair before speaking. "He's found employment at my school," she said, choosing her words carefully. "His younger brother has been enrolled as a student."

This time, Minerva was certain that Juna's smile was genuine. "Alphonse! Also a great kid. I love those boys. Miss having 'em – I swear they read half the collection during their time here."

These were the sort of anecdotes missing in Edward's records. "So, you can confirm that Edward Elric worked here?"

Juna shot her a look that was probably designed to question Minerva's sanity but mostly just looked nervous.

"I haven't spoken to his professors yet," Minerva said. "But I assure you they are next on the list. Such a memorable boy must have left quite an impression."

"You're a bitch, aren't you?" Juna said, seeming to recognize that the jig was up.

Minerva sniffed, said, "I have been called worse."

"Well I'm not saying a word," said Juna. "I really don't care what you think you know. Edward was a great kid, and I can confirm he worked here. He was such a smart cookie, and he's a damn credit to whatever institution he goes to."

Minerva had been ready to bristle, but the certainty in Juna's voice made her deflate. This was no time to go on the offensive. "Look. My headmaster and I aren't looking to fire him. His skills make him frankly indispensable. And that's before you consider his brother, who absolutely must be a student at our school for his own safety. I just want to know more about him."

"Look. Those boys are good sweet kids. They never said a word when I broke little rules, even though they adore the Head Librarian, too. I owe it to them to keep my trap shut."

"They're traumatized children," Minerva said. "And not knowing anything about their history makes it harder to help them. They need help."

Juna snorted. "They were traumatized long before Doc Boden and I came into the picture. If you think I even know the details to their tragic backstory you are mistaken. I trusted them, didn't ask them to tell me shit. 'Sides. Everybody's got a tragic backstory. Do for them what you'd do for any Joe off the street."

"And you didn't ask any questions when you helped them forge their paperwork?"

Juna just gave her a shark-like grin. "People who want fake papers generally don't want to answer questions."

Well that was basically a confession right there. Minerva had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't need to visit Campus Mitte at all. She would visit the chemistry department here at Campus Nord just to confirm. But. "Edward Elric was never a student here at all, was he?"

"Oh, fuck you," Juna said, turning her glittering blue eyes to the ceiling. "I'm sorry boys. So sorry. Look. I was working the night Ed walked into this library. He was covered in blood, shaking, half carrying his brother. And Al looked like a walking skeleton, wearing old fashioned clothes made from convenience store quality fabric. Both of them had long hair, but Al's was down to his waist – I thought he was a girl at first.

"Neither of 'em were even speaking normal German. Admittedly I've never much left Berlin, but they didn't talk like anybody I'd ever heard. Maybe they're from the German speaking part of France? I don't even know. But I looked in those boys' eyes, and when Ed stumbled up to my desk and had the balls to ask me for a job looking half dead, I pulled 'em into the back.

"Poor Alphonse passed out as soon as I got them here. Just collapsed in my arms. Ed was beside himself. Doc Boden was working late that night, so I wrapped Alphonse in my jacket and laid him out on the floor." Juna gestured at a corner, and Minerva could almost see it – see a skeletal Alphonse dead to the world in a stranger's jacket. "And I got Doc Boden, brought her down here, said, 'Lena these boys need help.' At this point Ed was crouching next to Al, reciting the damn periodic table to keep calm. Had it fucking memorized."

Juna was staring vacantly into space, and Minerva knew what Ms. Klemm was seeing instead of the room they were in. Juna shook herself out of the vision quickly though, and refocused. "I'd have brought them home with me, but I don't have the space. Got a shit-ass roommate too. Hard enough to negotiate seeing my daughter and grandkid as it is! So, Doc Boden brought 'em home with her instead. She and her partner have always wanted kids, you know. Having a pair of children practically drop in their laps was a dream come true."

She glared at Minerva fiercely, "And when a kid shows up at your doorstep looking like death, you help them. Whether they answer your questions or not. We reckoned Ed correctly at sixteen, Al was harder to tell with the malnutrition. Shocked when he told us he was only a year younger, even if he was the taller of the two."

"And you didn't turn to social services why?" There was a part of Minerva that was tempted so tempted to pull the relevant memories from this woman's mind. But the International Statute of Secrecy was in fact, international. She could only do so without her consent and would have to obliviate her after.

A memory of her father, a memory of Dougal McGregor's ashen face as she gave him back his ring, stayed her wand. She was not the sort of witch to take advantage of defenseless muggles. Minerva simply wouldn't do it. So, she looked to this Ms. Klemm and hoped to Merlin that she'd get a reasonable narrative from her.

Juna crossed her arms. "One of my little theories," she said, "is that Ed got his injuries that night from rescuing Al from some sort of kidnapping scenario. It doesn't fit every detail I have, but I'd bet it's closer to the truth than anything else. Which means they were probably trying to hide. All through their time here, they kept saying that they needed to get to England. They wanted to put the ocean between themselves and whatever the fuck happened to them."

Had they? What was so important that it needed to be England specifically? Huh. But there was still an overwhelming question: "What does this have to do with social services?"

"When a kid is trying to hide? You don't tell the fucking government where he is. Hell, sometimes I think Al mighta been kept in one of those experimental facilities. Maybe that's where Ed had to rescue him from!" And then Juna dove into a longwinded rant about the government. So that was why Juna Klemm kept social services out of it – she was one of those muggle conspiracy theorists. But what about this Dr. Boden?

What was her buy-in to this phenomenal shitshow?

The answer came with the doctor herself. Saving Minerva from hearing more of Ms. Klemm's theories, there was a knock on the door. In stepped a woman only just younger than Minerva. Her gray hair was tied up asymmetrically to display the tight coils of its texture, her green skirt reached her ankles. She wouldn't have looked so very out of place in the wizarding world – the sweater over her clothes looked almost like a robe.

"Oskar gave me a call," the woman said, adjusting her sweater. "He seemed to think I would be needed down here."

"Dr. Boden, I presume?" Minerva said, quite sure of her footing.

The woman inclined her head. "You have me at a disadvantage."

"Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School in Scotland. I've come to ask after an old employee of yours."

"She's putting her nose where it doesn't belong, Doc," Juna said. "Asking about the Elrics."

Nobody gestured to any chairs, but Dr. Boden took one without prompting. Her face went from being carefully blank to looking strategically worried. "I'd hoped, but deep down I knew our hack job wouldn't hold up to any real scrutiny."

Sensible and just a little conniving. Minerva liked that in a woman. "I'm not looking to fire him," Minerva said. "I just want to know as much as I can."

Dr. Boden gave her an incredulous stare. "You're not looking to fire a sixteen-year-old with no real credentials?"

"Ssh!" said Juna. "Do you want to give her reason?"

"Perhaps it is against my better judgement, to employ a child as a teacher. But I already knew his age, and that his credentials were most likely a load of horseshit when we hired him. There has, however, been an incident with his younger brother, and we find ourselves being curious as to their backstory."

"And so, you came to the people who helped them. Of course," Dr. Boden said. She crossed her legs, skirt swishing against the metal of her chair. "Well, sometimes you look at a child and you simply have to help. I gave Edward a job and both of them a place to sleep. They earned my trust without telling me much of anything. I don't think they told either of us much." She looked at Juna here, for confirmation.

"I think the most personal thing I learned about them was that they have Daddy issues – and really who doesn't?" said Juna.

"They're fiercely loyal to each other," said Dr. Boden, "which is a part of why we didn't turn them over to foster care. I think they would have burned this city to the ground if they'd been separated."

"And if the government didn't neglect Al, who did?" Juna leaned forward on the pressboard table, propping herself up on her forearms. She gave Minerva a hard stare. Belatedly, Minerva remembered Molly Weasley's whispers about child armies and corrupt governments.

Maybe this Juna Klemm had a point. The British Ministry certainly wasn't competent.

Dr. Boden inclined her head in Juna's direction. "Even I couldn't dismiss that theory out of hand," she said. "They were so suspicious of anything institutionalized. They came to this library carrying the clothes on their backs, a pocket watch, a few cans of soup, and an atlas. No ID, no passport, not even a library card. Peering nervously around every corner."

"And your first instinct was to welcome them to your home?" Minerva said, turning her attention to Dr. Boden and cycling back to her wondering about social services.

Dr. Boden shrugged, said, "It's not like the foster system is a great place for children to go. Once I got them settled into the spare room that first night – Alphonse didn't wake during the whole transfer at all – Ed asked me if I was going to call anyone. He looked so afraid, I told him no. We had the space."

"Sometimes good people get into some shit," Juna said. Minerva couldn't argue with that, so she gestured at Juna to continue. "After knowing 'em for a few weeks, I figured it was time to call in that favor this one guy owes me. I asked him to get some papers."

"I asked if we could throw in school records," Dr. Boden said. "I thought we could get them enrolled in classes here with fake high school transcripts, but Ed just gave me a tired look asked if it wouldn't be more efficient to fake a college degree and enter the workforce straight away. England apparently couldn't wait for him to attend university first."

"It was all the same to that friend of mine," said Juna. For a moment, an image of Mundungus Fletcher superimposed itself over Juna Klemm. She thought the comparison might be rather apt.

"Edward pointed out that he might get less scrutiny that way, and I couldn't disagree," Dr. Boden said. "Ed proved he knew the material. Alphonse did too, but apparently planned to figure out his credentials once in England. I won't lie, there was a part of me that wanted to sit on them till they were actually eighteen."

"Yes, why didn't you sit on them till majority?" Minerva asked, because she hadn't expected to find two fiercely-motherly women in Berlin. She'd expected to find that younger adults had been Edward and Alphonse's co-conspirators. "I'm glad he's found a position at my school, but I'm struggling to understand why grown people who cared so much for the Elrics would let them go off on their own as minors. Especially a minor with as many obvious physical issues as Alphonse."

Dr. Boden sighed, unhooked her ankles, said, "I tried to keep them here. They would need the papers anyway, but I thought about withholding the passports. However, they said they had something to accomplish. That it was something urgent, even if they themselves weren't quite sure what it was."

"And you let them leave?"

"I had no legal hold on them," Dr. Boden said. "What would you have me do? Tie them to their chairs? I'd rather them leave prepared and with my support than leave without anyone behind them. Believe me, they would have left regardless of how I felt about it."

"Not used to being mothered, those two," Juna said. "I'd like to see you try it."

Minerva inwardly reflected that part of her was trying. As much as she mothered any of her students, anyway. "I know they aren't," she said. "At this point my associates are struggling to be seen as authority figures by them at all."

"And that's why you're here," said Dr. Boden. "Because they aren't submitting to control?"

That did sum it up, really. Albus felt like he couldn't control them. Or perhaps. "I'm starting to think I was sent mainly to give me something to do. We accepted that the boys had a backstory they weren't sharing when we hired one and enrolled the other." She couldn't place why she'd admitted to that, but there it was.

"Have you been asking difficult questions lately?" said Dr. Boden.

"The Man will do a lot to keep good people from asking questions," said Juna.

"But if you need to have something to take back," said Dr. Boden, "even just to report. I can tell you they aren't from Germany."

"What?" said Minerva, "France then?"

"I always thought France," said Juna.

"Certainly not France," said Dr. Boden. "The accent is wrong. Why they preferentially speak a dialect of German I can't say I even know. That second day? After I brought them home? They glued themselves to the Atlas, taking special care to familiarize themselves with maps of Germany at large, Berlin in particular, and the UK. I heard them talking about the geography. They'd never heard of any of it."

"You never told me that!" said Juna.

"Because if I had, you would have asked them about it directly." Dr. Boden didn't frown, exactly, but there was something disapproving in her gaze anyway. Minerva wondered if these two women fought ever. She wondered how frequently and how viciously.

"Maybe they were both government experiments – never taught a damn thing even about what country they lived in." Juna nodded in satisfaction and slid a sheaf of blonde hair back over her shoulder.

Minerva was torn between the impulse to call her crazy and matching that theory up with what she'd heard from Molly again. Successful coup d'état, indeed.

"It's as good a theory as any," said Dr. Boden, though she shot Juna an exasperated glance. "Hell, the child in me wonders if they don't come from a parallel universe."

If Minerva felt her pulse speed up at that theory, she didn't admit it to herself. "They certainly are alien," she said, because it was an agreement without putting her in any camp.

Dr. Boden looked at her consideringly, smoothed her hands over her knees. She must have come to some sort of decision, because she finally said, "Have either of them done any alchemy for you?"

"Lena!" Juna said, voice a hissed admonition.

Minerva readied herself to summon her wand and managed a careful, "They both have." Because what was the point of lying if the poor woman had already doomed herself to obliviation? 

"Because they seemed quite surprised when they heard I'd never seen any before. They became even more surprised when I told them that I'd thought alchemy was the dead parent-art of chemistry and physics."

"Were they?" The International Statute of Secrecy may have been international, but there was a looser definition of it here on the continent. Young Mr. Elric himself is a muggle. Alchemy is, apparently, a muggle art! This woman does not need obliviation. You can find a reason to leave their minds intact, Minerva, you wool-headed fool. "Because they seemed to know that their abilities were special by the time I knew them."

"They seemed to think that there ought to be as many alchemists as any other sort of scientist," said Dr. Boden. "And that, my twelve-year-old self tells me, is simply not the world we live in."

"You know your twelve-year-old self might have a point!" said Juna. "Always knew the government was hiding aliens."

Dr. Boden re-crossed her ankles, drew her sweater closer about her shoulders. "But every rational adult knows that even if an infinite multiverse is theoretically possible, the science of today is simply incapable of traversing from one to the other." There was a pause as Dr. Boden took off her spectacles and hung them from the beads around her neck. "Of course, the science of today is also incapable of utilizing tectonic energy with a chalked circle."

"That's what I'm talking about," Juna said. "When the world presents you with crazy, sometimes you've got to look at the possibilities."

"I'm not here to listen to nonsense," Minerva said, produced an address used to forward muggle post to Hogwarts. "If either of you think of something useful to tell me, just write me here." She needed to end this conversation with her wand in her pocket. She needed to end this conversation before she heard something that left her with no grey area.

She was not going to obliviate these women.

Both Dr. Boden and Ms. Klemm shot her oddly identical smiles. "Oh, don't worry," said Ms. Klemm. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

It was Dr. Boden who took the card, though. It disappeared into one of her sweater pockets, and Minerva had the distinct impression that it would never again see the light of day. She excused herself from the cramped back office of the North Branch library, walked around to the science department faculty offices.

She had ample proof that Edward was never a student here, but it didn't hurt to check. Minerva stopped in just long enough to confirm: none of the professors recognized an education major of Ed's description.

"We have a lot of students in every class," said one of them apologetically. But Edward Elric was the sort of child to leave an impression. And sure enough, the professor paused, tilted his head. "But wait, are you talking about that guy who worked at the library? He definitely wasn't in any of my classes."

The science department was the confirmation she'd expected, but somehow it settled like a rock into her belly. Despite this whole trip, she was nowhere closer to the truth of the Elric brothers. Minerva still knew next to nothing about them – except that Alphonse had started his journey to health even weaker than when Molly had scooped him under her wing.

Well. Maybe she'd learned a few things: there was a good chance that they were not actually German. Their dialect was unplaceable even to well-educated native German speakers. They'd sourced their paperwork through a third party, so while they weren't opposed to using black market operations, they didn't have underground contacts of their own. They inspired fierce parental concern in every adult they met. And they had truly expected alchemy to be a common practice.

Minerva's gut knew where those details pointed. She knew it by Dr. Boden's knowing and certain brown eyes, by Ms. Klemm's quick and easy agreement.

But even if her gut knew, her head wasn't ready to deal with it yet. I'll go back to Hogwarts tomorrow as planned, she thought. I need a night off.

She was just glad Molly's memory was tucked inside her bedside table – if she had it with her now, Minerva wasn't sure she could resist taking a peek and going down another sleepless rabbit hole.

When she spotted Mrs. Adler's favorite coffee shop, she decided to duck inside. Perhaps their tea wouldn't be terrible, and she supposed she owed Mrs. Adler at least a coffee for putting her up for the night.

Back in the Dormitory for Witches and Wizards, Minerva fell asleep quickly and slept long. Her dreams, however, were plagued by images of chalked circles and a gate that could traverse worlds.

Chapter Text

It was lunch on Sunday before McGonagall returned from her errand. Ed liked her, and he liked knowing that she was in the castle. He'd never admit it, but he breathed a little easier when he saw her step into the Great Hall. A tension he'd not realized he'd been holding all weekend left his shoulders.

Of course, he was a little discomfited when she took her seat next to him at the Head table and moved to immediately give him a whispered aside. "Professor Elric," she said, beating a hasty glance at Dumbledore's empty chair. "Can we speak?"

"We're speaking now," Ed said, unable to contain his inner smart-ass. She gave him a stern look, and he hastily added, "But sure. When?"

McGonagall hesitated, said, "I rather think we shouldn't let the matter wait. But discretion might be wise. Finish your lunch at leisure and meet me at my quarters after an hour." Perfect. He'd promised Ginny a training session by the lake after dinner, and he feared the consequences of cancelling.

He looked at McGonagall a little more closely. Perhaps her lips were pressed a little more firmly than usual, but her expression gave nothing specific away. Grim was more-or-less her base state, anyway. He looked across the staff table, seeking Ginny in the crowd of students at the Gryffindor table. He did not see her.

"Will we be done before dinner? I haff a training appointment wis a student after."

McGonagall frowned. "We should, but the student will simply have to be flexible if we are not."

Ed bit back a swear. "Alright, zat's fine. I can come by."

"Excellent," said McGonagall. "Bring your brother Alphonse with you." Now that was an iffier proposition. Al, by merit of his friendship with Luna, was bearing the brunt of the research into Pandora Lovegood's work. Though Ed had spent a good chunk of time over the weekend trying to decode the copy of Pandora’s notes he’d been given, he had yet to even see the outside of the laboratory itself. Which was mildly annoying.

The point, though, was that Al was busy.

Ed looked to Al, sitting next to Luna at the Ravenclaw table. Maybe Al could be persuaded to take some time off, he decided. "I'll do my best." He would, too. But if Al refused point blank, Ed wasn't gonna push it, either.

McGonagall gave him a curt nod. "The less said about it, the better." She glanced deliberately at Dumbledore's empty seat. "I'll see you then."

Not subtle, these wizards. Not that Ed knew jack about subtlety. He had, in fact, written the book on flamboyance.

The conversation was over, though. McGonagall put aside her half-eaten plate and rose. The plate vanished before she even stepped away from the table. Ed could not quite help glaring at the space where the plate had been – he would have eaten it.

He contented himself with refilling his own plate and tucking in with gusto. One thing had to be said about Hogwarts – the food was fucking great. So much better than the shit at Humboldt-Universität. Or in Amestrian military institutions.

Ed considered that a moment, remembering that East had a mean Taco Tuesday. On the rare occasions that he and Al had actually been on base, Ed ate a lot of tacos. He shook his head, speared a potato on his fork and decided to focus on the food in front of him. No need to dwell on East.

Alphonse, it turned out when Ed cornered him outside of the Great Hall, was glad for a bit of a break. "I've always liked McGonagall," he said, rubbing a careful finger between Eve's glowing eyes and ignoring the fact that he liked everyone he ever met. "And Pandora's inspiring, but there's only so much you can read from one researcher at once before going a little cross-eyed. Besides, I think Luna's getting a little sick of having company in the lab at all hours."

Oh Al, always so considerate. If it was Ed, he'd unapologetically spend 24/7 in that lab. What he would give.

Once his plan with Alphonse was set – one hour, exactly – he went to go loudly ask Ginny if they were still on for the evening. It would give him an alibi of sorts, having witnesses to an agreed-upon plan. Ed wouldn't be privately conspiring about apparently covert topics when he had a student to mentor afterwards, would he?

When he asked her, she fixed him with her brown-eyed stare. "Why? You're not planning to cancel, are you?"

"Ov course not," Ed said. "An hour after dinner? Give us time to digest?"

"That works," she said, evaluating him suspiciously.

Ed gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, passed her a folded-up bit of parchment. He didn't try to pass it discretely – the hallway was too crowded for that. "A list ov maneuvers to study," he said.

She unfolded it, eyes scanning what he knew read, If I'm late, don't worry. We'll work for the same amount of time no matter what. Just practice your basic forms and stretch until I get there.

She refolded the note and gave him a solid glare. "Will do," she said, flipping her red hair off her shoulder. He recognized it as akin to his antenna-swishing. Ginny, though taller than Ed, was not exactly large. Her signature hair flip was a move for maximum presence. With the way it billowed, Ed wondered if there was some sort of charm on it.

In any case, it was effective. Ed could not help but feel slightly intimidated. Ginny's persistence might have bordered on annoying, but it was good to see a fellow kid determined to learn how not to die in the world that they were forced to inhabit. He only hoped she'd get good enough, fast enough, to accomplish the sorts of things her friends needed of her.

Well. That was a load of shite. Ed was sure that Ginny would have been as fine as anyone else at Malfoy manor. But numbers . That force bordered on too big as it was. So instead they'd left a man behind, and while they hadn't exactly told Ginny what they'd done on that Wednesday afternoon they'd also been in class, Ed could tell she suspected something. Suspected something and burned.

It was not long after Ed returned to his office that Alphonse knocked on his door. "Brother," he said in Amestrian. "Good to see you."

"Yeah, you too Al," Ed said in the same. "You ready to talk to Stern?"

"Don't call her that," Al said, but a smile was creeping on his face and Ed grinned at him. "What do you think she wants?"

"Could be a lot of things," Ed said. "I don't know how much Dumbledore tells her about anything. But if he told her even just a little, well. I'd be curious too."

Al tilted his head. "Back home you would've refused the meeting on principle."

"Yeah probably," Ed said. "But I can't be a fifteen-year-old agent of chaos for the rest of my life."

"He says at sixteen," Al said. But the smile on his face was genuine. "Well, I'm happy to talk to her. I hate keeping secrets."

"I'm sorry you ever had to do it at all," Ed said.

Al gave him the look that said, Brother, shut up and stop feeling guilty. Ed didn't know if he ever would. There was so much to feel guilty for. His stomach took a moment to churn. Well. That was just another thing to shake off with his usual brashness. Fuck this noise. He gave Al a wild-eyed grin, said, "You ready to do this thing?"

"Whatever it might be!" Al said, and nudged him with his shoulder. His soft, human shoulder. It had been more than half a year since Al had gotten his body back, and Ed could not help being still awed. To feel his little brother's skin again.

Bolstered by the interaction, they left Ed's office ready to face whatever McGonagall had to offer. Maybe.

When they reached her door, Ed felt marginally less brave. But McGonagall ushered them inside with a tight expression, gestured for them to sit. It turned out that her own personal chambers came equipped with kettle and biscuits. Ed could tell just by the ambient humidity that the kettle about to boil, so wasn't surprised at all when it began its high-pitched wail.

The professor served them all with a round of tea and passed about the biscuit tin. "Have a biscuit, both of you."

Alphonse happily piled a few on his plate – after so long without food, he was eagerly trying everything he'd missed out on in their travels. Ed, while no food snob at all, felt just the barest trace of apprehension. As his fingers brushed the biscuit, he could not help himself from scanning it for chemical composition.

It was just a biscuit. Without further ado, he stuffed several in his mouth.

"Bruder! " said Al. Ed shrugged.

"I have plenty," McGonagall said. "My husband loved this brand. I keep well stocked."

Touching personal anecdotes were not exactly McGonagall's style. Suspicious, Ed endeavored to keep up a steady chew. Mouth still half-full, he said, "Alright so what do you want?"

There came a sigh from his left. "I sink what Ed wants to say," Al said, placing his own biscuit down delicately next to his teacup, "is sank you for zee biscuits. To what do we owe zee invitation?"

McGonagall's pursed lips morphed into something resembling a smile before sobering back into their usual grim line. "I believe you know that I left the castle this weekend to see to some pressing errands."

"You did mention," Ed said, swallowing down his mouthful and drawing his eyebrows together.

"Did zey go well?"

"That depends," McGonagall said. "In the interest of honesty, I'll start by saying that the errands were about you."

"Vas?" Ed said, he thought he trusted McGonagall, but evidently not as much as he thought he did. He was suddenly sure that his worst fears were confirmed. Blood rushed cold in his veins. He could almost see the wizard obliviators that might be coming for him. He'd hoped that as a professor and an alchemist that he would be safe from that treatment. But. Errands.

Al's hand quietly found his under the table and squeezed. Their joined hands rested in a ball on the metal above Ed's knee and below the place where the prosthetic met his thigh. He couldn't feel that in the same way that he could feel the clasp of Al's hand, but the sense of weight that traveled up his leg was reassuring anyway.

"I went to Berlin." Berlin? Why? "After your visit to the Malfoy's, Professor Dumbledore decided that he could no longer tolerate the blank spaces in our knowledge about you."

"He knows vat he needs to," Ed said, trying to relax his shoulders without making their tension obvious. From the look in McGonagall's eyes, the attempt came too late. There was an apology in them that she did not say.

The sympathetic weight to her expression did not fade as McGonagall inclined her head. "The headmaster is fond of mysteries that he can control. Of course, he is also fond of mysteries that he has no control over whatsoever. The two of you fall somewhere between those points, and that is where his discomfort lies."

There was something she wasn't saying, but that was probably a decent assessment of the headmaster. "Our lives are none ov his business," Ed said.

"And really," said Alphonse. "What he doesn't know about us isn't all zat dangerous." And that wasn't even a lie, Ed reflected. Their Big Secret of taboo alchemy was obscure enough not to even matter in this strange magic world – keeping that secret was habit. Their smaller Big Secret, that of dimension hopping, they kept mostly on the advice of the Truth.

It wasn't something Truth had told them, exactly. But it was something that seemed to weigh in the very air of the Gate where Ed grabbed hold of his brother's complete self for the first time since they were children.

Secrets are your friend, Mr. Al-chem-ist. Remember that if all goes to plan you will leave this world that I send you to.

"Not all that dangerous," said McGonagall. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling and she muttered something disparaging in English Ed could not quite understand. "Not all that dangerous," she repeated. "If we were having this conversation in any sort of true academic setting, I would dock points for lying. Are you truly telling me that going to a dimension not your own isn't dangerous?"

Ed's stomach should have dropped all over again, but somehow it did not. "How did you find zat out?" he said, exchanging a look with Alphonse.

"Lena Boden and Juna Klemm are the least discrete people I've ever met," McGonagall said, nose wrinkling. "And I have been mired in Gryffindors since I was eleven years old."

"How did zey find out?" said Alphonse, looking no less confused.

Ed wondered why their voices sounded so calm, why his muscles weren't any tenser than before. Surely both he and Al should be approaching panic by now? But their grip on each other's hands remained a loose reassurance. Ed's shoulders remained settled.

McGonagall gave him a tired expression. If she was surprised by their implicit confirmation, she did not give it away. "Dr. Boden lived with you and Ms. Klemm is an outright conspiracy theorist," she said. "The both of them have vivid imaginations. It seems that their reach, in this instance, hit the mark."

There was a moment where Ed could not help but feel a small twinge of betrayal. None of the Amestris crew had ever just handed strangers classified information about him! But again, the twinge in his gut was of betrayal – not panic.

"Their next big question was How did you get here? Ms. Klemm seems to think it was a government project gone wrong. Something about hiding aliens. Dr. Boden, on the other hand, thinks it might have something to do with alchemy."

Ed said, "We weren't brought by zee government. Don't sink your universe could hack zat if zey tried. Would you accept zat it was an unexpected result of a transmutation?"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "If it was an alchemical accident , then why aren't you frantically writing up arrays to get back home?"

Ah, there it was. Now Ed could feel a coil of panic somewhere in his belly. Really, he could think up a reasonable excuse for that. The lie was right there in his chest, as if it had been ready and waiting for the moment where it could be used: Why do you think we haven't tried? We tried and tried and tried back in Germany. We've all but given up. We need to focus on another problem for a while.

Ed exchanged a glance with Al. He could see the same lie building behind Al's eyes. For a moment it hovered, unspoken, in the air. And then, for some reason, it broke. Al shook his head, said, "Coming here is equivalence for a transmutation. We need to complete a task before we can go back home. Zat's all."

That was probably the best way to put it, but Ed could almost hear the questions it might draw. He groaned.

"A task? For whom?" Her eyes had grown narrower. "In what I've studied of alchemy, equivalence is never met by a task. "

How did they talk their way out of this one? Ed looked down at his gloved hands, squeezed Al's gently. He said, "Zee Truth is a capricious bastard, what can I say? I've never heard of zis myself. I sink zee only reason it suggested zis exchange is because I gave it zee correct offering first."

In its colorless dimension, the Truth had grinned. That's the correct answer, Mr. Alchemist. You've beaten me. You've learned your lesson. Because of this, and because I've come to like you and your brother, I offer an alternate solution.

"Pardon, are you referring to the truth as a sentient 'it'?"

Ed shrugged. "Can you just accept zat it vas an alchemical process that brought us here?"

"If it is something sentient with a clear agenda, then I cannot. If you have a planned purpose in being here, other than securing your brother's magical education, then I must know. In the interest of war intelligence."

Ed should have expected that. When had he ever respected anyone's clear boundary? McGonagall's eyes were burning with a fierce protectiveness, and Ed realized that he was receiving the look she reserved for potential combatants. For people who might be there to hurt her students. Ed met Al's eyes again, shrugged. Al nodded, and really that was enough confirmation.

"For certain branches of alchemy," Alphonse said, adopting a professorial tone, "equivalence goes haywire. When you make a substantive demand on an array zat is physically impossible to provide, zee Truth decides upon a different toll. It is typically designed to be as cruel as possible, to put zee alchemist zrough emotional and physical turmoil equivalent to zeir mistake. Zee heartbreaking truth, at zee end of it all, is zat zee intended result is simply impossible. Regardless of zee toll paid, zee alchemist never gets what zey wanted. We hope you never, ever, try it."

There is something closed in McGonagall's expression, like she thinks Alphonse might be feeding her bullshit. "I've never heard of this. And aside from the two of you and Albus Dumbledore, I know more about alchemy than anyone in this castle."

Ed snorted. The alchemy in this world was second rate at best. "Nobody hears about it. Alchemists who have encountered it don't talk about it. And zat's just zee ones zat live. Zee warnings are in textbooks: 'If you try zis, you will die. Here's a graphic photograph of zee alchemist's mangled corpse lying facedown on zee array zat killed zem.'"

McGonagall did not look impressed when she said, "If this is the alchemy that brought you here, then why are you here instead of lying dead in your own transmutation circle?"

"We've met Truth a few times," Ed said, desperately trying to sound casual. "Enough times zat I guess it decided it liked us."

"You've encountered this being multiple times? I didn't take the two of you for the sort of boys who make the same mistake twice."

Ed shrugged. "Not much choice in it. Given our specific circumstances, repeat visits were basically necessary. I would say zat most people don't visit more zan once, but."

McGonagall took a moment before she answered. Her face, though as grim as always, gave nothing particular away. Ed could only guess she was processing, though. If anyone had told him about the gate before he'd been there, he would have needed a minute to process it, too. She ended up changing direction a little, said, "And so this entity that kills more often than it doesn't just sent a repeat visitor another universe?"

Al hummed thoughtfully. "If you're wondering if all zee dead alchemists just ended up here, I can tell you zey didn't. Zee Truth doesn't typically kill outright. You just can't always survive what it takes. Usually, zere is a recoverable body."

Ed looked at Al sharply. "Yours wouldn't haff been." It was the sort of reflexive statement that he probably shouldn't have said. Heck, it was so reflexive that he was surprised it didn't come out in Amestrian.

Al shrugged. "We got it back eventually," he said.

McGonagall shook her head slightly. Ed's eye was drawn by the slight slip of her hat. "What did it send you here to do?"

"Vhy would zee bastard give us specific details?" Ed said.

"It told us to go to England, zat we would find our tasks zere. Based on zee sort of sing Truth regulates? Bruder and I sink zat he probably wants us to kill your Voldemort."

Ed could see when it all clicked in her head. Her teacup clattered in its saucer. "You're here to kill Voldemort? Because of the things the Truth regulates?"

"A man who circumvented zee circle of life appeared in our laps, while we're on a mission for zee Truth" Ed said. "Sounds like it."

"Life is only meant to flow in one direction," said Al. "And if Voldemort managed to resurrect himself without encountering zee Gate. Well. Someone has to escort him zere."

"Truth regulates life and death," said McGonagall, eyes skewering them both.

"Yes," Al said, and true understanding spread across McGonagall's face.

"Ed didn't lose his arm to some sort of war crime," McGonagall said. "The gate regulates attempts at human transmutation."

Ed froze. His first instinct was to kill Molly Weasley. His second instinct was to wonder how the hell McGonagall, of all people, knew about Amestrian alchemy taboos.

"It does," Alphonse said, inclining his head. His face bore none of the shock that Ed knew was writ upon his.

"Vat zee fuck?" he said. "How do you know about human transmutation? Since when is your world's alchemy even close to zat advanced?"

"How are ye doaty enough to perform it multiple times?" McGonagall retorted, an inflection Ed couldn't quite place coming over her words. Whatever the hell "doaty" meant, Ed was sure it was an insult.

He could feel his shoulders tense. "I said already zat zee ozer times were consequences of zee first one! If we hadn't been ten years old und stupid, vee wouldn't haff done it at all!"

Though Al had been more composed than Ed throughout this whole conversation, a small bit of hurt had entered his expression. "We just wanted to see our mutter again."

McGonagall put her head in her hands, muttered something under her breath. Ed was sure it was vulgar, but her voice was only just audible. Just audible, and in that inflection that Ed was realizing was not quite the English he knew.

She seemed to compose herself. "The two of you committed human transmutation at nine and ten and lived to tell the tale?"

Ed agitatedly tapped his foot. "Our formula was closer zan most. We just missed zee simple fact zat zere is no way to bring back a soul zat has completely passed. Zee sing it took from me I could haff lived with. Al would be dead if zee Truth didn't let me see how to keep his soul on Earth."

Ed wasn't sure why he shared that. He probably could have left it at the first part of his explanation.

"Truth took bruder 's leg," Al said, evidently also moved to share too much information. "It took my entire body. Wizout a vessel, my soul would have passed srough zee Gate eventually. Ed traded his arm to tie it to a nearby suit of armor, instead."

"Even zat would not have worked if I hadn't performed zee transmutation immediately. If I'd passed out, or hesitated, or if I'd had to look around to find a suitable vessel."

Al shrugged. "Please. If zee suit of armor hadn't been available, you just would haff put me in somesing else."

Ed shrugged, though it was probably true. The armor had been an incredible stroke of luck. A rare good point to Van Hohenheim's eccentricities.

In all this explanation, McGonagall said nothing. Her eyes were wide – something akin to horror in her expression. Her wrinkled hands were wrapped tightly around her teacup.

"And you were ten years old?"

Alphonse shrugged, said, "I was nine. Ed was ten."

McGonagall unwrapped her fingers from her teacup. "And now you are here. Back in your own body, I presume?"

"Zat's why I was so atrophied," Al said. "My body had been waiting for me by zee Gate for many years. About six months ago now, Ed got it back in exchange for coming here. You can see why traditional exchange might break down in zose circumstances."

McGonagall looked very much like she wanted to wrap Alphonse in a hug. But after a moment she blinked and focused her attention on Ed. "You said this option was only available to you because you gave the Truth the correct offer first?"

Oh no . Ed recognized that look in her eye. "Absolutely not. I'm not giving you zee key to human transmutation. It's a bad idea, and even if it goes exactly right and you offer zee right sing, if zee soul isn't still waiting to be returned to zee world, it will simply not work. You will pay a serious toll for no reason at all."

McGonagall's expression stayed stubborn for a moment before it wilted. "I know," she said. "I might have done the reading once upon a time, but I'm no fool."

"Bruder hasn't even told me what he offered, and he knows zat I would never try it again," Al said. "Please don't ask him."

"I hadn't realized you were an alchemist," Ed said.

"Don't be silly," McGonagall said. "I'm a transfigurist. Of course I have some working knowledge of its parent art. We've had this discussion."

"Enough 'working knowledge' that you considered human transmutation?" Ed said, raising an eyebrow. "Who for, by zee way? We already said it was our mother."

Alphonse shushed him, poked at his ribs. "Don't be rude, brother," he said in hushed Amestrian. He turned back to McGonagall, said in English, "You don't need to tell us. Bruder's just really nosy."

"My husband," she said, gesturing at the biscuits. "I don't suppose you tell many people about your mother? I don't usually talk about my husband, but in the interest of fair play, it is only right for you to know."

"You never actually tried it, though," Ed said. He was fairly certain on this point – she would have encountered the Gate if she had. But. It didn't hurt to ask.

"We'd understand better than anybody if you had," Al said.

McGonagall gave them both a thin smile. "No. I never did," she said. "I recognized that even if human transmutation could be possible, I did not have a strong enough mastery over alchemy. Resurrection also has an extremely dark magical association. That was a strong deterrent in the years following the last war with Voldemort."

Okay apparently fucking with the circle of life was a magical taboo, too. Who would have thought wizards had any boundaries at all? Ed wanted to ask how far along she'd gotten in the planning stages – had she started plotting out the elements of the human body? Purchased large amounts of Carbon? Or had she kept her husband's body in some sort of magical stasis? But he felt certain that Alphonse would throttle him if he did.

Which would be honestly fair.

"So yes," Ed said, deciding to change the subject entirely. "We're stuck here until we can kick Voldemort's ass to zee gate." And then he froze, looked at Al, switched into Amestrian "Do you think?" he said.

The light of realization was dawning in Al's eyes, too. "We have to open the gate with him, don't we? Killing him isn't enough."

Ed nodded, feeling a grin start to form. "I wonder if we need to actually collect all the soul pieces, then. Or if we just need to collect one?"

"I think we need to be dealing with the bulk of his soul," Al said. "So maybe not all of them, but more than half. We can work out the math later."

"What do you sink would go into trapping Voldemort?" Ed asked McGonagall, who was looking between Ed and Al with tinges of exasperation and alarm.

It seemed to take a moment for her to notice that a question had been asked of her directly. When she did, her eyes came into abrupt focus. "I'm sure I don't know," she said. "I can look into it for you, if you'd like."

Ed leaned back in his chair. "If you have time, zat would be wonderful."

"I'm glad you know about us," Al said, after a beat of silence. "I know it's a lot to process – dimension hopping and childhood alchemical taboos."

"Have you told Dumbledore?" Ed said. "I mean, if you have, we can probably deal wiz it."

"I haven't," McGonagall said. "It was a stroke of luck that he wasn't at lunch. I'll have to tell him something about my time in Berlin, though."

Ed looked to Al before saying, "Just tell him,"

"I sink it would be easier zan lying," Al said, nodding thoughtfully in agreement. "Tell him you've spoken to us and zat you're certain we aren't a threat."

"I'll do that," McGonagall said. "Now, Professor Elric, I believe you have a meeting with a student to get to?"

Ed pulled his watch from his pocket, flipped the lid, swore when he realized that it was already half-way through dinner. They'd been at this discussion rather longer than he'd thought. If he hurried, he'd be able to eat a few sandwiches and still have time to digest before meeting Girl Ginger.

McGonagall looked at him disapprovingly, but Ed would bet money that much of the indecipherable language she'd used over the course of the discussion had been vulgar. So, there .

"Should we make an effort to go down to dinner separately?" said Alphonse.

McGonagall glanced at the clock on her wall. "If you don't mind me sharing this conversation with Professor Dumbledore, then I suppose it doesn't much matter."

That was a relief. Trying to scatter arrival times would just make the time crunch worse. With a plan for food decided on, Ed stood from his chair. "Shall we?" he said.

McGonagall and Alphonse stood almost simultaneously. If they weren't going to be subtle about it, they might as well swoop into the great hall as a group.

Chapter Text

Ed knew that going into the Great Hall together after a supposedly covert meeting wasn't the subtlest of ideas. But fuck subtle, right? Dumbledore wasn't the worst leader Ed had ever come across (Bradley's puppet regime dug the bar so low that nobody would ever be able to crawl under it). He'd get over blatant conspiracy eventually, Ed was sure.

When Ed, Al, and McGonagall walked into the Great Hall late for dinner, Dumbledore was back at his spot at the Head Table. He distinctly noticed their entrance, but his twinkling eyes gave nothing away.

They'd find out what he felt about it later. Ed gave Al a light pat on the shoulder, indicated the Ravenclaw table.

"Have a good meal, Professor, Bruder," Al said at the dismissal. His eyes looked at them both warmly, but Ed knew the day's conversation had fucked him up. He wondered how Al would do with it. The panic he should have felt in McGonagall's office still hadn't surfaced, but there was still some sort of feeling roiling in the back of Ed's mind.

"Sanks, Al," he said.

"You too, Mr. Elric," said McGonagall, placing one of her own hands on Ed's shoulder. McGonagall was tall enough for Ed to mentally categorize her as a freakish giant; beyond her physical height, she carried with her a sort of presence that made Ed feel small. And he wasn't small, damnit. He looked up at her, offered an arm. "Why thank you, Professor Elric," she said.

Ed shot a last grin at Al, who smiled. It was the sort of smile Al wore when he was thought Ed was about to dive headfirst into a train wreck and there was nothing Al could do about it except choose to find it adorable.

Please, Al. This wasn't going to be a train wreck. Ed liked to think that he and Dumbledore had some sort of uneasy understanding. This would be fine. Taking comfort from McGonagall's arm, Ed steered the two of them to the Head Table. He could practically feel Alphonse walking away from them, to his customary spot with the Ravenclaws.

Ignoring the pang that came with watching his brother walk away, Ed turned his attention to the important task. "Professor Dumbledore," he said, pulling out McGonagall's chair for her before taking his place on her left. "Busy weekend?"

"Quite productive, I must say," Dumbledore said. "I got very little in the way of Headmastering done, but I managed to clear some pressing issues."

"I can imagine," Ed said, snorted. "Glad I don't have to do zat paperwork."

"It is probably best for all involved that you stick to your grading," Dumbledore said. "I wouldn't want to put any more clerical tasks on a Professor in their first year."

That asshole . There were multiple insults layered in that genial statement! McGonagall must have been able to sense Ed's rising ire, because she chose that moment to insert herself into the conversation. "Indeed," she said. "It seems like there's more work to grade every year. More lessons to plan."

"I'm caught up," said Ed. "I know how to get srough paperwork." He wanted to see them teach themselves to write with their off hand because their prosthetic kept snapping pencils.

"Just off the college days of red bull and liquor, are you?" That was from Snape, because the man could not keep his nose out of anyone's business to save his life.

Ed scowled at him, said, "Yes. I am . Humboldt Universität keeps zeir students busy."

"Do they?" said Dumbledore. Ed looked at him. The old man was dressed in gold, his half-moon spectacles polished to a shine. Cradled in a fold of the glittering robes was the Headmaster's blackened and curled right hand. It was something Ed had seen before; it wasn’t registering in his memory as something new. But he must not have really processed it before, because it was hitting him differently somehow.

Ed drew his eyes slowly from the Headmaster's hand to his face. Dumbledore gave him a small smile, noticed Ed noticing. McGonagall, in her seat between them, looked very close to letting out a string of swearwords in that other language she spoke occasionally – Ed wondered what language, precisely, it was and decided that he needed to investigate the languages of the British Isles more thoroughly. He liked being able to swear in as many languages as possible.

Maybe Al would know – Ed had been so single minded during their preliminary study sessions and even as they'd begun to adjust ( Just get to England , he'd thought. Just get a job , he'd thought. Fuck these fucking wizards , he'd thought) that he'd learned deeply and not broadly. Being unable to understand McGonagall's swearwords – to the point of not even having the name of the language they belonged to – was the unfortunate tradeoff.

In any case, McGonagall wasn't swearing now. She had too much adultly dignity to do so in the Great Hall. Ed had a feeling she wouldn't swear in front of her boss, either. Colonel Bastard could attest that Ed had no such compunctions. Maybe that was just because he was sixteen, maybe it was just because he was used to being surrounded by military people. But Ed liked to think that it was just who he was .

He'd worn vulgarity like an armor ever since he'd put his brother in one.

Well that was a train of thought that Ed did not have time for today. He decided to stir up trouble instead of reflecting, said, "Did you enjoy Berlin, Professor McGonagall?"

Her eyes narrowed, mouth firming. She clearly hadn't expected Ed to go there but, fuck it. "It was lovely," she said, turned to Dumbledore. "You should have joined me, Albus. There was a fabulous coffee shop."

Ed looked back to the Headmaster. His eyes had lost just a bit of twinkle in favor of displaying a mild hint of steel. Ed grinned, looked back at McGonagall. "You'll have to tell me what you sink of my home city! I would be happy to show you around whenever you next decide to visit."

"Berlin, Minerva?" said Snape. "May I ask the purpose of your visit?" The glint in Snape's eye said that he knew that some sort of political battle was on.

"She was running some errands for me," said Dumbledore, which, woah , was almost the truth! Good for him. He must be busy exercising that truth muscle. Ed should give him a 'congratulations' card. Alas, with no cards available, he settled for grinning broadly at him.

The usual diners of the Head Table were all in attendance, looking studiously at their food. Ed was pretty sure that Pomona Sprout, the woman he'd been introduced to as the Head of Hufflepuff House was laughing into her plate of mashed potatoes. He couldn't resent her for it – Ed was internally laughing himself, and he was actually caught up in this colossal clusterfuck.

"Oh?" said Snape, giving a tight little grimace.

Slughorn, down the table, took a swig of something that was decidedly not pumpkin juice. "Do tell us about Berlin, Minerva," he said. "The current British ambassador to the German magical government was a student of mine."

McGonagall shot him a disdainful look. "I believe the only people at this table who didn't teach Geraldine Tarnad are Severus and young Edward."

Slughorn went pink about the ears. "Yes, well. She was a particular favorite."

Sprout snorted audibly. Slughorn flushed deeper, whirled to face her. "Do you have something to say, Pomona dear?"

"Oh no, Horace," she said before shoveling a large spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Ed needed to make a point to befriend this colleague of his. He remembered, belatedly, that she'd been kind to him when he'd first arrived at Hogwarts (Was that only two weeks ago? Incredible).

Slughorn sniffed before returning to his own meal. "Anyway, Minerva. How is Berlin in autumn?"

"Rather cold," said Minerva, then looked Dumbledore in the eye. "But it was a satisfactory trip." She took a slow sip of the tea that had materialized at her place setting when she sat. Sprout choked on her potatoes.

This was going nowhere fast. Deciding that he'd had enough of laughing at this distinctly awful conversation, Ed loaded up his own plate. He went heavy on the mashed potatoes – if Sprout had been so focused on them, they must be good.

There were no further discussions of Berlin, and the Hogwarts staff fell into an uneasy silence punctuated by the sounds of Ed's frantic chewing.

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley watched the Head Table with narrow eyes. It didn't take a genius to see the tension that had fallen over the staff table, and she was sure it was the reason for Professor Elric's cryptic ass note. She drummed her wand idly on the table. Next to her, Dean Thomas watched her.

Ginny knew he was worried. He was a sweet boy and she really didn't mean to worry him. But she needed to get stronger if she wanted to survive the coming war. The Prophet had gone idly quiet for a good couple of days, but that just meant that Voldemort was working covertly. Covert hadn't been his style since the Department of Mysteries, but something in her gut told her that this odd silence wasn't a good thing.

She'd brought it up off-handedly with Hermione, who'd abruptly changed the subject. Hermione was always willing to investigate the enemy. She was less paranoid than poor Harry, but she pursued knowledge with a singular drive that would shame any Ravenclaw. Hermione changing the subject hadn't happened since Ginny tried to ask for Harry advice back when he'd been pining after Cho Chang.

Hermione, then, and probably therefore Ron and Harry, knew something about the recent silence of the media. There was a reason why they'd been inducted into Elric's Gym Club early and Ginny hadn't been.

She wasn't sure what was happening, but something was. She looked at Dean, who was picking at a hearty helping of pie.

"Do you want to join Professor Elric's Gym Club?" she asked, deciding that she wanted his solid emotional support. She slid her wand behind her ear and picked up her fork. "He's giving me a lesson after dinner tonight, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined."

Dean blinked at her. "I enjoyed the DA last year," he said, warily, "And Snape's not pleasant, but he's actually decent at teaching Defense."

Ginny knew that Dean had not been at the Department of Mysteries. But somehow the information hadn't absorbed; she kept on expecting him behave as though he'd been there. Kept on expecting him to carry the same sureness of impending disaster as she did. "All training's useful," Ginny said. "You never know when you might need it. Besides. What's it Hermione's always on about?"

"I have no idea what Hermione's always on about," said Dean. "We don't talk much."

Ginny waved impatiently at him. "It's important to learn things from as many perspectives as possible. While I don't think she meant combat, it probably applies."

Dean took a bite of pie, probably to delay having to give an answer. Ginny rolled her eyes, took a bite of her own dinner. The special tonight was bangers and mash – a personal favorite. She tried to keep her portion moderate, because she would never forget her very first quidditch practice, where she'd made the mistake of eating too much the morning of and had thrown up on her broom handle at a hundred feet.

She shuddered at the memory, looked at Dean. She tilted her head. He finally swallowed what must have been a very over chewed bite of pie. Well, whatever had him nervous meant that he'd probably be fine for exercise. "I suppose you're right," he said, looked at the clock on the main wall of the room. "What time did Professor Elric say?"

Ginny smiled, triumphant. "An hour after dinner."

"It wouldn't hurt to show up," he said.

"No," said Ginny. "It wouldn't."

Ginny had to eat those words when her lesson with Professor Elric started. He took one look at Dean before barking at him to run around the castle, so that he could get an idea of Dean's level of fitness. Truly hippogriff shit.

"I vas going to get you up to speed on recent events," Ed said. "But clearly zat won't be possible."

"Bugger off," she said. "If someone wanted to tell me about 'recent events' they would have done it already."

"We wanted to tell you. But we couldn't let you come – if you knew you would haff insisted." That fucking bastard. Ginny's temper flared and she whirled on him, taking the sort of practiced turn that she knew made her hair look like a blaze of fiendfyre behind her head.

"Couldn't let me come?" Ginny said. "Why? I'm too young? I'll have you know that Alphonse and Luna are no older than I am and are clearly in on it. I was at the Department of Mysteries last May just like the rest of them!"

She met Professor Elric's eyes – a little below hers – and tried to harden the hurt in her chest into anger. He didn't say anything. The wind picked up his bangs and he bobbed his head slightly. His ridiculous looking hair antenna straightened slightly.

Finally, he said, "It was a question ov numbers. Zat's all. It wasn't zat you wouldn't be good, it wasn't zat anybody sought you incapable – even Ron, who most wanted to keep you out ov it. It's just zat our force was too large as it was."

"Numbers," Ginny said, words sour. "Because of numbers . Then why was Luna? No. Strike force? What exactly did you do?"

But Dean was coming back around the castle, and Ed jerked his head tellingly at him. Ginny looked at her boyfriend, both pleasantly and unpleasantly surprised that he'd made it around so quickly. "One more time around, Dean!" she said.

He looked to Professor Elric for confirmation – Ginny was vindicated a little to see him nod. Dean took in a theatrically large breath and put on an extra burst of speed. Ginny watched until he disappeared around the far corner.

"What did you do?" she said, turning back to Elric.

He gave her a long look before saying, "We went to Malfoy Manor to rescue Ollivander and Alphonse temporarily killed zee Mold while we were zere."

“What the fuck?” she said, stunned. Ed opened his mouth to elaborate, but abruptly Ginny couldn’t hear any more. “Never mind,” she said, and aimed a roundhouse kick at Elric's head. Later, she would ask what the hell temporarily meant, but right now, she needed to fight. In the rush of her approach, she could see his eyes widen with surprise – and relief? – before he grabbed her ankle, lightning fast, and redirected her.

She spun out - but she was Ginny Weasley, star Gryffindor Chaser! She recovered, followed the kick up with a swift jab to the nose. That hit, but Ed caught her below the ribs in the same instant. Backing away for a moment to breathe, Ginny watched her professor. There would be time to process his impossible statement – she just couldn't do it right now. Instead, she focused on mapping Elric's form. She knew he favored his right shoulder; she could see that his weight was anchored more heavily on his left side. There was something tilted about his stance, and though Ginny knew that he was by far the better fighter, she was determined to exploit his weaknesses.

Course determined, she aimed an elbow for his injured shoulder. By the time Dean rounded the corner, Ginny had settled into training thoroughly enough that there was no need to send him around again.

Chapter Text

When Alphonse was called into Dumbledore's office after dinner, he was not especially surprised. He was enjoying a rare moment in his dormitory, reading a book on arithmancy. Gerry was in the bed across from him, also reading. The other boys, he understood, were down in the common room arguing over a chess match. Al had just gotten supremely comfortable when an owl flew in the open window and landed on the trunk at the end of his bed.

Al looked at it, not quite willing to slide from out from the covers. He'd missed about six years of sleep – he deserved to take his time catching up on it! The owl just fixed him with a tired look, before hopping onto his bed proper and walking up it. He settled on Alphonse's chest and stuck out a leg. He hooted.

"You're a sweet bird," Al said in murmured Amestrian. "So fluffy." The bird squawked indignantly and thrust his foot a little further into Al's face. Al sighed. "Alright, little one."

He sat up, carefully untied the letter and opened it. Reading it quickly, Al sat further up to scratch behind the bird's decorative ear tufts. The bird's mood changed with that, and it hooted contentedly. It nestled deeper into the covers and Al tilted his head forward to look at him. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to get up. It's for the headmaster, I'm afraid."

The owl pushed his head into Al's hand for one last snuggle before hopping back down to the foot of the bed. He sat there, preening his feathers, as Al changed.

He could feel Gerry study him from the next bed over, and Al didn't look at him. He knew Gerry's face was written with worry and genuine concern. But really, thanks to Mrs. Weasley and his continued access to Hogwarts meals, Al was almost a normal weight. Al mentally switched over to English as he pulled on his robe. "See you later, Gerry. Professor Dumbledore wants to see me."

"Don't stay out too late," said Gerry, corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Wouldn't want to miss curfew."

Al knew that Gerry had devised a system to stay in the library a full hour after curfew, so he chose to take the joke in the spirit it was given. Still. Al's collarbones might still protrude sharply from his shoulders, but too many people worried after him. Al gave Gerry a smile, fixed his conical wizard's hat upon his head, and left the fifth year Ravenclaw dorm.

Down the spiral staircase he went, smiled and waved at his chess playing classmates in the common room, went down again and through the portrait hole. He gave the portrait a very kind greeting, allowing himself to feel the spot of pain that appeared every time he encountered a Hogwarts portrait.

The portrait waved. With that, Al straightened his robe and began his walk to the headmaster's office.

He gave the password to the gargoyles, wondered just how sentient they were. He cast them a sad glance and went up the staircase without asking them about it. With portraits and goblins and painful-looking house elves, Al was just going to have to accept that magic did different things than alchemy and that some of the lookalikes had drastically different ethical implications.

With a nod to himself, he knocked politely on the headmaster's door. He was immediately called to come in, and Alphonse wondered if that was a good or bad sign. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd been called to speak to Albus Dumbledore alone .

He cracked open the door, called, " Hallo ?"

"Hello, Mr. Elric," said Dumbledore, waving him through. "Please, sit. And have a lemon drop." Alphonse eyed the candy bowl, took one. He took careful stock of the composition before popping it into his mouth, though. There was nothing alarming in it, he didn't think.

It was sour. One of the sourer things he'd eaten since getting his body back, but it was worth it for the experience. "Thank you," he said, careful of his 'th'.

"You're quite welcome, my dear boy. I'm afraid nobody ever wants to take my lemon drops." He said it sorrowfully, like it was the biggest problem he'd been facing, lately. "You and your brother have been my only takers in years."

"I like zem," Al said, deciding that it was true in a certain sense. "Do you sink younger children might prefer a sweeter candy? If you're worried about zem not getting eaten?"

Dumbledore sighed mournfully. "I'm trying to instill an appreciation for a broad palate of flavors. And these are just so very delightful."

Alphonse looked at the lemon drops, looked at his own protruding knuckles, and back at the headmaster. He wasn't sure where the headmaster was going with this, but it was somewhere. Al had a sudden feeling that he should intercept that track and take the reins of the conversation for himself. "May I see your hand, Professor?" Al asked, layering sugar on his voice.

Dumbledore's spectacles slid a slight bit further down his nose. His eyes still carried their odd twinkle and Al did his best to sparkle right back (and really, it shouldn't be too difficult. Al could sparkle even with an unchanging metal face). "My hand?"

"Brother and I know a lot about alchemy and performing it on humans. It's a byproduct of zee research I'm sure Professor McGonagall has briefed you on."

Something in Dumbledore's expression hardened, and a knickknack on his shelf began to whir. He spared it only a glance before refocusing on Al, and Al could feel the strength of his examination. "Human transmutation is the very blackest of magic, child," Dumbledore said. "I was disheartened to hear that it was something you and your brother had performed."

Well Alphonse wasn't going there for the second time in a day, even though he was certain it was what he was called in to discuss. "Oh no, Headmaster. Zat's not zee type of human alchemy I'm hoping to use. You see, zere is a sister art to alchemy called alkahestry and towards zee end of our troubles in the motherland, I was taught some of it."

"And by 'troubles in the motherland' you mean the coup d'état in a parallel universe?"

"Just so! Professor McGonagall told you zee basics, yes?" said Al. "You see, some foreign dignitaries got involved, and I had zee privilege to become dear friends with an extremely accomplished alkahestrist from Xing. As alkahestry can heal, I was hoping to look at your hand. I won't pretend to be an expert, but I learned a little."

"I suppose learning healing would be necessary in a coup d'état," Dumbledore said, trying to look amused but falling short. His expression remained predominantly guarded and twinkly.

"Exactly. And as I was in an almost indestructible body at zee time, I very often ended up zee last man standing," said Al. "I'd be happy to take a look."

Alphonse wasn't sure how he felt about Dumbledore evaluating him like a threat, but there wasn't any way around it. He simply gave his most serene smile, and after a moment, the Headmaster inclined his head. "I'm afraid that the curse is incurable. Dear Severus has already bought me more time than I might have otherwise had."

Al wasn't going to let this opportunity slide. "Please," he said, earnestly. "I just want to help. Coming at a problem from a new angle never hurts."

"I won't have you performing alchemy on my hand ," Dumbledore said.

Al felt his trap catch and contained a smile. "Good sing alkahestry isn't alchemy, zen, isn't it?" He could see Dumbledore's resolve crack a split second before he thrusted the blackened snarl of his right hand in Al's face.

Professor Dumbledore had clearly been aiming for maximum shock value, but even despite an unexpected and unfortunate flash of Maria Ross's casefile, Al was unmoved. He leaned over the desk between them, laid out the headmaster's hand. He gently tried to unfurl the fingers and eased his attempt when he felt Dumbledore's arm jerk in response.

Al would bet that the jerk was caused more from some tendon misalignment than pain, though, because there was no way this hand had any dermal feeling left in it all. "Can you feel zis?" he asked at the same time he reached for the Dragon's Pulse.

While Al didn't normally sense the presence of magic, he could feel where it swirled around Professor Dumbledore's chi. Huh . But Al couldn't focus on the feeling of the chi itself for long. Refocusing his attention, he felt out the nerve endings in Dumbledore's hand. The surface ones, he could tell right off the bat, were all dead.

He followed the natural flow of chi in Dumbledore's hand – found it severely tangled. Al was pretty sure he couldn't fix that. So, still sensing through chi, he turned his attention to chemical composition and found his eyebrows rising into his hairline. Certainly, Dumbledore's hand looked burned. But if Al was translating what he was sensing into the correct equations, then: "Is your hand currently burning ?"

Dumbledore sighed. "The cursed fire in this hand would have consumed me by now if Severus hadn't slowed down it's pace."

Al looked at Dumbledore's hand, ran equations through his mind. Mustang was fiercely protective of the secrets of his flame alchemy, but the basics were no mystery. " Bruder 's not an alkahestrist, but I'll want to speak to him. About zee equations, you understand."

"I don't know that it's necessary to bring Professor Elric into this," Dumbledore said. "I've accepted my fate – Death is naught but the next great adventure."

Well, Alphonse was glad the headmaster was so well prepared for the worst-case scenario. "Zat may be true," he said. Al had accepted his death when he'd rubbed out his own seal, he did understand the process. "But accepting zat right now might be a little premature."

He returned his focus to the lines of chi, followed the tangled mess up the arm, trying to stick to one pathway as much as possible. He pinpointed the area where the chi straightened – just above the bones of the wrist.

Focusing back on his visual input, Al could see that the, well, char, essentially, transitioned into cooked flesh, to burned, to minor blistering, and to normal skin at around the same point the lines of chi straightened themselves out.

Good – that meant that he could direct his repairs along the healthy lines of chi further up the arm, and poke constructively at the tangles as he got closer to the damage. With his direction of attack decided, really, he'd just have to work out an array that would halt the oxidization process.

Both Al and his brother usually put out fires by depleting the surrounding air of oxygen – it's what Teacher taught them to do. Mustang's own most basic fire arrays involved the management of oxygen levels. But Al had a feeling that the curse – relying on the initial magic of the caster and the ambient magic of the host – wouldn't be stopped by being temporarily choked off.

"Would you consider amputation?" Al asked, meeting Dumbledore's eyes steadily.

"I'm already an old man," said Dumbledore. "And I do believe the curse would progress beyond Professor Snape's barrier if I were to try and circumvent it that way."

That was a weak sauce answer. But this world didn't have automail, Alphonse reminded himself. And even back home, taking off a limb was a drastic measure to be considered very carefully. You didn't amputate if you had other viable options.

But really, Al was going to be a little miffed if Albus Dumbledore would rather die than lose an arm. That was just dramatic. "I might not have to," said Al. "I have to run zee numbers wiz Ed. I could probably write out an array zat would work right here, but zat would be lazy. Laziness is a good way to die, in alchemy."

Dumbledore's expression had shifted from benevolently amused and all-knowing to outright confused. Good. He'd been sufficiently re-directed from whatever drama he wanted to start with Al about the alternate-universe-human-transmutation thing. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally said, "I really don't think that you should be engaging in more human transmutation."

Al gently set the headmaster's hand back down on the desk – tellingly, Professor Dumbledore did not retract it. "I swore I would never interfere wis life and death again, after mom. But zee Truth has made 'interfering' mandatory. You are not yet dead. Saving your life breaks no rules, no taboos. Using alkahestric principles, zee process is not even ethically dubious. If I were to use alchemy, zere is a possibility zat I would have to use my own life-force as an amplifier to save you. Zat is why healing alchemy is considered human transmutation and taboo. Using alkahestry, even as limited as my technical understanding is, I would not have to do zat." Alphonse picked up the hand again. "It is not zee same as alchemy, it does not come from zee same source as alchemy, and zee reasons zee alchemical version is illegal and ill-advised simply do not apply. What I want to know is why you don't seem to want to be saved."

Dumbledore did not say anything for a long while, and so Alphonse produced his alchemist's journal from the inside pocket of his robe and began drawing chi-flow diagrams, starting from the healthy portion of Dumbledore's arms. Even if Dumbledore insisted on dying, Al wasn't going to waste time while the Headmaster thought about it. He was sitting here, he had access to the patient, he was going to work.

After establishing a rough sketch of the Dragon Pulse, Alphonse turned his attention to the progression of the curse and established four zones: healthy, early blistering, actively cursed, and mostly dead.

He marked those zones in the chi-flow map and was encouraged to note that even the most severely damaged areas had some chi. Nothing had died off entirely, except for the epidermis of the ring finger. That finger had been hit by the curse first and worse, Alphonse could tell. He marked that on his diagram, tried to describe the radial nature of the damage. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pencil and the distant whir of a magical knickknack.

"What did you do to zis hand, exactly?" Alphonse decided that he did need to ask. Dumbledore had found out more than enough about Al – he could survive a little reciprocity.

There was a pause. "I assume your brother has told you of the horcruxes that bind Voldemort to life?"

"Yes?" said Alphonse, dread certainty piling up in his gut. "I've begun doing research on what he might have used, and what his methods might have been. Brother and I are experts on seals, you see. My whole soul was bound to a suit ov armor for about six years – it's not too much of a stretch zat you could attach fragments, too."

There was a flicker in the Headmaster's eyes, but Al did not care to analyze it. Dumbledore looked down at where Alphonse was mapping his hand. "In a moment of foolhardiness, I put one that he'd put in a ring on my hand without checking it for curses first."

Alphonse schooled his expression. While an astronomically stupid move, it did not quite rank with some of the crazier things he'd heard in Amestris over the years. He could feel a shift in the Headmaster's chi. Mei hadn't gotten around to teaching him much about how to read a person's mood in the Dragon's Pulse, but he would eat his pointy hat if Dumbledore hadn't had a deeply emotional reason for acting rashly.

He could at least see the way his chi flow tensed, almost as though in reaction to injury. "I see," said Alphonse. "Zat explains zee radial nature of zee damage." Mei would be proud of him and Xiao Mei would affectionately nibble at his finger.

"Yes. The curse activated as soon as I had the ring settled into place."

And then a rather important sticking point made itself clear in Alphonse's mind. "Wait. You have one of zee horcruxes?"

"I have two, dear boy. I have the ring and I have a diary that Mr. Potter destroyed in his second year."

Alphonse could not quite deal with that statement. "I sought you said zat Mr. Potter didn't know about zee horcruxes until zis week?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I'm afraid that your brother has pointed out many mistakes in my handling of young Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley was possessed by the diary in her first year here, and Mr. Potter took it upon himself to rescue her and the school from it. I told him that it was a preserved memory."

A preserved memory. Lovely. Al did the math – Harry would have been twelve when he was deemed too young to know the truth. Brother had been aiming a spear at Fuhrer President Bradley's throat at twelve. He carefully tamped down the wave of bitterness. "Do you still have zem? It might be useful to look at the state zee vessels are in once zee soul fragments have been eradicated."

That was the statement that finally got Dumbledore to pull his hand away. It wasn't a soft movement. It could not have been comfortable. Alphonse decided to follow up before Dumbledore could reply. "Zis makes you uncomfortable, despite zee fact zat I am one of zee foremost authorities on soul binding. Why?"

"I'm afraid I do not have them," said the Headmaster. But years of dealing with Amestrian politicians, Mei, his brother (the list could go on) prepared Alphonse to readily detect bullshit. He pondered his next move. He could call the Headmaster on it, but that would not be the most subtle approach. He could probably pretend to take Professor Dumbledore on his word and send Eve to steal them, but Alphonse was firmly against putting his familiar in danger for his sake. Just no.

He could break in later – he was certain that Ed would agree to join him in that shenanigan. He was a new wizard, for sure, but maybe he could find a way around the wards? And worst-case scenario, he could fight his way out.

The scenarios only got more ridiculous, so Alphonse stopped himself before his mental pictures could reach Mei-levels of fantastic. "You're lying," he said, simply. "You simply do not want to share zem wiz others. I'll need to know why, if zee reason has anything to do with preserving zee health of zee investigator, but would you feel better if you could monitor any work I do with zem? Zey would not have to leave zis office."

"I'm afraid I'm not lying, dear boy. I didn't want to be holding onto deeply cursed materials."

Alphonse decided to lie through his teeth himself. "I can tell you're lying – while alchemy utilizes tectonic energy, alkahestry utilizes something called zee Dragon's Pulse. It's an energy zat flows in all living things, sometimes called chi. I've been examining your chi-flow through the last half hour, and in it, I can read when a person is lying."

Dumbledore met Al's eyes, and something in Alphonse told him to calmly think of nothing but the wide white open expanse of the gate. Of Truth's wild grin and his forbidden knowledge. He smiled serenely and carefully whitewashed the outer surface of his thoughts.

The Headmaster averted his gaze. Al wasn't quite sure what had happened there, but he rather thought that he'd won. He did not let the serene smile drop even as he examined Professor Dumbledore's expression. Characteristically, it gave nothing away.

"They are dangerous artifacts, Mr. Elric. And you are but a boy." Something in his composure slipped, the twinkle in his blue eyes became distinctly less than merry.

"I am," said Al. "I'm a boy who's performed human transmutation and spent six years wis my consciousness split between zee physical and ethereal planes. I'm a boy who, despite not even being in zee military, helped a military coup. I vas fourteen and fifteen at zee time, but it was what was right and necessary. If zere is any boy capable of doing what is right and what is necessary, Professor, it is me. And my brozer."

Alphonse had watched Ed grow progressively antsier under Mrs. Weasley's motherly eye. Al had soaked up the attention, reveled in it. He hadn't realized that he himself was growing deeply uncomfortable with the parental lenses of the wizards until just this very moment. He hadn't realized that he was angry .

Why was he angry? It was a question to revisit when he was curled in his bed and Eve was settled comfortably against his stomach. Whatever the reason, Alphonse realized that he was. He was angry. He was growing angrier by the minute.

And here, anger would not help him. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. Zat was uncalled for."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I think you have a right to be feeling deeply frustrated with your change in situation. It's not every day that a young man goes from having very much personal and political autonomy to being a student at a private boarding school for teenagers who are very much still children."

Alphonse felt his temper flare again, tamped it firmly down under a layer of serenity. "Even zee most coddled child here lost a classmate to murder not two years ago, if I've heard rightly."

"Traumatized children are still children, Mr. Elric," he said.

"Was Harry ever a child?" said Alphonse, suddenly determined to be pettier than Ed in a meeting with Colonel Mustang. "He doesn't talk to me much, and it is clear zat I'm not yet in zee in group of his friends. But even what little I've heard about his upbringing is disturbing."

"Perhaps you are right, but there are compelling reasons why Mr. Potter's situation cannot be changed."

That was when Alphonse realized that he'd been willfully distracted from the matter at hand. "Harry aside," he said. "I will need to see zee former vessels you've kept, and I'll need to see zee item zat cursed you. It will probably help me cure you."

Dumbledore looked abruptly lost and Alphonse wondered how often Ed saw this expression in every person who ever felt remotely responsible for him. Probably often. Alphonse didn't know how he felt, comparing his own behavior to Ed's. But in this instance – when in an Ed situation, maybe he should just do as Ed would do. But. You know. Politely.

"Keeping secrets from zee people in your corner is never zee greatest idea," Alphonse said. "We had an intelligence officer, back home. Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, he was zee best in his field until he was killed. Despite managing Colonel Mustang's intelligence, he was one of the most vibrant and open men I ever knew. And unlike many people? He never hid anything from Ed zat Ed needed to know."

"Is that what killed him?" said Dumbledore. "Because in my experience, secrets are vital to effective plans."

The anger was bubbling up under Alphonse's surface of tranquility again. He tamped it back down and focused his eyes sorrowfully on the table. "He died trying to get vital information to Colonel Mustang and to Ed. But definitely not because he overshared. All of Amestris would have died we hadn't managed to uncover zee information he'd tried to get to us. He knew to leave a failsafe."

"All of Amestris," said Dumbledore. "Is that your country, in your other world? Never mind that. I've already made a failsafe. I've made a few of them."

Now Alphonse knew that saying the entire country would have died sounded like hyperbole, but in this case, it was entirely true. "And if you show Ed and I zee vessels, if you show me zee one zat cursed you, you may never have to rely on a failsafe. We literally cannot go home until we've brought Voldemort to zee Gate. Of anyone involved, you can probably trust our motive zee most. I want to go home, Professor. I miss our friends. Zee Colonel. Zee Hughes family. Winry and Granny Pinako. Mei. I want to explore Zing and really learn Alkahestry. If it isn't too presumptuous, I want to be Mei's ally in zee courts as Ling ascends to zee throne."

"You're in love," said Dumbledore. Something in his expression eased, as though love was a motivation he could understand. Alphonse leaned forward onto his elbows, not quite certain how to respond.

"I'm almost sixteen. Mei is almost twelve, if zee timeline is running parallel. We're just coming off a really high-stakes and traumatizing situation. I don't sink either one of us is ready to be in love." It was the complete and honest truth, but something in Al's chest ached at the words. So he said, "But we'd like to find out in a few years, when we know zat our bond is made from more zan trauma. When we're a little older."

The Headmaster placed his healthy hand on Alphonse's forearm. "That's probably wise of you. Merlin, but I've jumped too fast into things without thinking. Just. Don't let a good thing slip away, either." Dumbledore paused, tilting his head. "Does this mean that the 'master alkahestrist' who taught you was only eleven years old at the time?"

Alphonse was indignant for her. "Look. Mei had her reasons to learn early. She's a younger daughter of zee Emperor of Zing srough one of his lower ranked concubines. If she wanted to wield any political power whatsoever, she had to bos earn it and be on zee constant lookout for poison in her tea and a knife in her back. She chose zee study of alkahestry to set her apart from her very many half-siblings and as a defensive tool." Professor Dumbledore was growing more wide-eyed by the word, but Alphonse stopped himself from continuing on the realization that the headmaster had derailed the conversation by talking about his love life, of all things. He shook his head. "So, you see. To ever find out if Mei and I have somesing real, I have to get home. I'd help you anyway, but I have a soroughly selfish reason for it also. I'm not going to betray you."

Dumbledore let go of Alphonse's forearm, slipped his hand into his robe and brought out his wand. With a flourish, a hat floated down from a shelf. Alphonse's own hat flew off, landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. Professor Dumbledore then placed the new one on Al's head.

Belatedly, Al realized that it was the Sorting Hat. Hello little Alchemist , said the hat, somehow speaking Resembool Amestrian and sounding almost disturbingly like the Truth.

Hello , said Al, always polite even in the strangest of circumstances. Is there a reason you've been placed on my head?

You tell me , said the hat. Albus didn't mention anything – ah. I see you've been talking about Tom Riddle's horcruxes. He must be having trouble performing his usual legilimency on you and wants to know if you're trustworthy.

Performing what , said Alphonse, indignant for perhaps the fifth time that night.

You know what, child , said the hat. Ah – here we are. Your motivations. The hat fell into a contemplative silence, and Al realized how deeply the hat could read his mind. He was horrified and also horrified to realize that the Headmaster was a legilimens. So that was what the eye twinkle was about.

Take me off your head and reach inside me , said the hat. Alphonse did so, hand grasping in the fabric. Abruptly, he felt a hard edge where there hadn't been one before. He wrapped his fingers around what he recognized as a corner of a rectangular prism. He tugged and out came a box that was rather heavier than the hat had been.

The alchemist in him shivered at the casual violation of the laws of physics. Magic . Dumbledore looked at the hat, looked at the box, face trying at careful serenity but falling short of the mark. Why was he so afraid of showing the former horcrux vessels?

Alphonse could not even pretend to know, so he carefully placed the box on the desk brushed his fingertips along the edge of the lid. He glanced at Professor Dumbledore for confirmation, gently lifted the lid at his nod.

In it lay a plain black diary with a hole pierced through the center and an unassuming ring. "He made the diary while he was still at Hogwarts – I think the ring, too," said Dumbledore. "I'm hoping Harry can get Professor Slughorn to confirm that for me along with a few other things."

"Harry who you only told about zee horcruxes zis week?" Al wasn't going to let the Headmaster forget that detail. Dumbledore looked at Alphonse reproachfully, and Alphonse sighed inwardly. No need to pick a fight when Dumbledore was showing him the vessels. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself morphing into a taller and more attractive copy of Ed. "Sank you for zis."

He picked up the diary first, deciding to go in sequence of their destruction. The wizard in Al could tell there was no active magic tied to it anymore. But it didn't change the traces he could feel, all the same.

Putting it under alchemical analysis, he could feel the makeup of paper and leather. As he examined the wound itself, he recognized traces of a potent toxin. He hadn't been planning on outright touching the torn-out center of the diary, but now he had some empirical evidence that it would be a bad idea.

Alchemically, it was just a diary that had been pierced through with the fang of a massive snake. He switched from tectonic energy to the Dragon's Pulse. In this way of sensing, Alphonse could feel something off about the item's chi.

Now paper and leather only have a little chi, anyway. They're only parts of a once-living being, nothing much still sentient about them. But even in the item's small amount of chi, Alphonse could sense that something had once been deeply wrong. The source of the disturbance was long gone, but the chi still feebly twisted around where it once had been. Desperate to avoid it. Alphonse took his hand off the diary, shuddering.

"Horcruxes are no laughing matter, Mr. Elric," said Dumbledore.

"I can see zat," said Al, subtly shaking out his hand. He put the diary aside, reached for the ring.

"Be careful with that," said Dumbledore. His voice was sharp, panicked.

"I sought zee curse was removed," said Al.

"It was."

Alphonse could see at a glance that the Headmaster was forcing his shoulders to settle, forcing his face into a semblance of serenity. Well. He supposed that was normal, facing an object that had so severely wounded you. "I will be careful, Professor."

And he was. It was only gingerly that Alphonse brushed his fingers over the surface of the ring, seeking out its component elements. Again, through a completely alchemical lens, it was a normal ring. He found the metals; he found the stone. He once again found traces of the venom of a great snake. This ring, however, did not have damages consistent with a fang. Instead, it had only a slender split down the middle of its engraved carving.

He wondered what had changed, in the delivery of the horcrux's demise.

Once again, Alphonse switched from alchemy to alkahestry. And it was here that he found something he was absolutely not expecting to see. Unlike the diary, which held only the traces of the cow that went into its leather and the tree that went into its paper and the effort that went into its construction, the ring had a pulsing and vibrant chi of its own.

Alphonse was sure that Mei could have sensed it from across the room. He looked back up at the Headmaster. "What is zis? Why does it have its own chi signature?"

Dumbledore's eyes grew cold. "Because the ring is not only a horcrux. What it is bears no meaning on your business here, so focus on what is necessary for your research."

"What it is could have amplified zee curse, Professor. I should know what it is."

"No. It's too dangerous."

Alphonse felt a piece of his soul shrivel up in anguish. "Too dangerous – so I shouldn't know exactly what it is I'm handling? What if I trigger it on accident?"

" Be careful ," said Dumbledore, like that was viable advice. What an asshole. Alphonse was, in fact, ready to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Gently, of course. The poor man was dying.

"Be careful," said Alphonse, looking down on the ring and wondering what on earth it did. Maybe a master Alkahestrist could tell from its chi signature, but Al was no master Alkahestrist. He just wasn't. For the millionth time since arriving in this strange world, he wished Mei was with him.

Sometimes that desire was because of how good she was at navigating foreign countries, with or without significant skill in the local language. Sometimes it was because he just desperately missed her. Right now, it was because he would bet five pounds that she would know exactly what to do with this strange ring. That she would be able to guess at its purpose and its level of sentience with a quick examination.

He wanted his friend and he wanted his teacher. (Not Teacher, mind you. That would just be chaos.) He looked back at Dumbledore. "Can you tell me why it has the chi signature of a mildly sentient being, then?"

Dumbledore's expression was filled with a meaning that Alphonse could not determine. It was a deep feeling – the old man's eyes seemed to be brimming with it as he looked at the ring in Al's hands. "Is it sentient? I did wonder."

"And why was such a powerful artifact turned into a horcrux at all? Zat seems like a recipe for disaster."

"It belonged to his grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt. I don't think either of them even knew what it was, Mr. Elric."

"So, he zought it was just a ring?"

"An old and expensive ring, perhaps. But yes. Just a ring."

Alphonse did not think the ring looked expensive. Its materials, as far as he could tell, certainly weren't expensive. It was a simple stone, smooth and round as though tumbled by a river over countless centuries. Just a river stone. It was set in gold, certainly. And perhaps that made it expensive enough, but it wasn't especially pure gold. Alloyed generously with other materials, he suspected that the band was mostly gold only to ensure longevity.

And sure enough, despite the ancient look and feel of the ring, it showed no signs of having experienced the march of time. There weren't telltale dings in the metal, no sign of any sort of wear. It was almost as though the ring had just been made, then brought forward in time. Alphonse shook his head – he knew from his reading that magical artifacts sometimes protected themselves. Other times they were carefully protected by charms and wards – there were plenty of mundane (well, magical but not outrageous given Al's shifting baseline for incredulity) explanations for why wizarding artifacts could be so incredibly perfect.

"Right," said Al. "So what did you say it was again?"

Dumbledore did not look amused. "I didn't."

Never in his life had Al so deeply wanted to channel Ed. But that would be a mistake, he knew. Whether or not Ed's methods were effective, they weren't Al's . He looked away from the professor, examined the ring. "What's zee symbol on it? Zat zee crack bisects?"

There was a stretch of silence. "Today it's mostly known as the symbol of Gellert Grindelwald, the dark lord that terrorized Europe when Tom Riddle was still a schoolboy. They have similar rhetoric in a lot of ways, which always made me wonder why the purebloods of England rallied behind Tom just after they'd vocally eschewed Gellert. I suppose he must have been too foreign for their tastes."

Alphonse wondered at the sudden sad softness in Dumbledore's voice, but with so many secrets to find out, Al decided that this one was none of his business. "You say that it's known as his symbol today . What did it used to be known as? Given zee age of zis stone, I wouldn't reckon zat it was made with today's understanding of zee image."

Professor Dumbledore tilted his head to the ceiling, suddenly looking heartbreakingly frail. "Well, Grindelwald took the symbol from an old legend about three brothers and their meeting with Death. The symbol represents the three artifacts Death gave the brothers, in return for foiling his trick. Of course, the legend is supposed to be a lesson on hubris, for two of the brothers ended up dying directly because of the gift they received." He stopped himself abruptly there, and Alphonse felt sure that Dumbledore was compelled to say more on the subject, so he waited. But he did not.

Alphonse turned his attention once again to the ring, deciding to mark down the symbol carved into its stone. He labeled it 'Three brothers and death,' before absentmindedly asking, "May I see your hand again, Professor?"

Dumbledore started in his chair, settled. "Of course, dear boy." He brought his hand back to the desk, and Alphonse gently took it in his left hand. The headmaster craned his neck – presumably to get a better look at what was in Alphonse's notes. Al decided not to obscure them. Dumbledore looked almost resigned by whatever he saw in them. Given how reticent he'd been about sharing any sort of information at all, Al decided that it probably meant he was on the right track.

Dumbledore flinched when Alphonse brought the ring closer, but he did not pull away again. Alphonse closed his eyes, seeking out the Dragon's Pulse once again – by Merlin, he'd return to Amestris a better alkahestrist than when he left it, even despite a distinct lack of alkahestrists to learn from. Maybe Mei would be proud.

Al shook his head. He wasn't helping anyone by getting distracted. He focused on the ring's chi signature, found that it too avoided the injury that had killed the horcrux, as though it could not stand to be near the space its parasite vacated. Al compared the overall size and shape of the ring to the writhing knot of chi at the base of Dumbledore's ring finger. They did seem to be about the same size. Alphonse could feel sure that Dumbledore had not handed him a red herring. That was good. (He was nearly assured at the revelation that the ring was also some sort of deeply magical semi-sentient artifact. Still. It never hurt to double-check.)

"I won't put it back on you," said Al. "I promise. I also sink zat uncurling your fingers enough to do it might break zem off. Please be careful about zat, Professor."

Dumbledore did not seem astonished by that news, and Alphonse was relieved.

"You know, my sister called me Al when I was young," said Dumbledore. "We're a sort of name-twin, you and I."

Alphonse smiled at the headmaster absently, most of his attention still on the knot of chi in his hand. He'd flipped his journal back open and was sketching out the relative sizes of the chi malfunction and the ring. "I didn't know zat," he said. "I'm glad we are."

He shifted from the size issue to the ring itself. Of course, the Dragon's Pulse didn't only flow through all living things, it also connected them. Even so, the ring seemed to radiate chi into the world at large in a way that was unusual for both a typical ring of its construction and for its semi-sentience. He didn't know how to feel about it. He could see already a sort of bleed between his own chi and the ring’s, and while chi was always exchanged, Al decided that he didn't like the nature of this particular flow. He did his best to render it in pencil as exactly as possible.

Drawing out precise diagrams had always been Winry's thing, but meticulously chalking transmutation circles had made Alphonse a dab hand himself. Once he'd drawn it out to his satisfaction, he took one last look at Dumbledore's hand, trying to get a better read on that tangle of chi. He knew better than to try and fix it now – he wanted to run the oxidation issue by Ed before he tried to heal the flesh. And if he tried to straighten out the chi without also fixing the flesh, the healthy line wouldn't have anywhere to go.

"I wish you'd consider amputation," Alphonse said, snapping his journal shut. "Admittedly, we don't have Winry here to build you an arm and you're older zan most people who undergo automail surgery anyway. But, I'm most optimistic about zat mesod." He gingerly placed the ring back into its box, gave the diary one last inspection before doing the same.

Dumbledore gave him an dismissively amused look, brought his shriveled hand back to himself. With his left hand, he took the horcrux box from Alphonse and placed it back in the Sorting Hat. The merriment twinkled through a layer of exhaustion; Alphonse realized the time. It was well past curfew. He looked at the Headmaster of Hogwarts carefully, stowed his journal back in the inside breast pocket of his robe, put his own pointed hat back atop his head.

He didn't appreciate just how violently it had been thrown to the floor. Al was new to this whole wizard thing – he wanted to take the associated symbols seriously! Standing from his chair, he said, "I sink we're at a good stopping point for zee night, do you agree?"

Dumbledore nodded graciously and gracefully. "Good night, young Mr. Elric."

Alphonse gave him a well-crafted smile in return. "You as well, Professor. I will run zee equations wis Bruder over zee next few days. Professor Snape's stasis charm hand should last while we work out a safe and final solution."

"Of course," said Professor Dumbledore. "Take your time. I appreciate you looking at all."

The man was certain he was going to die, wasn't he? Well. That was one way to manage your expectations. Al extended his left hand for a shake, was gratified when Dumbledore took it. "Good night."

He straightened his hat one last time before setting off back to Ravenclaw Tower. It was well past curfew, but no one gave him any trouble. And that dear Mrs. Norris even gently butted her head against his leg about halfway through the walk! As much as his meeting with Dumbledore had been unsettling, unexpected kitty-love alone was worth it.

With any luck, Alphonse had made some ground, too. That was also good.

Chapter Text

Ed did not know quite what to think of his odd training session with Ginny and her boyfriend. What was his name? Something. Something? Whatever. He seemed like a sweet kid, but a little clueless. He also just wasn't, by nature, a fighter . He didn't mind physical exercise and took his treks around the castle well. But there was a light in Ginny's eyes as she fought that just wasn't present in her boyfriend's.

Derek? The kid wasn't in any of his classes – Ed didn't really need to know his name.

Ed decided that he liked Dylan-or-whatever, even if he was still trying to wrap his mind around Harry and Ginny not being a thing. It was none of his business. Ed nodded on that, deciding not to think too long or hard about his student's love lives. The only thing that mattered was teaching them, and if Ginny was serious about this boy, Ed hoped doubly hard that he could teach him enough to survive. That was all that mattered.

As he tucked himself under his blankets in his quarters, Ed looked up at the ceiling, briefly thought on how they'd been in this world for months and he still wasn't used to Al's armor not being in the room. It was well past curfew, so Ed assumed that his brother was probably in the fifth-year dorms in Ravenclaw tower. He wondered if Al had trouble sleeping since coming to Hogwarts – they'd shared a room ever since they arrived in this world. Lena and her partner had initially put them in separate rooms, but after Ed had spent a few nights pacing by Al's bedside, they sent him out for coffee. When he'd returned to the house, Al's room had two beds in it. 'Ed's Room' had been emptied.

Ed and Al's London apartment had only one bedroom to begin with. There just wasn't money to pay for more, even with the promise of a teacher's salary on the horizon. The Weasleys house, of course, was already packed to the bursting by the time he got there. Everyone was doubled up – Ginny and Hermione, Ron and Harry, Ed and Al.

Ed was almost seventeen years old – it was probably high time he got over it. He didn't need his little brother with him to have a solid night's sleep. He rolled from his side to his back, pulled his blankets further around his chin, and wondered if Al's cat was with him before succumbing himself to sleep.

At breakfast on Monday, Ed received an owl from Alphonse. It was written in their more secure code, on top of a layer of double speak. Ed could not quite help looking up at the Ravenclaw table where Al was sitting next to Luna and giving small table scraps to the cat. Damn cat. Alphonse was in a position where he could easily look at Ed if he wanted to, but Ed was sure that his brother's focused attention elsewhere was entirely intentional.

"How sweet," said Professor Sprout, who'd stood from her chair further down the table on the other side of Dumbledore to peer over his shoulder. "I didn't know you liked to cook, Professor Elric."

"Ed, please," Ed said, not looking up from Al's recipe for rhubarb pie.

"Though I must say I've never seen a rhubarb pie recipe call for that," said Sprout.

Ed winced. "Al likes to try unconventional sings," he said. "It keeps life interesting."

And that was true. Years spent in a suit of armor with no taste buds made Alphonse curious about every flavor under the sun. Curiosity sparked, Ed pulled his brain back from the coded message to look at the recipe it was disguised as.

Oh yuck . He'd have to remember to send a sarcastic thank you card to Dr. Marcoh for inspiring this code. That's an unholy thing to do to any pie. He folded up the letter, tucked it into his pocket. As well coded as it was, it probably wouldn't do to be seen painstakingly examining that recipe. Because really, who would?

"Very interesting," said Professor Sprout, "Ed. Call me Pomona."

Ed felt a deep flash of déjà vu. They'd had this conversation before, hadn't they? "Pomona," he said, trying to cement that verbal pathway.

She beamed at him, walked back over to her own seat. Snape, who sat to Ed's left, had seemed like he was studiously ignoring the exchange, but now he sneered. "That recipe was an insult to the art of cooking."

Ed raised an eyebrow at him, remembering vaguely that this man had been the Potions professor before taking up Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Do you have any special regard for cooking? Because I was under zee impression zat you were happy to no longer be potions master."

Snape stiffened, returned his attention to his eggs. Ed flicked up his hair antenna and descended back upon his own food with a vengeance. He cleared the plate, refilled it, and deliberately took his time on the refill. He wanted to hurry, wanted to push himself to get back to his classroom in time to fully decipher the message before class.

And he would try . But Hughes's ghost would aggressively hug him if he left the room too hurriedly after a supposedly innocent message from his brother.

How cute you are, Edward. Making the first mistake in the intelligence book! Just like my little Elysia accidentally saying fuck while pointing at a duck! Although that one's probably your fault.

Ed was torn between being genuinely horrified by that imagining and feeling sad that it would never come to pass. Ed wouldn't do anything for Hughes to be alive to embarrass him. Not after the fact – he'd more than learned that lesson the hard way - but still. If only he’d had a bit of warning, Ed would have done just about anything to save him.

Well. Ed was going to put that lovely bit of emotional damage back into the pit of things he tried not to explore! Still, he took Hughes's phantom advice anyway and ate his second plate slowly. Gave himself a third, took his time on that one too.

Pomona laughed at him when he portioned out that third refill. Professor McGonagall barely managed to contain a smile. Snape just sneered. Slughorn, thankfully, typically took breakfast in his quarters. Dumbledore, notably, was absent too.

Slughorn just liked his leisure. But the headmaster, Ed wondered just why the headmaster was missing so many meals. From what he was hearing bandied about the staff room, it was very unlike him. And if the Headmaster was losing it enough that his staff was worried about him, then the problem was most likely spiraling out of control.

He could see, almost plainly, worry etched in the lines of Snape's face. It was different than the worry in the faces of Ed's other coworkers, and so Ed had the inescapable feeling that Snape knew more about what was going on than the others did.

More, and therefore knew definitively that it was serious.

He tried not to think about it – he didn't want to look pensive any more than he wanted to look rushed. He was halfway through a bite of toast when Professor Flitwick idly brought up something Ed had completely forgotten about. "Anyone have any thoughts on when we should do the professor's duel?"

Shit. "I haven't sought about it much," said Ed. "Wis getting settled into classes." 

Professor McGonagall didn't snort, but Ed could sense that she felt like snorting.

"I'm quite interested to see how young Ed does against the rest of the staff," said Professor Sprout. "So young, and a muggle besides!" She didn't mean anything besides matronly concern by it, but Ed felt his hackles rise anyway.

"Saturday," he said. "Let's do it Saturday." There was a general consensus.

When Ed finally managed to escape the Great Hall, knowing that Hughes would approve of the amount of time Ed took to do it, he stole away to his classroom as quickly as an illusion of leisure would allow.

He pulled his brother's letter out of the inside pocket of his long red coat and allowed himself to look past its recipe-code once more. In his classroom, waiting for the children to arrive, he had time to read. As he read, a few things became clearer than Ed might have wanted to. He'd noticed the Old Man's shriveled and burnt hand before, but as an amputee himself, Ed didn't think much of a mostly missing hand beyond empathizing. Knowing that it was cursed, oxidizing away as though subjected to a very slow fire was a new level of horrifying.

Dumbledore could die from this curse, and Alphonse – precious Alphonse – had volunteered to try and save his life through the little Alkahestry he'd managed to learn from Mei. Ed's memory flashed to the moment when he'd successfully drawn on his own life-force as a philosopher's stone to heal himself. He knew, logically, that Alkahestry ran off something different. In fact, Alkahestrists tended to live well into old age when not assassinated.

Ed had to trust that Al's healing was not the one that Dr. Marcoh knew. That Mei had taught Al a sort of healing that Ed had never learned. That Alphonse wouldn't end up killing himself to heal an old man.

Ed could trust that. Ed trusted his brother. Even when he trusted nobody else, Ed trusted Al. It was written in the very story of who they were. Two brothers who traveled the tortured road together. It was the sort of story that was told time and time again, and Ed had followed the path exactingly. Hadn't he?

He carefully refolded Al's letter. There was no use questioning Al's chosen course of action. Not if Ed was going to trust him. Maybe Ed was the older brother, but Alphonse was as grown as Ed had ever been when he was trying to make difficult and impossible decisions.

Forcing his breathing to slow, Ed pulled up the various equations that applied to oxidation reactions. In his mind, he could see the equations glow up blue. The question, then, was how to reverse an oxidation reaction. He knew how to deprive one – he knew how to take the oxygen out of a space. That was a simple and surefire way to stop a fire. But would it mean anything in the case of a fire fueled primarily by magic? Or would it only stall an eventual explosion as the curse tried to continue its course?

Who knew shit about magical curses? Certainly not Ed. But Ed prided himself on his ability to turn to specialists when he did not know the answer to a question – a detrimental lack of humility had never been Ed's problem. Maybe he didn't know how to ask for help he hadn't earned, but at least he'd always been able to admit when he didn't know something.

Ed resolved to write every magical mind he knew – starting with the eccentric brilliance of Ollivander and ending with the practical common sense of Molly Weasley. Granger was somewhere in the middle of the list – she might only be a student, but she had a decent mind. And sometimes inexperience meant good and unexpected solutions. Somebody would know something about breaking a curse.

Time moved quickly after that. Between desperately trying to make coherent sense of Pandora Lovegood's journals and writing everyone and their mother about Dumbledore's condition (in general terms, Ed knew better than to tell everyone under the sun that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was dying in specific words. Again, Hughes would laugh at him for being that unsubtle).

For himself, he took his supposedly infinite knowledge of alchemy, began starting fires and putting them out. The first few times, he used the oxygen deprivation method. It was a classic – well-loved and easy to do.

And then he started trying to reverse equations. That was harder, because matter didn't naturally want to unburn itself. Alchemy was always easiest when applied as an accelerant and at its most difficult when used to thwart natural processes. Ed decided that was the strong suit of the curse that had been placed on Dumbledore's hand – it went seamlessly with nature. Burning was a thing that happened whenever there was a trigger and energy and oxygen to spare. (Well. Tell that to paper, it was slowly burning all the time with hardly any trigger at all.)

Turning that back on itself, perhaps even reversing it if they wanted to give Dumbledore as complete a hand as possible, was going to be a real feat of alchemical and alkahestral skill.

Granger responded first, unsurprising given both her cocky attitude and proximity. Ed was pleasantly surprised to find that she'd included several disclaimers and encouraged him to seek out actual experts. That was surprisingly humble of her. Ed took her proposed solutions seriously and incorporated them into his math. It didn't equate as neatly as he'd like, but there was a certain logical symmetry to her solutions that he enjoyed.

Ollivander responded next – he was surprisingly irate about the whole thing. And yes, maybe Ed should have tried to write him personally at his safe-house before immediately asking for help. But Ed knew that if he were in Ollivander's situation, he'd be scratching at the walls for something intellectually stimulating to do. If anything, coming to the old wandmaker with a serious question for pondering was thoughtful and considerate!

Even so, Ollivander's response contained a few playfully backhanded comments and his analysis of the situation was laced with mild vexation at both Ed and Dumbledore.

Young Alphonse thought to write me, Edward. But you only contact me for the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Typical. He likes to put me on impossible tasks, too.

Ed didn't want to accept that Ollivander's complaint was valid, so he looked past the bitter commentary to the meat of the message. Ollivander's thoughts on the subject were probably some of the better thoughts that Ed was going to get. He made a note to send his friend a few complicated and utterly unrelated alchemical problems as a thank you. He was sure it would be appreciated.

Even despite Ollivander's elegant solutions, Ed waited on more responses before having an official conference with Al about his findings. While being brothers gave them the perfect cover story for conspiracy, they were both supposed to be utterly consumed by other projects. Assimilation. Homework. Grading. And so on. Ed really wasn't giving enough attention to his alchemy students, his "Gym Club" felt neglected too.

Ginny was the only student seriously pushing for instruction in the later, and Ed would argue to his grave that offering one session of optional office hours a week was enough for his alchemy students to come seek him if they wanted to.

But they mostly didn't want to. He got the occasional visit from Malfoy, asking about whatever chemistry concept he was hopelessly behind on. He got the occasional visit from Granger, who would want to know about certain compounds and their runic equivalents. A few of the steadier Hufflepuffs came in with questions about anything and everything. He saw neither hide nor hair of a Ravenclaw, and he had a funny feeling that he wouldn't. Not until exam time, when they would come en masse to argue about their grades.

Ed knew that both Alphonse and that weird Luna girl were Ravenclaws, but he'd developed the impression that many Ravenclaws valued the appearance of being smart over the knowledge itself. He thought they'd probably argue with that assessment, but honestly how many of them worked at furthering their knowledge? How many of them trained their bodies to support their minds?

Just Al and Luna, probably. He wanted to see some drive from the house of wisdom, damn it!

The final letter he received was from Molly Weasley, and he was shocked to find that it had the most practical solution of all:

Dear Ed,

I believe you met my eldest, Bill, over summer. He's a very talented curse breaker, been sent all over the world for his job with Gringotts. He's working at the London branch for the moment – if you address an owl to Bill Weasley, I think you'll be able to reach him.

Love,

Molly Weasley

P.S. Thank you for being vague about what you're up to – I think I might worry, otherwise.

Ed ignored the passive-aggressive postscript. She had sent him the name of an actual professional in the field! He was angry with the Weasley matron for all sorts of reasons, but just for this? She'd redeemed herself more than a little. He sent a letter to Bill Weasley that very afternoon.

September was truly almost over – only the teacher tournament left in the month. But he was close to having a working equation. After getting input from this child-of-the-red-hair, Ed would be able to take his work to Al. They'd compare notes and synthesize. That was the greatest point to working separately and then coming together. They had the space they needed to get wacky and creative before falling back on the steadiness of their combined genius.

Chapter Text

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 didn'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, though. 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 unknowns. 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 in any case, 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 his Headmaster Dumbass related reasons for practicing. 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, because Ling was a dumbass ) would want to learn new styles from the best.

When they finished, as Al gently placed the last blade of grass in its rightful spot, Pomona Sprout would appear from nothing to beam at them both, and the morning spar would be over. Ed exiled himself 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, arranging a large floating 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 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 despite whatever goodwill that warranted, 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 in was considerably more regimented than his usual fights, but he still laughed under his breath as he complied. 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 was what happened when Ed got 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, 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 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.

Chapter Text

Alphonse really did like Professor McGonagall. He did. But as he lifted Ed-the-golden-kitten from the grass, he wanted to shout at her. He snuggled Ed to his chest, closed his eyes against the visions of a little dog-girl. The warmth of Ed's fur did nothing to stop his stomach from sinking.

"Transfiguring humans is one of the oldest arts known to witches," said McGonagall. "As your Professor, I believe I know what I'm doing. Especially as he is not a student, and we were facing each other in a dueling context."

Al clutched Ed a little tighter, trying to cover as much of Ed’s kitten body with the bulk of his upper arm as possible. He noticed that one of the hind legs was grey. Al wondered if McGonagall had remembered to take it into account during the transfiguration, wondered if it even mattered at all. Al had mentioned that the Truth had taken Ed's leg during their conversation after Berlin, but they hadn't dwelled on it. And McGonagall had taken in so very much information that day. He wouldn't blame her for missing it.

Kitten-Ed pressed his head into Alphonse's neck, curling into the security of his hold. Oh dear. Al opened his eyes. "Your credentials aren't zee point," he said, attempting to keep his voice low and even. "In Alchemy, zis sort of transfiguration is impossible. And when alchemists use certain work arounds to make it happen, it is always an abomination. Did you even stop to sink about how zis might be traumatizing for an Alchemist?"

There was a pause, where McGonagall failed to pick up Al's meaning. Shoot. Al lowered his voice to a hiss, eyes darting at the onlookers. "Especially one ov our specialty?"

She paled, clearly remembering that conversation about alchemical taboos. It was close enough to the truth. Their own experimentation with human transmutation might not have been the source of this particular trauma, but they likely would not have ever met Nina and Alexander if their research interests hadn't put them directly in Shou Tucker's path.

She looked at Ed, who had calmed in Al's arms. She swore. Alphonse raised an eyebrow. McGonagall waved a hand at him. "I'll change him back," she said. "If you'll put him on the grass, Mr. Elric."

Alphonse set Ed down carefully and watched as the kitten stretched out each flesh leg with mild bemusement. For a moment, Ed seemed secure in himself, but the instant McGonagall's wand trained itself on him, he bolted. "Oh no," said Al.

McGonagall swore again. In a flash, Alphonse was chasing the little golden streak high tailing it for the castle. McGonagall followed, keeping up with relative ease despite her advanced age. Alphonse glanced at her over his shoulder, impressed despite himself.

"Endurance spell," she said, right when Al was going to say something about it.

"Right," he said. "Probably for zee best. It's very impressive." Al trained his eyes back forward, trying to follow what scant glimpses of yellow fur he could see through the grass. Ed was fast. It was not long before Al failed to sight him at all. "I sink we've lost him," he said, slowing to a walk.

"So we have," said Professor McGonagall, slowing herself, a scowl overwriting her features. "Might he be headed to his office?"

It wasn't a bad thought – Ed had made a home more out of his office than he had his sleeping quarters. "Possibly," said Alphonse. But Alphonse knew where he'd go if he was feeling vulnerable - he would follow the traces of the safest person in the world. "But I bet he's in Ravenclaw tower. Most of zee cats in zee castle end up in my bed eventually."

McGonagall looked at him quizzically. "Is that so?"

Alphonse shrugged. "Cats like me. I like zem. In zat respect, it's a blessing you turned Ed into a cat over anysing else. Hopefully his cat self will trust me as much as his human self does."

McGonagall seemed to accept that, and cast her gaze about the Hogwarts green, looking grand and stately as anything. Alphonse followed her eye-line, and when it was clear that the bustle of the Tournament had not followed them towards the castle, she said, "Do you mind sharing your experiences with animal-human transmutation?"

Al didn't miss the guarded look in her eyes. He should have known that she'd catch his mild half-truth. He sighed, closed his eyes, said, "It wasn't us, if zat's what you're asking. We didn't perform any creepy experiments on people or animals."

McGonagall did not seem assuaged. The steel in her eyes was directed at him, doubtlessly reevaluating his threat level. Again. "Would you mind sharing who did?"

Alphonse gestured toward the castle, and the two of them resumed walking as he contemplated his answer, swallowing back intrusive images of Nina and Alexander. They'd gone through the great double doors before he'd found his words. "One ov Ed's co-workers," he said. "He cracked under zee pressure ov his research. In desperation, he turned to his daughter and zee family dog. We'd been studying wiz him in zee days leading up to it – Nina and Alexander just loved Ed. He has a soft spot for young children. And dogs love him, even zough he's a little afraid of zee big ones."

McGonagall paled further than she had on the tournament pitch. Alphonse could see her hands flying up, probably to tell him he could stop, but now that the basic facts were out, he just couldn't. His voice cracked high, and the words would not stop. "We tried to put zem back. We tried so hard. But no matter vhat variables vee looked at, vee just couldn't. Vee didn't even know vhere zee extra material went. She vas in so much pain, Professor, but vee couldn't justify zee risk ov trying to improve her circumstances."

McGonagall did not say a word as Alphonse paused. Their stride through the Great Hall to the hallways beyond did not falter. How to explain Scar? Alphonse wasn't sure he had the words, but he stopped searching for the right ones. "An anti-alchemy – how do you say, vigilante? - vigilante killed her father shortly after," Al said. "He put Nina and Alexander out of zeir misery too. Later, after he tried to kill Ed a few times, when vee were oversrowing zee government, and our interests aligned, Mei convinced me to work vis him. I didn't know whether to sank him or hit him. She should haff lived, but what kind of life would it haff been? In pain and guarded as a government secret? I knew ozer chilmeras who managed to adjust to zeir new life better, later. But zey vere more skillfully combined zan Nina vas. 

"I know transfiguration is different. I really do. But seeing Ed as an animal – I just can't. And I know Ed is as traumatized about zis as I am. So please. Never do zat again."

"I won't," said McGonagall. She tentatively reached out a hand. Alphonse could not quite help his flinch. She pulled back immediately, but Al shook his head.

"It's okay," he said. He wanted it to be okay, even if it wasn't. At his reassurance, she hesitantly placed her hand on Al's shoulder. And yes, the touch was jarring, but after the initial moment of contact it wasn't awful. Al tried to relax into it, managed to release a breath of tension and bottled frustration. He looked at his professor, began walking again. "Let's go find Bruder."

"Right," said McGonagall. She gave Alphonse a serious look, and oh no he did not like the weight behind it. "What do you know of Animagi?"

Alphonse didn't stop walking, but he knew his shoulders stiffened, knew that Professor McGonagall could plainly see the tension return to his body. "Zey're wizards who can turn into animals at will," he said, voice quiet. He didn't know much more he could take of human-animal transformation shenanigans.

"I am a cat Animagus," said Professor McGonagall, matching pace as Alphonse began to quicken. "Would it be too much if I transformed to find him?"

Nina was a sore spot for Alphonse, but he thought of Zampano and he thought of Jerso and he knew that he'd done somewhat more work to get over Nina than Ed had. His close association with other chimeras had demanded it. Besides, ready or not, Al appreciated her asking first. "Go ahead," he said. "If you think it'll help. Just, once we find Ed? Leave zee room before changing back." It wouldn't do to startle him into running again.

Professor McGonagall nodded, and without another word seemed to slide downwards. It was dizzying, but only for a moment. Suddenly, at Alphonse's feet, stood a proud looking grey tabby with spectacle markings around her eyes. Her form was ordinary. Healthy. She looked up at him, gently butted her head against his calf. Alphonse crouched to her eye level and extended a hand. She sniffed it delicately, and Al wondered if she was smelling for him or smelling for traces of Ed.

McGonagall tilted her head, took several steps back, sniffed at the air. Smelling for Ed, then, Alphonse decided, and took off after her as she began walking determinedly forward. He was not surprised when she took them up the moving staircases and toward Ravenclaw tower. Al did know his brother.

They found Ed upright and antsy, fur bristling, on Al's bed. He was circling around Eve with careful paws. To her credit, Eve was not moved. She sat in Al's blankets cleaning herself contentedly. She watched Ed with mild interest, but very little alarm.

McGonagall leaped up from the floor to join them, gently brushed shoulder to shoulder against Ed, touched noses with Eve. Ed sniffed her, and his tail bristled. He took several steps back. Even translated onto a cat's face, Al knew all of Ed's expressions. "It's okay, Ed," he said in quiet Amestrian. "You're safe, and believe it or not, Professor McGonagall is fine too."

Ed jumped from the bed, and for a moment Al braced himself for another mad dash across the castle. But no. Ed stopped at Al's face, looked up at him with his brilliant golden eyes, and mewled piteously. Al knelt, gently scooped up his brother, and placed a gentle kiss between his ears. He hummed deep in his chest, the closest thing a human could approximate to a purr, and felt Ed's muscles begin to relax. Oh, good , Al thought.

"If you'd step into zee hall, Professor," said Al. "I sink you can change back."

Professor McGonagall looked up from her inspection of Eve with an irritated flick of her tail and Ed tensed all over again, but Al clutched at him a little harder. He was not in the mood to chase him again. He wanted this to be over. Al gave the Professor a hard look. After a moment, she nodded and jumped off the bed with all the grace she typically embodied as a human. She trotted off through the cat flap in the dormitory door. There was a moment's quiet.

That quiet was over when the door swung open properly and she strode through it human, emerald robes billowing about her. Ed wiggled at the sight of her, but Al's grip was firm. These wizards, honestly . Al clutched Ed just a little harder. It was more to prevent himself from self-consciously adjusting his pointed black hat than it was to keep Ed from escaping, though. Al knew how to hold an antsy cat. Professor McGonagall's lips twitched. Shoot. Al knew she hadn't missed his impulse.

Al nodded at her, and in a flash her wand was flicking in Ed's direction. Al held onto him as he grew, shifted his hands to hold Ed's shoulders when they became identifiable. Al hadn't noticed that kitten!Ed had turned something in his heart hard until this very moment, when it softened again in sheer relief.

"What the actual fuck," said Ed in Amestrian, spitting angrily. "Why the fuck do wizards think they can just do that to people?!"

When it became clear that he wasn't going to run away again, Al let go of his shoulders. He hugged him instead. "I thought I was handling this," he said, also in their native language. "But Brother, it is so good to see you human again."

"You're telling me," said Ed. He returned Al's hug. Goodness was Al glad to focus on human contact. Ed's familiar red jacket was soft under his hands, his human hair tickled Al's nose. His human size, smaller than Al but so very much larger than a kitten, was a reassuring weight against Al's chest. For the first moment since Professor McGonagall had won the duel, Alphonse knew certainly that he wasn't looking at Nina and Alexander.

It was a long moment before Alphonse abruptly remembered that Professor McGonagall was still in the room. He straightened Ed's red coat and let go of him. "It's good to see him back," he said in English.

"Don't do zat again," said Ed. "Zat was fucked up." His voice was oddly calm, and Al wondered how much of it was shock. Wondered if he'd rage later, before a crowd of students in the Great Hall or privately in his quarters.

"It was," said Professor McGonagall. "I sincerely apologize. I should have remembered certain aspects of our post-Berlin discussion."

Al could feel Ed soften at that, could see it in his face, too. "Right," said Ed. "Remember zat for next time."

Al looked at his shoes, not quite ready to be so forgiving. Ed experienced being transformed into a cat, but it was Alphonse who had seen his brother turn. It was Alphonse who'd had to compare his brother to poor Nina and Alexander. He swallowed. Don't let it fester, he told himself. That won't do anybody any good . So, he looked up from his shoes and locked eyes with his transfiguration professor. He said, quite honestly, "It scared me, Professor. You scared me."

Professor McGonagall's mouth tightened. "I know," she said. "And I promise, outside of necessary class material, I won't be transfiguring anyone else in front of you."

That was probably the best Al was going to get. "Sanks," he said, accepting it. He let himself feel the wave of nausea that came with that acceptance. Felt it, acknowledged it. At least he'd said his peace. They were going into October, and October was hard. Especially for Ed. He wasn't going to foster a grudge against a professor he liked. Not when he needed to be there for Ed, not when he needed to focus on his own healing, too.

Professor McGonagall fixed him with a hard stare. "Both your Head of House and Madame Pomfrey are always available to talk, should you need to," she said. There was a beat. "I am also available but understand that I might be too close to the situation for comfort. I encourage you both to avail yourselves of any services you might need. Madame Pomfrey, especially, has always been discreet."

Al nodded, but found himself unable to hold her gaze. He sat down on his bed and put Eve on his lap instead of addressing any of that. He felt Ed's weight settle beside him, heard Ed mutter out an English pleasantry, heard Professor McGonagall sweep from the Ravenclaw dorm, accompanied by the steady click of her high heels.

Al felt Ed's arm settle over his shoulders, felt Eve push her head comfortingly into his stomach. Alphonse held his cat a little closer, turned his head into Ed's armpit, and for the first time since he'd almost killed Voldemort, Alphonse cried. He couldn't be sure, but he thought Ed might have too.

Chapter Text

After the tournament, and after his unfortunate stint as a cat on the last Saturday of September, Ed compartmentalized. He threw himself into work, threw himself into running calculations about Dumbledore's hand with Alphonse.

"You look like death," said Snape at the breakfast table on Monday morning. Ed could not tell if the remark was entirely caustic or coming from a place of concern. Greasy's voice stayed firmly on the line: it could be either and nobody could tell for sure.

Ed glared as he buttered his toast. "Zat's rich, coming from you."

Snape snarled at him, and Ed took a bite of toast to 1) save himself from the conversation and 2) project an air of being supremely unconcerned. Who cared if Ed had spent the rest of the weekend hunched over his notes with Alphonse and exchanging letters with Ollivander? Ed didn't need sleep, not as long as he had research to fill the gap!

But as the day wore on, he realized that Snape might have had a point. Ed's research might not suffer from sleep deprivation, but his teaching did. He was short tempered, snappish, and impatient. Students in his first class quickly stopped asking him any questions at all, and Ed had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't because they understood the material. After about half an hour of their non-responses, he threw up his hands. "Have a study hall today! We'll try again on Wednesday."

He declared study halls before even trying to teach his other classes. Even the fifth-year section was a bust, because Al, who might ordinarily help, looked worse than Ed did. He couldn't blame him – he tried, briefly, to put himself in Al's shoes. He tried to imagine Al turning into a cat, tried to imagine having to watch it. But try as he might, Ed's mind resolutely shied away from making the picture vivid. Secretly, Ed was grateful. Being a cat was awful and disorienting, but he'd rather turn into a cat any day than watch Al do it.

Ed noticed that Al didn't pull out any schoolwork during that impromptu study hall. Instead, he buried himself in another book of Pandora Lovegood's notes. Ed watched Al scribble furiously in his alchemist's notebook for just a moment before shrugging. He turned his attention to his latest exchange with Ollivander, talking about the properties of Oxygen, and the properties of the spells that most frequently manipulated it. Alphonse wasn't the first Elric to bury his problems in research. It's as good a coping mechanism as any , Ed decided.

By Monday evening, Ed was finally exhausted enough for a real sleep. His body settled into deep blackness, floated there. There were no dreams, no sounds, not even the sideways sensation of the body's real location, of the pillow pressed to his cheek. That fabled black sleep, of course, could not last.

Bill Weasley responded to Ed's letter about Dumbledore's cursed hand during the wee hours Tuesday, October 1st. Ed had been expecting a response from Bill. Ed had been salivating over the very idea of Bill's letter. His correspondence with Ollivander, while interesting, didn't seem to be going anywhere active. Ed wanted movement , and he wanted it in the form of Bill Weasley's letter.

But Bill Weasley didn't send him a letter. Instead, a sharp knock sounded on Ed's bedroom door, pulling him violently from the deepest sleep he'd had in days. He rolled to avoid whatever assailant might be waiting in the dark, rolled straight out of bed and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. He was just lucky that he'd rolled to the left, automail leg falling under him instead of on top of him.

After blinking into awareness and realizing that he was alone and safe in his teacher's quarters, Ed called, "Who's there?"

"Huh?" said the person on the other side of the door, "Oh, German. Duh. It's Bill Weasley! Molly's son, the curse breaker?"

Ed picked his pocket watch off his end table, flipped it open. It was three in the morning. Searching for his English, he said. "It's zee middle of zee night! Why are you here now?"

"You said something about discretion?"

"Zee middle of zee night is not discretion!" Ed said. "Quieter halls mean people are more likely to notice you!" How stupid are these damn wizards?

But the only real-life curse breaker Ed could find was waiting in the hall and Ed wasn't going to waste that opportunity, discretion be damned. Ed went to his pile of clothes and dressed before shuffling sleepily to the door. "Vat was your first job?"

Bill smiled. "I was hired by a ward manufacturing company right out of Hogwarts. Applied to Gringotts two years later, was accepted."

Ed yawned, said, "Correct answer." He opened the door the rest of the way, gestured the eldest of the Brood of the Red Hair into his small sitting room. His design choices were modeled mostly after Teacher's preferences. A clean wooden table, a couple of hard but serviceable wooden chairs. Shoved below the window (which somehow looked out on the grounds despite the room being in the middle of the castle), was a cluttered desk.

It did not occur to Ed to be embarrassed, and Bill certainly didn't seem to have an opinion. Ed gestured at a chair; Bill took it. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"I sought you were just going to write me back," said Ed, sitting himself.

Bill shook his head. "Not secure enough. I figured we could talk with more detail and in plainer speech if we just met in person. I wasn't sure what questions would lead me into classified territory."

Man. Stupid preference for the night aside, maybe he wasn't horribly indiscreet. Hughes would love this guy. "Alright, zis brings some problems, zough, because my little brozer is zee wizard among us, and he's also zee alkahestrist. I'm helping out wiz zee math, but Al is zee one who's examined Dumbledore himself and zee one who'll be undoing zee curse."

Bill Weasley blinked. "Dumbledore? He's the one with he cursed hand?" Ed nodded, and after a moment Bill managed to collect himself. He shook his head. "Absolutely not. On Dumbledore? I'll be the one to undo it. Your brother can hop in when I've got the curse lifted to heal the damage."

There was something else about the process that Eldest Red Child wasn't saying, but Ed wasn't going to call him on it now. He figured that if it was important, then it was something Bill wanted to run by Alphonse first. And if it wasn't important, then Bill had simply decided that Ed did not need to know.

He wasn't sure how much he liked that second scenario, because who was this man to decide what was important for Ed to know and what wasn't? But Al was determined to help the Old Man. And Dumbledore aside, Ed wanted to see how the equations were going to work out! Ed wasn't going to antagonize the person most able to meet those goals.

Much.

Ed raised a mocking eyebrow, "Yes, because you're skilled enough at alkahestry to know how to work alongside it."

Bill did not take the bait. "Remind me to tell you about Egypt sometime – lots of unfamiliar magic thereabouts. I won't say I know anything about alchemy or this alkahestry stuff, but I know how to improvise." The smile he flashed ranked among the most charming Ed had ever seen.

Smiling back was utterly involuntary. Ed still wanted to be angry about being woken in the middle of the night. He still wanted to be angry about his own limited capacity to act. There was a part of him that wanted to shake Bill until he gave him real answers. Instead, he said, "Fair enough." Good improvisation could take an alchemist a long way. Ed decided that stood for wizards, too.

"Where is this alkahestrist brother of yours?" asked Bill. "The two of you were attached at the hip when Fleur and I visited home."

"At zis time of night? Ravenclaw Tower," Ed said.

Bill frowned. "I would've put him in Hufflepuff before anything."

Ed couldn't argue with that – what little he'd learned about the houses suggested that Al's core values aligned very closely with that of Hufflepuff's Founder. But both he and Al were trying to move on from who they'd been in the years following their attempt at human transmutation. Those changes were a conscious choice . Ed would bet money that Al had engineered his sorting to line up with his current goals, more than his fundamental self.

That was probably too much information to throw at this almost-stranger, though. So instead, he said, "He just wants zis next part of his life to be about learning, I sink."

That did sum it up. Bill gave out a soft breath that fell somewhere between laughter and disbelief, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that told Ed that Bill knew exactly what he meant.

"So, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish zis late?"

"I'd like to get a look at the curse – Dumbledore's hand, I guess – before conferring with your brother's notes," said Bill. "The headmaster tends to run a little nocturnal, and I didn’t need to know that he was the one who was cursed to guess that he was involved, so I sent him an owl. With any luck, he'll be expecting us."

Ed blinked. Come to think of it, Dumbledore had dropped Harry off at the Den of Red Hair in the small hours of the morning. But one night doesn't necessarily indicate a pattern. He appraised Bill, said, "Really?"

Bill nodded, looking a little exasperated. "He also loves to hold unexpected meetings in the middle of the night. I figured turnabout is fair play."

Ed admired the gumption, just a little. Inconveniencing Dumbledore, even knowing that the old man was dying, brought him just a little joy. The Headmaster's odd balancing act of blatant manipulation and true sincerity got on Ed's nerves. He laughed.

"Zen let's go," Ed said. "Surprise late-night meetings haff always worked for me!"

Bill looked almost as amused as Ed felt, and Ed wasn't sure exactly how condescending that amusement was. Then he decided he didn't care, stood from his chair, extended a hand to Bill. Bill took it, and as he pulled him up, Ed managed to find enough camaraderie to run with.

Unlike other hasty trips to Dumbledore's office, this one wasn't rushed. It certainly wasn't the flustered hurry of a gang of children trying desperately to make a deadline. Ed and Bill had time to chat. Bill traded a story about his old supervisor at the Egyptian branch of Gringotts for an anecdote about Juna at Humboldt-Universität’s Nord Branch Library.

They laughed raucously about goblin-wizard relations, loud enough for a portrait to shout angrily after them about disturbing his sleep, but under the laughter was valuable information about a potentially dangerous political situation. Ed took Bill's information to heart, and he could see Bill do the same. Ed could quite plainly envision someone like Granger getting very angry about their good humor on the subject – but sometimes serious topics were best handled with a light brush.

Humor was the best way to trade important information without tipping off outsiders.

Ed was tired, but by the time they made it to the Old Man's office, his spirits were running higher than they'd run in weeks. Maybe he'd made something of an ally in the oldest child of the Brood of Red Hair. Someone Ed could add to the list of people he would actually miss back in Amestris. Nyorok, Ollivander, Bill Weasley.

He realized, as he gave the password to Dumbledore's gargoyle, that he hadn't thought of the cat incident once since waking up. Ed shivered, but led Bill up the spiral staircase without dwelling on it. This conversation might lead to math! Much more important than old trauma.

At the top of the stairs, Dumbledore's door swung wide with a wave of Bill's wand. Somehow, Ed was surprised to find it empty. He'd fully expected to see the Old Man looking pretentious in his throne-like office chair.

Well. It was three in the morning. Ed looked around the room, decided that someone ought to be sitting in the pretentious office chair. He sat in it cautiously, half expecting a trap. Bill snorted, and Ed leaned his head against the gold-wrought neck rest. "We might be waiting here till morning," he said. "Might as well get comfortable."

Bill grinned, shook his head, turned his attention to something on the wall.

"Hey," said Bill when his eye alighted on whatever he was looking for. "Phineas Nigellus! Wake up!"

There was a grumble from behind Ed. Ed turned in the Headmaster's (surprisingly soft) throne-chair. A row of portraits that Ed had somehow never really noticed sat neatly on the wall above and behind the desk. Most of them looked to be asleep.

"Why portraits?" said Ed. And damn it, he was frustrated. He'd just been turned into a fucking cat – was it too much to ask for time to process that? Piling on this whole sentient-and-trapped-in-an-object bullshit was just too much. He'd not spent much time talking to the portraits since arriving at this awful magic castle, but Al had reported in. Al had reported about them quiet and subdued, even before the cat incident, and Ed had found himself immediately ready for murder.

There was a discontented grumble from the indicated portrait. "That's Headmaster Black, to you."

Ed did not turn his attention away from 'Headmaster Black,' but he could hear Bill let out a sigh behind him. "I've spent all together too much time with your other portrait, so I think I'm allowed to use your first name, Phineas," said Bill.

"Would you prefer Lord Black?" said the portrait, with a disapproving frown. "Those are your options. Anything else and I certainly won't be helping you."

"Headmaster Black, then," said Bill, throwing up his hands. "Would you go get Professor Dumbledore for me?"

"Why should I interrupt the Headmaster's slumber?"

"It's important," said Bill. Bill seemed like an easy-going guy, but an edge of annoyance was creeping into his voice. The part of Ed that wasn't horrified-ly staring at the line of trapped sentient people wanted to look back at Bill and laugh at him.

The portrait – person? – narrowed his eyes. "It's on your head if it isn't."

"Yup!" said Bill. "I can accept that."

With a final roll of his eyes, Headmaster Black walked out of his frame and into the next one, and then the next one, murmuring pleasantries to his fellow portraits. He finally disappeared entirely after passing through a painting near an unobtrusive door wedged into the corner. Ed was rather alarmed to realize that he hadn't noticed the door before.

Goddamn this magic shit. Ed was brilliant at situational awareness!

Ed looked at Bill but did not say anything before returning his attention to that unobtrusive door. Now that he knew that it was there, he wasn't going to let it out of his sight. It did not take long for it to open on near-silent hinges.

"Mr. Weasley," said Old Man Dumbledore as he appeared around the door frame. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you and Professor Elric in my office at three in the morning."

Ed grinned, knew instinctively that Bill grinned too. "I was stuck in a vault at Gringotts," he said. "I'd planned to swing by after work today, and I only managed to get myself out about an hour ago. I did send an owl."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, shuffling carefully from the nondescript door to his chambers to the desk. "I must have missed it. Would you mind relinquishing my seat, Professor Elric?"

"Zee chair is surprisingly comfortable. I'm staying right where I am." said Ed. "Summon one, like zee conservation-flouting abominations you wizards are."

Dumbledore sighed mournfully, as though the chair was the deepest inconvenience of the whole experience. "But my chair is so very comfortable."

Ed was unmoved, and the Old Man waved his pale wand through the air reluctantly. Two chintz armchairs settled on the far side of the desk. Bill took the implicit invitation, sighed deeply as he settled into the plush. "It's been a long day."

"I can quite imagine," Dumbledore said. "How does such a talented curse breaker get stuck in a vault, may I ask?"

"Happens to the best of us," said Bill cheerfully. "I count it as a win whenever I manage to get out before starving to death. So far? All wins!"

Dumbledore finally settled into his own chintz armchair, tugged thoughtfully at his beard. "I suppose that's one way to look at it. Now. I don't suppose you'll tell my why you've come?"

"Alphonse wanted to call in expert opinions," said Ed, watched as the Old Man's expression shuttered.

"I was very clear that I am content with my lot," said Dumbledore.

Damn Old Man. Given up already. "Yeah, and Alphonse was very clear about why zat's shit," said Ed. "So, we called in experts."

Bill raised a careful hand, interjected. "You know, I'd also like to know the details of why I'm here. I just know I'm here to work with an alkahestrist – whatever that means – to break a curse on you. And that the situation's delicate."

Neither of them bothered to answer him. As they seemed to do so often, the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed to match his closed-off expression. "I don't understand why young Alphonse is bent on solving the unsolvable."

"Yeah," said Ed. "I get zat. But historically, we haff never taken 'no' for an answer, especially when that no would mean someone's death."

"Alright," said Bill. "Both of you stuff it. Are you really dying?"

"Can't it simply be an old man's time?" said Dumbledore. Ed could see him tuck his shriveled hand into his armpit.

"What exactly happened to the hand?" Bill hadn't missed it either. "You look like Fred and George hoping that Mum won't notice their prank supplies even though they're holding them right in front of her."

The Old Man looked offended at that, but he cracked. It didn't take long to walk Bill through the basics, and it struck Ed that even despite his animated talks with Alphonse and his careful examination of the chi-flow diagram, he hadn't actually seen the cursed hand up close yet.

Bill held the hand with a soft reverence. "This is a very clever curse," he said. "Whoever cast it was both inventive and malicious."

"I imagine you are quite familiar with inventive curses designed to protect objects," said Dumbledore.

"What did you try to take, Headmaster?"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid that is immaterial," he said. Bill had a certain reverence for the curse, but Ed watched as his reverence for the man who bore it, already wearing thin, chipped a little more.

"Don't tell the curse breaker what cursed you, eh?" said Bill. "Because that's the best way to break a curse. It was the ring you're wearing, wasn't it?'

"Saving me is already a fool's errand," said Dumbledore. The twinkle in his eyes had been restored, and that twinkle seemed focused and dangerous. "If I had my say, you would not be here at all."

"If you had your say," said Ed, "You'd be dead by Spring."

The Old Man looked away, stayed resolute. "If you insist, you may do whatever you can. But the object that cursed me is none of your concern. The curse transferred fully and completely anyway, there is no trace left of it on the object." He didn't even address the ring. Cute.

Bill didn't like it, and he glared at the ring with suspicious eyes, but he accepted the terms. It might have been near dawn, Ed might have been exhausted, but a rational near-scientific conversation with the eldest member of the Brood of the Red Hair was well worth one more sleepless night. Unlike other wizards Ed had met, it turned out that Bill worked with more than just a wand and his 'magical core'. His first order of business, to Ed's confused delight, was to lay the Old Man's burning hand on the desk, etching familiar runes in an almost alchemical circle around it.

"I sought zere weren't any alchemists here," said Ed, because it wasn't quite the alchemy that Ed knew, but what else could it be?

Bill tilted his head, said, "This isn't alchemy, mate."

That piqued Ed's interest. He'd known that magic could use a rune system, but he hadn't realized that there was overlap in those runes. He hadn't gotten around to those readings quite yet, so he sat back and watched with fascination. As the pre-dawn night progressed, Bill would remark on things he'd noticed, asking Ed for his input on the scientific concepts and alkahestry.

"I don't really know how it works," said Ed. "alchemy uses tectonic energy, and I know how to harness zat, I know how it works. But alkahestry apparently uses zis sing called zee Dragon's Pulse, which flows srough all living sings. Alphonse is still in zee beginning of his alkahestral study, but even he can focus in on a person's chi flow and write out a medical assessment in less zan an hour."

Bill jotted something down in his own notebook, a curse breaker's research notebook, said, "I hope I accomplish enough with this tonight that I can link up easily with Al once he's awake and I've had some rest."

He kept busy and quiet after that. Breakfast time in the Great Hall was half done before Bill declared himself done. "There's only so much a parade of wideye potions can do, when you've not slept," he said.

"That is very true, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, still resentful of the examination. "I'm afraid you've found all there is to be found, regardless."

Bill shot him a dour look. "I don't see anything about this hand that means it has to be a death sentence. It would have been easier to remove the curse from the object before it deployed, but."

Ed snickered and both Bill and the Old Man looked at him sharply. "Sorry, sorry. I've just been zere, gotten into crazy shit because I didn't sink out zee consequences." The Old Man did not look amused, but Bill did, so Ed counted it as a win. He continued. "But did I give up when zey blew up in my face? No. And here I am, alive. Zere is no reason you shouldn't live srough your stupid fire curse."

Dumbledore sighed deeply, and Ed knew he was trying to cultivate that faux-wise expression of his and failing. "Young man," he said. "The slow encroach of inevitable death is a different experience than dire fights."

Slow encroach of inevitable death? Asshole. "I've been impaled," said Ed. "Straight srough, by a falling beam. And zen I used my own life force as an amplifier to alchemically close zee wound. Which is why medical alchemy is somewhat taboo, and medical alkahestry isn't."

Bill choked, wrapped an arm protectively around his abdomen. "Merlin, you need therapy." Dumbledore remained mostly impassive, but Ed could see a hint of horror behind the relentless twinkle in his eyes.

"Zat's not my point. I'm fine," said Ed, waving impatiently. "It's fine. My point is zat nobody knew alchemically closing your own impalement vas even possible, but did I give up because zee situation seemed hopeless? No! Sometimes, all you need to do is sink about zee situation a little sideways."

Ed thought he might have shocked the Old Man silent, because Dumbledore did nothing but attempt to hold eye contact. There was something compelling about that eye contact, about that malicious twinkle in his eyes that made Ed want to stay there. Ed scowled at him, directed his eyes forcibly at the floor.

Finally, Dumbledore said, "I do not fear death."

"No shit," said Ed. "For whatever reason you'd rather be dead zan continue heading zis conflict."

The Old Man sat back in his chair, pointedly withdrawing his shriveled hand. He was about to respond when Bill cut in, clearly not prepared to hear that his former Headmaster and Leader of the Light was trying to off himself through complacency. "Alright," said Bill, "I think I've had too many wideye potions. I'm going to bed. Headmaster, can Hogwarts put me up for the night? I'd rather confer with Alphonse later today if possible."

"Of course, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, looking relieved. "You know where the guest quarters are, near where you stayed as Head Boy."

Bill gave a small grin. "I do."

"The one guarded by Angelica the Bountiful is open," Dumbledore said, waving his wand. A piece of parchment materialized in his grasp. He handed it to Bill. "The password is Bertie Bott's."

"Thank you," said Bill. "I'll be back here with Alphonse tonight if everything goes according to plan."

A dark look crossed over Dumbledore's face. "Of course. I will be here."

Bill rose from his chair. Ed did the same, giving Dumbledore's deceptively comfortable throne a fond pat. "Later, Old Man," said Ed, turning to the door and ignoring Bill's incredulous look.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Good day, Professor Elric."

Ed lifted a hand without turning to look at him, did not look back until the door to the office had closed behind him. He didn't like how small Dumbledore suddenly looked in his chintz armchair.

When they were halfway down the stairs, Ed looked at Bill, asked, "Do you haff any extra wideye potions?"

Bill pressed a phial of blue-green liquid into Ed's hand before splitting off towards his guest room. Huh , thought Ed, when he managed to catch the tail end of breakfast feeling rested and alert, never thought there'd be some good things about this magic bullshit.

Chapter Text

It was properly Tuesday, October 1st, a good month into Hermione Granger's sixth year at Hogwarts, when the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor made an abrupt and unsettling return to her radar. Breakfast that morning, she'd decided, was marmalade on a muffin with strong, lightly sweetened, black tea. She took one bite of her food, took one sip of her tea, and unfurled her fresh copy of the Daily Prophet over the Gryffindor table.

Last year, a subscription had been paramount to her information gathering. This year, it's mostly just been depressing. She still dutifully paid the owl that dropped the newspaper into her breakfast plate every morning. And this morning, she was glad she did. Right on the front page, was coverage of Dolores Umbridge speaking on the Wizengamot floor. Hermione looked deliberately away from the newspaper. She took another sip of her tea to reset herself before looking back. Sure enough, Dolores Umbridge paced back and forth across the cover photo, loudly addressing the members of the Wizengamot.

Odd , thought Hermione. She's wearing less pink than I remember. But she supposed that an unexpected encounter with Grawp and a herd of rampaging centaurs might change anyone's fashion sense a little. The demands of physical recovery alone would probably encourage an appreciation of comfort and simplicity. The odder thing was that she was speaking on the Wizengamot floor at all. Last Hermione had checked, Umbridge had only just finished her convalescence at St. Mungo's. And while she had never been formally removed from her role as the minister's Senior Undersecretary, she hadn't been actively on the job since before Fudge had been replaced with Scrimgeour. Her return to work must have been abrupt.

Hermione searched the photograph for clues, tracing the smart lines of Umbridge's charcoal grey pantsuit and tracking the progression of her steps across the floor. Umbridge gestured expansively at her audience, then fixed the camera with a straight stare. Hermione froze at the sudden eye-contact. Umbridge's eyes, never warm, seemed colder than ever.

"She's just an awful woman, Hermione," said Hermione aloud, freeing a hand to wrap around the comforting warmth of her teacup.

"Who is?" Ron said through a mouthful of toast.

"Umbridge," Hermione said. She sent him a reproachful look. "Please swallow your food, Ronald."

"Whoops," said Ron, giving her one last glimpse of his toast before swallowing. "Anyway, what's got you thinking about Umbridge all of a sudden?"

Hermione gestured at the newspaper. "She's working as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister again. She only just got out of hospital."

"Probably wants to get back to her slimy job with slimy people as quickly as possible," said Harry darkly from his seat on the other side of the table. "Can't expel students for defensive magic from a hospital bed, can she?"

Harry knew how to hold a grudge, but Hermione could hardly blame him. "That she can't," she said. "Still, in hospital two weeks ago and already speaking on the floor?"

"Well, what are they trying to get through?" said Ron. Hermione tsked. He was speaking with his mouth full again, but at a certain point that was just Ron.

Deciding to ignore the food in Ron's mouth this time, Hermione checked her newspaper. "A tax bill," she said.

"Thought it might be something about centaurs," said Ron. "I'd get back to work early if it was about what put me in hospital."

"Why taxes?" said Harry.

Hermione felt a certain sense of foreboding. "The article doesn't say," she said. "It's really just a feel-good piece about her return to work."

"Feel-good," Harry grumbled. "Right." He poked at his plate of eggs and, with no small amount of dread lacing his tone, said, "I have a feeling we'll find out eventually." Hermione liked to be rational. She didn't like to bet on her feelings. But Harry's gut? Hermione didn't often bet against that.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, one of the school owls dropped a letter in front of Alphonse. She was a pretty bird. Tawny feathers, appropriate for her species but stunning all the same, opened her face brightly. Al gave the top of her head a little scratch and fed her a bit of bacon before untying the letter from her foot.

It was from Edward. Of course it was. "Can you wait for a response?" Al asked the owl. "It will only take a minute." The owl blinked at him and settled herself more comfortably. "Thanks," said Al.

Al unfurled the bit of parchment, looked up at the teacher's table. Ed was sitting at it, looking shockingly alert for someone who'd apparently spent the entire night working with Bill Weasley. Al wasn't sure whether he wanted to resent him for that. Al hadn't slept well since Saturday's kitten incident. He hadn't crept over to Ed's quarters since the first night, because that had only helped a little. Instead, whenever he woke from another Nina nightmare, he went looking for Eve. Sometimes she was already curled in the crook of his knee, other times she was surveying the Ravenclaw common room. Last night, Al hadn't been able to find her anywhere. He'd managed to fall back asleep in the early morning, and Eve had woken him up by sitting on his face less than thirty minutes later.

Alphonse loved cats. Really, he did.

That's how Alphonse knew he needed to prioritize getting some sleep, because it was only after his moment of reflective griping that he realized the gravity of the situation. An actual curse-breaker was here , evidently taking a nap in the guest chambers. Finally , thought Al. I can get that curse off of Professor Dumbledore. Maybe, with that bit of tension off his shoulders, he'd be able to get a good night's sleep, refocus his attention on what to do with Voldemort's horcruxes.

He turned over Ed's parchment, and wrote back, again in one of their codes. I'll be there, brother. Let's get this done.

The owl, seeming to instinctively know that Al was done writing, stuck out her leg. Al rerolled the note, secured it, and gave the owl one last piece of bacon before she soared back off to the teacher's table. He saw Ed nod. That was enough.

When classes finished for the day – and honestly, Al could not begin to say what they'd covered, he was so distracted – he went immediately up to Dumbledore's office. Ed was already there, and so was the eldest Weasley child, who Al honestly hardly remembered. Fleur had been just so dazzling by contrast, and even a few good months into recovery, Al's brain had still been a little foggy from malnutrition.

He was more handsome than Al remembered. His long red hair was pulled back from his face, emphasizing the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the earring that sat jauntily in one ear. Al blinked. Maybe Bill had only read plain in contrast to his extraordinarily beautiful fiancé. "Nice to meet you again," Al said hastily, realizing he'd been staring a little longer than was probably acceptable. "I hope you and Fleur have been doing well."

Bill grinned. "Mum still can't believe it, but me n' Fleur are doing very well."

Al laughed. He remembered, vaguely, that Mrs. Weasley had disapproved. "Zat's so good to hear!"

More pleasantries were exchanged, where Al was obligated to say that he was well, and that school was interesting and fun. He wasn't lying, not really. Al could see Ed watching the exchange with hopeful eyes; Al shrugged at him helplessly. He could half-lie to Bill, but he wanted his brother to recognize that his mental state was a little more complicated than pleasantries could cover.

Ed grimaced, pulled a blue-green phial from his jacket, and handed to him. Al looked at it, and then at his brother, quizzically. It pinged in his memory – probably one of the early-year potions that Hermione had talked him through over summer. "Wideye potion," Ed said by way of explanation.

Oh . "Sank you, brother," said Al, touched. He downed it in a single gulp, reveled in the sudden feeling of being fresh off an excellent sleep.

"I thought you were gonna drink that," said Bill.

"I did. Sanks, by zee way. Really needed zee boost. I grabbed Al's from Greasy." Ed pulled another phial from his pants pocket, handed it over. "Here's one to replace zee one I drank."

Bill looked mildly uncomfortable at the offer. "Oh, no. It's fine. I'm the one who dragged you out of bed."

"You can't obtain anysing wisout first giving somesing of equal value in return," said Ed. "First law of Alchemy. Please take it."

Bill still looked uncomfortable, but take it, he did. Al wasn't sure how he felt about the whole exchange, but the wideye potion sat comfortably in his system. He felt rested, alert, and ready to face Professor Dumbledore, who so desperately needed help he didn't want to take.

Professor Dumbledore had sat quietly through the conversation. His face looked haggard behind the forced flamboyance and color of his clothing. That hand had to be painful. Poor man, Al thought. We have to get that curse off. We just have to. Alphonse wouldn't stand for letting one of his teachers languish in extended pain. And sure, Professor Dumbledore wasn't Teacher. But the Hogwarts faculty was the closest thing he had, here in this magic world.

"How are you feeling, Headmaster?" Al said, before Ed and Bill could get any more uncomfortable.

"I am as well as can be expected," said Dumbledore, resting his hands on his desk, healthy atop the cursed.

"Zat's good to hear," said Al. "I hope we can make real progress tonight."

"Me too," said Bill. "After I woke up, I went over my notes. I have a few things I'd like to try, with Alphonse on standby."

Alphonse pulled his notebook out of his breast pocket and waved it. "Notes," he said. "I took a lot of notes about his chi flow. It's certainly not what a trained alkahestrist could put together, but we might still see some useful patterns."

Bill pulled out his own notebook and, earlier awkwardness forgotten, Bill, Ed, and Al lined up their respective ideas and began to put together the pieces. It was fascinating, how Bill's magic-flow diagram lined up with Alphonse's chi-flow diagram. The magic worked to inflict the damage, and it lined up neatly with how Dumbledore's chi reacted to it.

Ed took one look at the maps, covered a length of parchment in ink, clapped his hands together, and produced an image that superimposed them on top of each other. Bill whistled, long and low. "That's something," he said. He paused. "Both. The alchemy's something, and so is the way this is interacting."

Sure enough, the connections that Bill and Al had started putting together showed starkly in Ed's composite image. Where magic pushed, chi recoiled. Where chi seemed to gain some ground, the magic waned. And so on did Al's sketch and Bill's twine around each other on Ed's parchment.

Dumbledore leaned over his desk to join them, looking sour. "Impressive work," he said. "I wish I had encountered your alkahestry as a younger man."

Alphonse didn't mention that the only alkahestrists who could have taught that younger Albus were, as far as he knew, across the gate in another universe. But still, there were some alchemists here. Then there must be alkahestrists. Where are they? he wondered. And why is alchemy dying off?

"If zere are any alkahestrists here to teach you, and if I have anysing to say about it, you'll be alive to study it a little," Alphonse said. Professor Dumbledore did not look comforted. Instead, he gave Al a small, sad smile. Al tried to beam at him in response – if the Headmaster wasn't communicating in words, Alphonse had every right to pretend he'd missed the signal. "Anyway. Bill. You mentioned zat zee curse might be trying to function in two layers – would you like to try poking at zee first one? Just poke at it to start, I'll watch how zee chi reacts."

Bill nodded. "Probably best to write out the runes for this sort of thing," he said. "It's delicate. May I, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave them both a long-suffering nod, and Bill took the damaged hand. Alphonse had realized, earlier, that Bill used arrays in his magic that were very much like alchemy. But this was his first time seeing it in action. Instead of chalk, Bill etched his runes on the desktop with the tip of his wand. Still, the surety of his movements was achingly familiar.

"You haff to walk me srough zose runes, Eldest Red Child," said Ed. "I want to see zee results of a real comparison study."

Bill did not even hear him. Al exchanged grins with Ed, who looked delighted to have another research-minded wizard among his acquaintances. While Al had not himself managed to befriend the goblin Nyorok in any real way, he did write Ollivander regularly. On top of the letters, Al had near-nightly escapes into Pandora Lovegood's Laboratory. The group study rooms off the Ravenclaw common room were not quite ideal, but they were convenient.

Al didn't even have to leave his tower to interact with the writings of a scientific mind. Ed, on the other hand, must see his letters from Nyorok and Ollivander as rare gems. It was no wonder that he looked at the runes etched on Professor Dumbledore's desk with wide eyes and a wider smile.

"Alright," said Bill, pulling Al from his thoughts. "I think this is a good starting point. Do your weird chi watching, Alphonse!" Al closed his eyes, listened for the thrum of the Dragon's Pulse. He kept them closed until he could see the threads of life energy and watch them dance. His eyes opened just as Bill tapped the first of his etched runes with his wand. It lit not with a familiar blue, but with a golden brightness instead. Al followed it, watching how chi reacted.

While the magic drawn on the composite diagram forced the Headmaster's chi into tangled knots of retreat, this magic, visible in its brilliance, gave those knots breathing room. Though the magic of the curse itself wasn't visible, Al could quite clearly picture the curse's path in the diagram, imagine where Bill's magic might be eroding it ever so slightly. Where the magic hit brightest, the knots of chi seemed to expand. They weren't untangling at all, but the individual threads became a little easier to parse. This is beautiful , he thought. Bill was focused intently on his task, but quick glances to Ed and Professor Dumbledore confirmed that they were as captivated by Bill's magic as Al was. And they could only see half of it!

Al blinked away a stray tear, his whole consciousness flooded by a sudden rush of gratitude to Mei and what little she'd had the time to teach him. Alkahestry was a gift. Alchemy was also a gift, but the reassuring pulse of life that alkahestry made visible was -. Well. Alphonse didn't really have the words to describe it. He stopped trying to articulate it, instead cradled that warmth in his chest.

The light of Bill's magic died down. Al reluctantly let go of his chi-sight, turned to Bill, said, "I sink I know how I can alkahestrically help zat along."

The life that had pulsed meekly in Professor Dumbledore's snarled chi had shown Alphonse exactly where he could prod – gently, carefully – to support Bill's curse breaking. But Bill was still reeling from his magic. "What?" he said, and Alphonse knew how that felt.

"Zat was zee coolest sing I've ever seen magic do," said Ed. Ed still said magic with a twist – like it was something dirty and mind breaking. Al reflexively buried the twinge of hurt that came with it. Ed continued. "You were too focused to hear me when I said zis, but we haff to run a comparison study on magical and alchemical rune systems."

Bill blinked, clearly unprepared for the sheer force of Brother's curiosity. Most people were unprepared for the sheer force of Brother's curiosity.

"It would be interesting," Al said, stalling to give Bill's mind a little more time to catch up with reality. "I'm not taking Ancient Runes because I had so much to catch up on, but if you and Bruder run zat study, I'd love to look at it."

Something cleared in Bill's eyes. "Right," he said. "Right. That would be awesome."

Dumbledore, on the other side of his stately desk, looked like his world was ending. Alphonse ignored him, gave Bill his very best dimpled grin. "And I sink I know how I can support your magic wis alkahestry."

"That easy?" asked Bill, looking from his rune work to Al.

Al nodded eagerly. "It's quite simple! I sink anyone who knows even as little as I do about alkahestry might be able to piece it togezer, honestly."

Ed looked at him, then leaned over to get a better look at Bill's runes. "How does it work?"

"Well, I can't see zee energy of zee curse, but all of us could see Bill's magic. So, I just watched how Professor Dumbledore's chi responded to it. I could see where it needed help, too!"

"Huh," said Ed.

"Well," said Bill. "It means we could take another go at this, at least. But we should be careful about it."

"Absolutely. "I'll be writing out an array and everysing," said Al. He produced a piece of chalk from his pocket and gestured at Bill's runes. "May I?"

Bill looked a little nervous, but after a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Go for it."

Alphonse tried to look reassuring. Ed, for his part, was smiling at the chalk. Al almost wondered why, before refocusing on his task. The Headmaster had withdrawn his hand from the circle, so Al addressed him next. "Would you put your hand back, Professor?"

Professor Dumbledore did so. "I appreciate all the effort you're putting into this, young Mr. Elric."

The hand, still black and gnarled and burning, was slightly off center of Bill's array. Alphonse nudged it gently. So gently. Professor Dumbledore did not flinch – his nerves were probably too dead for him to feel much dermal contact at all – but his shoulders tensed at the proximity. Al could hardly blame him.

With the hand in the correct place, the spatial sense of Bill's array made easy sense. Al looked at his piece of chalk and hoped that he was remembering Mei's alkahestral arrays correctly. He was almost nervous enough to tremble, but long alchemical practice kept his hands steady and his chalked lines and circles perfect. He could only hope that they were the right lines and circles. Sometimes, it was so much easier to just clap his hands and go.

But an array made focusing his attention easier, and he needed that directionality to try something that was both vital and so very new. He lifted the end of his chalk from the table, stepped to the side. "Alright," said Al, nodding at Bill. "Let's do zis."

Bill rolled his shoulders, brandished his wand. "Let's." This time, as the tip of his wand activated his own circle, Alphonse activated his own array. The golden glow of Bill's magic and the blue light of alkahestry and alchemy crackled together in the air.

Ed watched, with no small amount of satisfaction, as Alphonse etched his alkahestral array in chalk, despite how unspeakably cool Bill Weasley had looked using his wand to do it. That satisfaction was supplanted pretty quickly, however, by awe when both the arrays lit up simultaneously. He knew even less about alkahestry than he knew about magic, and the scientist in him squealed at seeing this new kind of collaboration. So many things to measure! So many things to analyze!

Both his brother and Bill were completely focused on their task. Ed wondered if that's what he looked like when he was focusing on an especially difficult equation. It probably was, but that speculation was nowhere near as interesting as the interaction happening over the Old Man's hand.

He'd memorized the lines of Bill's magic flow diagram and Al's chi flow diagram when he made the merged copy, but he hadn't been able to really see the give and take of it until this moment. Admittedly, Bill's magic was doing almost the exact opposite of the curse, but in seeing the curse's potential reversal interacting with chi, Ed rather thought he could see the curse itself in his imagination. He could see how the curse constricted in how Bill's magic tangled around Al's alkahestry, almost as if it was fighting to give the alkahestry space .

Belatedly, Ed noticed that the oxidation reaction that was eating at Dumbledore's hand was beginning to flare. Right. That's why he was here. He clapped his hands, envisioned arrays for oxygen manipulation, set his fingertips on the healthy-cursed edge of skin on the Old Man's wrist.

His alchemy joined in with what Alphonse and Bill already had going with surprising ease. He didn't feel any resistance as he carefully shifted the oxygen around Dumbledore's hand away. The trouble was, that even though the oxygen neatly removed itself, the fire didn't go out. Exactly what Ed had been afraid of.

"Shit," said Ed, switching into Amestrian for ease. "Al we've got a fuckin problem."

Al looked up from his own work, said, "Crap."

Ed tried to find the English to alert Bill, but Al forwent the need for words and nudged Bill with his shoulder. His hands were still occupied with his alkahestry, but he gestured with his head.

"Shit," said Bill, reminding Ed of the English word for it. "The curse did feel like it was bucking up."

Dumbledore had gone terribly still. He was clearly trying to project his usual serenity and failing badly. Still, if he was afraid, he wasn't showing that, either.

"Should vee back off?" asked Al. "Can vee stop here?"

"Don't think so," said Bill. "I think I can get to a good stopping point in a moment though, just do your best to keep this stable, boys!"

Ed didn't like the sound of that, but whatever. Fuck it. He rethought his array. Only with the next one in mind did he stop his current transmutation. He pulled a lump of coal from his pocket and clapped his hands again immediately, touched them to the Old Man's smoking flesh, tried to ignore the sting of heat. In the split-second absence of his influence, oxygen had flooded back into the space. Ed pushed it away again before focusing on the second part of his new array: reversing combustion. He'd brought that lump of coal for this very eventuality. He could do this.

Carefully, so carefully , he began to undo the oxidation combustion reaction currently happening at Dumbledore's wrist. The lower parts of the hand, of course, had long since turned to an oddly solid ash. But if he reversed the reaction at the wrist, in connection with Bill trying to undo the curse magically and Alphonse attempting to repair Dumbledore's chi flow, then maybe he could stop the reaction in its tracks.

If he could just nudge that stubborn bit of – oh! Something in Ed's alchemy clicked and the ground dropped. Ed's braid slapped him in the cheek, and he landed with a thud, several feet from where he started.

He sprang to his feet, mind lost to reflex, looked from left to right. His eyes unerringly sought Alphonse, who had crashed into one of the Old Man's shelving units, magical debris falling around his head. But he was okay. Ed exhaled. And there was Bill, who'd crashed near the door to Dumbledore's quarters. Ed took stock of his own location – he'd landed near the door to the office itself. It was frankly a wonder he hadn't fallen through it and tumbled down the stairs.

There was a groan, and Ed was reminded of the person he'd just been trying to save. Dumbledore was still in his chair, but the chair was now slammed against the wall behind it. He was clearly alive, though he looked pale. His cursed hand was cradled to his chest, obscured by the sleeve of his other arm.

"Vat happened?" said Ed.

"Good question," said Bill.

"Headmaster! Are you okay?" said Al.

Ed looked to the desk, the epicenter of that little non-explosion. At the center of Bill and Al's intertwined arrays was a pile of ash.

Chapter Text

In a moment that lasted a million years or more besides, Alphonse launched himself from his position in the rubble of magical knickknacks. As Al flew to check on Dumbledore, Ed was deafened by a silence broken only by the Old Man’s shallow gasping. Ed watched, frozen, as Alphonse skidded to a halt by Dumbledore’s chair and attempted to extricate his cursed hand from where he’d hidden it in the sleeves of his robes. 

For the first time since this ordeal began, Dumbledore looked afraid . His blue eyes were round. Though they shined, it wasn’t in the fashion of his usual twinkle. This shine was probably better attributed to the collection of unshed tears. 

“Scheisse,” said Ed, as he realized what happened. It took another moment for him to find his English. “Show us zee stump.” Shouting that across the office wasn’t his most tactful move. Whoops. 

Alphonse glared at him – he no doubt objected to putting it that way. Fair, so did Ed, really. But the pile of ash on the table was telling, and Ed felt a phantom echo at his right shoulder. He grasped at it protectively. 

Ed relaxed when Al’s glare shifted away from him, refocusing on the Old Man. “Headmaster,” Al said. “Vee haff to stop zee bleeding. You’ve lost a hand, I know it hurts, I know you’re protecting it, but you haff to let me see.” 

Ed knew from experience – Alphonse knew from experience – what it looked like when someone lost a limb abruptly. Dumbledore’s robes were not soaked in the blood that should have been there, and that was almost enough for Ed to second guess his assessment. But as Dumbledore clutched his arm a little tighter, there was clearly something off about the draping of his sleeve. Alphonse made an inarticulate noise, and with a gentle tug, the Old Man’s arm came free. Though there had been no evidence of it steeping through the Headmaster’s clothing, Ed flinched instinctively away from the spray of blood. There were major arteries in the wrist that must have been severed!

The stump was not bloody. It wasn’t the texture of healthy skin or true scar tissue, either, even from Ed’s distance. It had been cauterized by the final burst of fire that issued from the curse, before the magic holding his dead hand together fell apart, scattering it into the ash that had fallen over Bill and Al’s array. 

Al looked as shocked as Ed felt. He cradled Dumbledore’s wrist between his own hands, looked at Ed, then looked to Bill. “Get Madame Pomfrey,” he said. “Vee should haff had her on standby!” 

Bill blinked for a moment before springing into action. “Shit,” he said, bolting to the fireplace and reaching for the little sack that sat atop the mantle. Ed hardly noticed the flames flare green, hardly noticed Bill step through. And Ed had always found the Floo fascinating! Instead, he was focused entirely on Dumbledore’s wrist. He intentionally relaxed his grip on his own right shoulder, rubbed at where the join had been as he finally straightened from his automatic defensive posture. He shook his head to clear it, took a steading breath.

First order of business: get the desk out of the way so that Madame Pomfrey would have clear access to the suddenly fragile old man in the desk chair. Ed didn’t use alchemy to do it, even though he could have. Teacher’s voice was ringing in his ears: Sometimes, it’s better to do things by hand. And after watching alchemy and magic explode around him, Ed followed that voice. He put his hips and shoulders into it, smoothly pushed Dumbledore’s desk aside, unearthing a clear path from the fireplace.

Ed snuck a glance at the Old Man’s wrist. I’m glad this didn’t happen during the rebound after mom – I needed that blood to save Al! Al. Ed looked over at Al, who’d sketched a very small alkahestral array on the arm of the Old Man’s throne-like chair. “You’re going to be alright, Headmaster,” Al was saying in a quiet, soothing voice. “It vill be just fine. Stay calm. Breathe. I can see your chi right now; I promise I’m not doing anything but supporting it.” 

Dumbledore wasn’t replying. His face was tilted toward Al, and Ed couldn’t see his expression to read it. He shuffled to stand next to his brother, to bring himself into Dumbledore’s eyeline. On his own part, Ed hated the idea of people behind him while he was injured. Might as well give the Old Man that security. But Dumbledore hardly seemed to register the shift. His blue eyes - glazed and confused as they were - fixated solely on Alphonse. 

In a small voice, Dumbledore said, “How are you here? You should be in Austria.”

Austria? Why would Al be in Austria? It took Ed longer than he’d like to admit to realize that the Old Man thought Al was someone else. “Shh, Headmaster,” said Al. “Madame Pomfrey is coming, and I’m keeping your chi stable till zen. You’re alright.” 

“Headmaster?” said Dumbledore. “Don’t stand on ceremony after all these years.”

Alphonse sent a sideways glance to Ed, then said, “Albus.” Because Al clearly knew what was up and wasn't against pretending. “Madame Pomfrey is coming, Albus.” 

“You should want me dead,” said Dumbledore. “I needed to do it, you understand, but I always thought you’d kill me if we ever met again.” 

Alphonse hesitated, but said, “You did what you had to do. I can’t hold zat against you.” Good job, Al, thought Ed, watching as his baby brother managed to 1) keep perfectly calm, 2) maintain an alkahestral array and 3) seamlessly indulge in an injured man’s delusion.  Dumbledore looked heartbreakingly touched. Just who did he think he was talking to? 

Ed decided that he didn’t want to know. Any speculation he might have made beyond that was interrupted by the Floo roaring green again. Madame Pomfrey stepped through, and she was tense enough that Ed’s fight or flight pinged. Bill stepped through after her. He’d clearly shaken off much of his shock. Ed realized that he should probably snap out of it, too. 

He tuned out Al’s continuing whispers to the Old Man. “Vee were breaking a curse,” he said. “Zee Old Man lost zee cursed limb. His hand.” 

Madame Pomfrey nodded. “So Mr. Weasley explained in the infirmary.” She bustled over to Alphonse’s side. “I need to get through, young man,” she said. 

Alphonse looked up from his array. “I’m keeping his chi steady, at zze moment. Is zere any way you can run diagnostics and get hold of his vitals before I let go?” 

Madame Pomfrey looked doubtfully at Al’s array. “I’ve never worked alongside anything like this, but we will give it a try.” 

Without moving his hands, Al shuffled a little to the side, and the magic healer stepped in next to him. Dumbledore seemed perturbed by the change in position. “Don’t go,” he said. “Please. It’s been so long.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Alphonse. “I’m right here.” 

“He’s experiencing delusions?” said Madame Pomfrey, concerned. She waved her magic stick first over the Old Man’s head, did not seem pleased with whatever that told her.

Only a small crease in Al’s forehead gave away his own discomfort and his voice was even when he said, “Yes. I’m not sure who he sinks I am, but I’ve some experience with people post-physical trauma. I think indulging him is zee safest sing to do for now.” 

“Probably,” said Madame Pomfrey. 

Truth, Ed was so far out of his depth. He stepped backward to give Pomfrey and Al space to work. “I was worried about zat hand,” he said to Bill. 

“Yeah?” said Bill. “Me too. But we weren’t even trying to break the curse entirely tonight. Wasn’t expecting it now.” 

Ed leaned heavily against a wall. “Sink zat might be my fault. I started reversing zee combustion reaction at zee curse line just before zee rebound. I couldn’t sink of another way to stop zee flaring.” It wasn’t quite a rebound, but it was a better word than anything else to describe what had just happened.

Bill elbowed him in the side. “Nobody’s fault,” he said. “Curse breaking can be unpredictable sometimes. Spells rebound all the time in these situations.”

So rebound was the word. Good to know. Ed’s human knee buckled just a little, and he let himself slide down the wall to sitting. Alphonse and Madame Pomfrey seemed to have things in hand. Ed could sit for a moment. Bill evidently reached a similar conclusion. He landed next to Ed with a thump. Ed took a certain amount of comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only one left dazed and useless. He breathed. The air tasted a little odd – like the magical and alkahestral and alchemical energy had crackled through it and left it reeling. 

Half of Ed was tempted to slap his hands together and suss out what was going on with it chemically, but the larger part of him just wanted to sit next to Bill and keep breathing. On the other side of the room, Al lifted his hands from his array and took several steps back. Madame Pomfrey’s magic stick waved, waved again. With a third distinct motion, a gurney appeared. Dumbledore was levitated onto it, and Pomfrey directed the whole thing over to the fireplace. 

Either they’d had a discussion that Ed missed, or Alphonse was reading her mind, because Al had thrown magic powder into the fireplace just in time for Pomfrey to direct Dumbledore through the fire and step through herself. Half engulfed in green flames, she looked over her shoulder and jerked her head. 

Right. He should probably follow her. She disappeared, and Alphonse followed her through. “We should follow zem,” said Ed. 

“We should,” said Bill. “You’ll need to travel with me, right? I keep forgetting that you’re a muggle.” 

“Yeah,” said Ed. “Can’t make zee fires go all transport-y by myself.”

Bill snorted, stood gingerly. He stuck out a hand to Ed, and Ed shook his head. “Probably easier if I let zee leg do zee work,” said Ed. Because that was true – if his body was tired, he could just let his automail carry him. He couldn’t do it often¸ mind, because that would just throw of his whole alignment and Winry would kill him for ignoring best automail practices. But Winry was not the person missing a limb, and provided he kept up with his exercise and didn’t abuse it, his body would never get so out of whack that she would know. 

“The leg?” said Bill. 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ed, springing up on his left leg. 

“Right.” Bill said, having made his way to the fireplace. “Well, get over here and grab on.” He extended his arm again, and wrapped it around Ed’s shoulders as he got close. Ed didn’t quite flinch, but it was a near thing. Bill shot him a worried look. “Jumpy, are you?  Impaled. Merlin.” 

Ed ignored him. “Hurry up.” 

With a toss of powder and a muttered word from Bill, the fire blazed green. They stepped through and spun. 

Ed was only a little dizzy when they were deposited into the hospital wing. Bill let go of him, looking almost entirely unruffled. Well, that was practice for you. Ed straightened. Alphonse was nowhere to be seen – neither was Madame Pomfrey nor the Old Man. “Wonder where zey went,” he said. 

“There’s apparently a separate ward for teachers,” said Bill. “Not sure what it’s called, so, I just took us straight to the student ward.” 

“Oh,” said Ed. “Do you know where it is?” 

Bill gestured over to the door set into the back wall, beyond which sat Madame Pomfrey’s office and the supply room. Ed had been back there a few times after the incident at Malfoy Manor, discussing Al’s care in low tones. But he didn’t remember an adjacent room. 

“I was Head Boy,” said Bill, with a certain amount of pride. “So I got to know some of the off-limits spots. Follow me.” 

Ed did. They went back through that door. Beyond it, they turned right instead of left. But there was just a wall to the right – right? “Damn it all,” said Ed. Because right there, right there in front of his god damn face, was a set of double doors. They were beige, like hospital ward doors tended to be. “You haff to be kidding me.” 

Bill smiled, clearly amused. “Are the Hogwarts wards good, or are they good?” 

“Shut up,” said Ed, but could not quite stifle a laugh. We’ve got to go in there, don’t we, Ed thought, composing himself. 

On his left, Bill seemed to have composed himself too. He pushed open the doors and gestured Ed through. Ed didn’t quite appreciate having to go in first, but he did anyway. Bill followed close behind him. 

Sure enough, Dumbledore was just being laid out on a spartan table in one of the clustered cubicles. None of the other teachers seemed to be there, so his individual privacy curtains remained undrawn. 

“This is why I like working for a bank,” said Bill, leaning into Ed’s personal space. “I’m not usually trying to break curses on people.” 

“Zat’s a real perk,” said Ed. “Medical alchemy is not my specialty.” 

Alphonse jumped, noticing them for the first time. “Do you haff zis under control, Madame?” 

“I do,” said Madame Pomfrey. “I want all three of you still here when I have him stable. I’d like to discuss exactly what happened so that I can make an appropriate care plan. I’d also like to know what in Merlin’s name you were thinking. You’ll tell me as soon as I have the Headmaster settled.” 

Alphonse nodded, expression contrite. “Of course.” 

Madame Pomfrey waved him off, and as soon as he was clear of the Headmaster’s bedside, the curtains snapped shut around the mediwitch and her patient. 

Ed beckoned him over. “Let’s go wait in her office,” he said. 

“Right,” said Al. He’d been so collected in the immediate aftermath of the rebound, but it seemed the shock was finally catching up with him. Ed slung an arm around Al’s shoulders and shepherded him through the double doors of the ward. Bill trailed after them.

Madame Pomfrey’s office had two main sections – the part that was actually her office, and the part that served as a waiting room for any number of anxious visitors. Ed, for his part, had never seen beyond the door to her actual office space. He got the sense that it served more as a private inner sanctum and was probably connected to Madame Pomfrey’s living quarters. 

The waiting room was painted in cool, clean looking colors. The chairs were comfortable, and there was a kettle in the corner charmed to always produce hot water. Ed could definitely boil water alchemically – a change in state was hardly more difficult than a change in shape – but he appreciated Pomfrey’s sensibility here. Trying to get a cup of something hot and caffeinated in the hospitals of Amestris was almost more difficult than staging a literal coup had been. 

Bill sat heavily in one of the plush chairs. Alphonse sat next to him, said in a plaintive voice, “At least he’s alive? Zee curse would definitely haff killed him.” 

“Definitely,” said Bill. But his voice was far away. 

Ed didn’t sit, looked at them crossly. “We did our best,” he said. “And someone is going to live because we did our best. Let’s just focus on zat until we have information we can be constructive about.” 

Al smiled weakly. “You’re right, bruder. ” 

“Damn right, I am.” 

Bill leaned back in his chair. “You two make me miss my siblings.”

“Do you not see zem often?” said Al. “I got zee sense zat your family is close.” 

“Well, nine months of the year they’re at Hogwarts,” said Bill. “And as much as I love my family, they get loud quickly.” 

Ed would not have thought Bill to be the sort that would dislike loud, but he supposed that anyone could get sick of being one of six. He looked at Alphonse, tried to imagine their dynamic altered by five other siblings. Ed shuddered. Two of them were enough chaos and trying to take care of that many younger siblings would have sent Ed off the deep end. 

Being a State Alchemist probably still would have been the easiest way to support them all, but trying to picture a whole parade of Elric Brothers marching through Liore was. Well. It was what it was, and Ed didn’t like it. 

“Zat makes sense,” Ed said, finally. “Five siblings would be a lot.” 

“Six,” said Bill. Ed shuddered. One of seven? Oh, right. Ed kept forgetting there was another sibling that everyone refused to talk about. His presence was felt not so much by his mention, but by his careful unmention. Ed wanted to ask, but one look at Alphonse – who’s expression was already scolding – disabused the notion. 

“I’m trying to picture six of Ed,” said Al, forehead wrinkling. “I sink I would die.” 

Ed elbowed him in the side. “Six of you might be worse.” 

Bill, still leaning back in his chair, tilted his head to the ceiling. His face was washed in that soft-yet-bright light that existed throughout this magic castle. “Six is a lot,” he said. “But you’re missing the blessed fact that they aren’t all the same.”

“Zat,” said Ed, pausing. “Is true.” Because the five extra siblings he’d mentally conjured were all carbon copies of Alphonse. And while the Red-Haired Children all bore clear markers of having been raised together in a similar situation, they were each undeniably themselves. “I sink I’m still happy wis just zee one.” 

“Me too,” said Al. 

They lapsed into a silence that might even have been comfortable if it wasn’t for the fact of the Old Man languishing in a hospital bed in the next room. Ed found himself gazing lovingly at the kettle in the corner. 

“Coffee, anyone?” 

Bill stuck up a hand. “Please.” 

“I’ll take a tea,” said Alphonse. “Something herbal, if it’s not too much trouble.” 

Ed flashed them both a thumbs up, poured hot water over tea bags and instant coffee, and distributed them. Moving helped, so even with his own drink in hand, he didn’t join Bill and Al in the plush chairs. He paced, generous swigs of coffee sliding hot down his throat. Even in instant powder form, it was better than the swill they served in any Amestrian military base. Probably magic, Ed decided. 

When he was about two-thirds of the way through his cup, Madame Pomfrey walked into her waiting room, looking harried and exhausted. “Good, you’re all still here.” She paced the perimeter of the room, magic stick making pointed waves at the corners and the walls. Warding, probably. Ed had read a little about warding. 

Ed tried to ignore the outpouring of her magic and nodded, Bill hummed, Alphonse stood smoothly from his chair. He went to the mediwitch, golden eyes blown wide with concern. “How is he?” 

“He’s going to live,” said Madame Pomfrey, swishing her wand one last time before tucking it into her robes. “Trying to get him to spill details about his condition before this shenanigan of yours has been like pulling teeth, but I get the sense that ‘going to live’ is better than he was before.” 

“I hope so,” said Alphonse. 

“Definitely,” said Bill. “The curse would have killed him around midsummer.” 

Madame Pomfrey stared up at the ceiling, said something under her breath that Ed couldn’t quite catch. It certainly wasn’t kind. After a moment, she turned her attention back to them. “That explains a lot, honestly. How much of his own energy was wrapped up in the curse? And how much of it did you have to use to break it?” 

Alphonse stepped a little further forward. “I don’t know about his magical energy, but most of what I did was encourage his chi to heal itself – I’m not really a skilled enough alkahestrist to do anysing else.” 

Pomfrey turned a thoughtful gaze to Bill. “Mr. Weasley?” 

“A lot,” said Bill. “the Headmaster’s wand arm is his right. I’m fairly certain that the curse was feeding off the hand’s natural tendency to funnel magic.” 

‘That would explain it, especially in keeping with young Mr. Elric’s report. Did you rely on his magic to do much of the curse breaking?” 

“I tried to avoid it. But at a certain point, the Headmaster’s magic had to free itself from the curse.” 

“Right,” said Madame Pomfrey. She wandered to the kettle in the corner, selected something herbal, and poured herself a cup. She sat heavily in one of the plush chairs and waved for everyone else to do the same. 

Al sat, Bill was already sitting, but something in Ed rebelled against the idea. He resumed his pacing. Madame Pomfrey glared at him. “You’re making me nervous, Professor Elric. Sit.” 

Ed sat. Madame Pomfrey visibly relaxed, took a sip from her steaming mug. She gazed out at nothing, and it was with eyes unfocused that she began to explain. “I don’t know that Albus would appreciate me sharing this information with you – in fact I’m sure he would prefer that I don’t. But the three of you are clearly invested in his wellbeing and were part of the chain of events that led him to where he is, so.” 

“As the curse breaker involved, I really should be kept abreast,” said Bill. Though he hadn’t stood on Pomfrey’s entry, he was sitting straight in his chair. Suddenly the picture of professionalism. “I might still need to do some tweaking.” 

“The curse is gone with the hand,” said Pomfrey. 

“Is the hand regrowable then?” said Bill. 

The conversation continued, Pomfrey looking severe. But Ed was stuck trying to parse that last sentence. Re? Growable? Regrowable? “Vas?” For a moment, Ed was startled. Because ‘what’ really did sum up what he was planning to say, but it wasn’t him. Instead, it was Alphonse who was half out of his chair. “Magic can regrow limbs?” 

“Yes,” said Madame Pomfrey. “You should be aware of this, Mr. Elric.”

“I only found out magic existed zis past summer, Madame. Please excuse any gaps in my knowledge.” Al’s voice was almost scathing. Ed hadn’t realized Alphonse really did scathing to adults. “But magic can regrow limbs?” 

It was then that Madame Pomfrey seemed to realize that she was missing something. She nodded hesitantly, her face carefully smooth and blank. 

Al stood entirely, whole body lurching towards Ed’s chair. Ed flinched, but Al did not seem to notice. “I understand zat tonight is not zee night,” said Al. “But you haff to try! Bruder, his leg!” 

Alphonse cut off when Ed kicked him, but the damage was done. 

“Your leg?” said Madame Pomfrey, looking at him sharply. 

“You’re missing a leg,” said Bill, blinking. “Of course, you’re missing a leg. Why wouldn’t you be missing a leg?” 

“Professor McGonagall did mention something about a formerly missing arm,” said Madame Pomfrey. “I was going to write you to schedule follow up appointments. Did you lose the leg in the same manner you lost the arm?” 

Ed couldn’t do much more than nod mutely. 

“And young Mr. Elric, I hear, restored it in a bout of accidental magic. If same is same, then there should be no problem restoring the leg as well.” 

But Alphonse hadn’t restored Ed’s arm in a bout of accidental magic. He’d undone the transmutation that had cost him the arm in the first place, and then he’d bargained. Ed had known that was going to bite him in the ass eventually. Damn it all. “I am quite happy wis my automail,” Ed tried. “I don’t need my old leg back.” 

Alphonse looked at him with pleading eyes, said in Amestrian, “You have to let me try, Brother. After all you did to get my body back, you have to let me try.” 

Ed switched into Amestrian himself – this conversation was private, thank you very much. “You already got me my arm, Al. That’s more than I ever thought I’d get.” 

“But I wanted you to have both!” 

That was true. Ed knew that was true, however, it was only true for Alphonse. Ed’s own priority had been restoring his little brother’s body; his own missing limbs had been a tangential focus at most. But Al wouldn’t accept that answer, so Ed went for his strongest point instead. “Would Truth even let an arm created by magic here back through the Gate? We don’t even know if we’re allowed to bring the clothes on our backs back through!” 

“If Truth won’t let you bring back a magically regrown limb, then regrowth probably wouldn’t work in the first place,” said Al. That… was probably true. Al clearly saw him wavering, said, “Just let us try.” 

Ed swore, then switched to English. “Fine,” he said. “You can try.” 

Madame Pomfrey looked grimly satisfied. “You’ll come in on Friday evening, so you’ll have the weekend to recover.” 

“Zat’s fine,” said Ed. 

“Okay but your gait is so much smoother than Mad Eye’s!” said Bill. Ed didn’t know a Mad Eye, so he couldn’t quantify that statement at all. But Bill, much like his horde of red-haired siblings, was not a tactful person. He stood up, said, “Can I see your prosthetic?” 

Ed glared at him. Bill looked apologetic, but not apologetic enough to retract his request. And if he was anything like his sister, then his stubborn streak was a mile wide. Ed groaned and deliberately looked away, but he began rolling up his pant-leg all the same. “Happy?” he said. 

“Wow,” said Bill, crouching to examine the metalwork. “Is that what all muggle prosthetics are like?” 

Ed shook his head, because one of the first things he did upon arriving in Germany was search for a decent automail mechanic – Winry wouldn’t see being transported to a different world as an excuse to fall behind on his maintenance, even if it meant working with someone else. But it had become abundantly clear abundantly fast that this world had nothing even in the realm of automail. “No. My mechanic back home is special.” 

Because that was true. Even in Amestris, even in Ed’s home world, nobody did automail quite like Winry Rockbell. 

Madame Pomfrey was also leaning in for a better look, though she gave Ed considerably more space than Bill did. Ed’s fingers itched to pull his pant leg back down. He wasn’t ashamed of his automail, he didn’t think it was ugly. He even liked his automail, but Ed did not always like this kind of scrutiny. Say what you want about Amestris’s many wars, but at least back home automail was relatively common. Most of the time, random people off the street did not look at it like some exotic sort of bug. 

“Huh,” said Bill. “My dad would love to take a look at that.” 

And that was enough of that. Ed yanked his pantleg violently back down. There was absolutely no way that the Patriarch of the Red Hair was getting anywhere near his leg. “No,” he said. “Zee day I let your dad see my automail is zee day my mechanic would kill me.” 

Bill, still crouching, shuffled backward. “Fair enough,” he said. 

Good , because Ed was just a little overwhelmed, overstimulated, and overtired. He looked at Madame Pomfrey, could not quite help from snarling, said, “Enough about my leg, what exactly is going on wis zee Old Man?”

The fascination on Madame Pomfrey’s face wiped clear away. Her expression grew dour, forehead wrinkling, lips pursing. “Of course,” she said. “His hand is unsalvageable, even with the curse gone. Mr. Weasley can tell you as good as anyone, curse scars can’t be healed.” 

“I figured,” said Bill. It seemed for a moment that he might go on a tangent about curse scars, but Madame Pomfrey brought him back to center. 

“The larger problem,” she said, “is that Headmaster Dumbledore has nearly expended his magical core.” 

“Oh fuck,” said Bill. “Is he?” 

“He is not a squib,” said Pomfrey, clearly disapproving of the word fuck , but not going to say anything about it. “He has enough left that it should replenish itself without issue. But he’s vulnerable, and I think you all know what the consequences of a vulnerable Albus Dumbledore might be, should this information reach the wrong ears.” 

“Of course,” said Bill. “At least You-Know-Who is quiet, for the moment.” Ed had wondered how much the Old Man had told his group of sycophants – Ed had put his foot down about Harry and the other kids so deeply involved, but he hadn’t said a word about the adults in the Order of the Flaming Bird or Whatever. 

Madame Pomfrey sent a significant look at Alphonse, who looked down at his shoes. “Zis is bad, isn’t it?” 

“It could be worse,” said Madame Pomfrey. 

Ed, who could not perform any magic to begin with, did not know quite what to say. He had a vivid flash of standing before the Truth, Alphonse’s truly emaciated body standing near alone in the white void. I know the answer, he’d said, thrusting his thumb behind him at his own Gate. I know the answer, and I want my brother back . Truth had laughed and laughed and laughed because that had been the answer. Because finally an alchemist had gotten it right. 

Part of Ed felt a little sour about this – living without alchemy was better than living without a brother. It was better than being dead himself. And there Madame Pomfrey stood, looking so concerned because the Old Man’s magic was waning low and would need time to recover. Ed shook himself, tried to feel some sympathy. Brother on the line or no, that had been a choice. Ed had opened the gate there at the end, Mei standing anxiously behind him, with the worlds “This will be my last act as the Fullmetal Alchemist.” He’d known what he was giving up, he’d chosen. Even if he’d ended up in another world instead with Alchemy intact, Ed had made a choice. 

Dumbledore had also made a choice – he’d chosen to die, and Ed and Al and Bill had not respected that choice. Ed stood by his actions – frankly, if someone in his vicinity chose to die, Ed saw it as his sworn duty to upend that decision if possible. 

The point, though, is that the Old Man had ended up almost without magic and it was not a choice he had made. Ed thought back to the young Ed who’d tried to resurrect his mother, too cocky and too young to really understand the potential consequences. 

Ed decided to empathize, instead of being bitter. “It could be worse,” he said. ‘But it still fucking sucks.” 

It was apparently too many ‘fuck’s in quick succession for Madame Pomfrey. She crossed her arms, said, “You’d better not speak like that around your students, young man.” 

“Listen, my students are zee ones who taught me how to swear in English.” He patted his breast pocket, where the German to English swear dictionary his summer-school chemistry student had made him for extra credit lived. Ed didn’t need it anymore, but he didn’t go anywhere without it, either. He’d grown to love those chemistry students, and even if he was working with more traditionally achieving students now, he missed that high school in the suburbs of London. 

Madame Pomfrey tracked the motion, eyes narrowed. But she sighed, then made no further comment. 

“He has so many enemies,” said Bill. “What are we gonna do?” 

“He’ll be safe in my ward,” said Madame Pomfrey. The set and determination of her jaw was so firm, Ed thought she might have been able to keep out Pride to keep Dumbledore safe. Right.

“Right,” said Bill, looking a little sick. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” 

“Zen it’s mostly a question of making sure he heals,” said Alphonse, piping up for the first time since Madame Pomfrey dropped her bombshell. “He isn’t going to want to get used to zee missing limb, if his magic isn’t responding wis him.” 

Madame Pomfrey nodded her acknowledgement. She turned to Ed. “I do hate to ask, Professor Elric. But you are the only person I have easy access to, let alone that already knows the details of the Headmaster’s situation, with the experience of permanently losing a limb. Would it be too much to ask for you to spend time with him?” 

Ed scowled. Of course, wizards didn’t often lose limbs such that they couldn’t regrow them. Of course not. Ed felt a rush of bitterness for the many Amestrians who had had limbs blown off in their country’s many and myriad wars and opened his mouth to say something disparaging. But there was no pity in Madame Pomfrey’s eyes. Perhaps it had been only an honest question. Alphonse looked at him and shrugged. Ed got the meaning: it’s up to you, Brother . 

“Fine,” he said. “Sure. I might have been twelve at zee time, but post-amputation physical therapy isn’t somesing a person forgets. I can help him srough zee exercises.” 

“Thank you,” said Madame Pomfrey, her face still blank and professional. Bill, on the other hand, was a little damp-eyed. 

“He’s gonna be okay,” Bill said, more to himself than anyone else. 

Madame Pomfrey did not dignify that with a response, so Ed decided he didn’t need to respond either. Alphonse, though, placed a gentle hand on Bill’s shoulder. “No matter what happens, zee world goes on,” he said. “And I do sink vee will make it srough. Now is a better time zan it might otherwise be, for Professor Dumbledore to be incapacitated.” 

“Right,” said Bill, looking only a little comforted. It struck Ed, then, that the Old Man might treat everyone like a tool to be used, but his parade of followers did him the same favor. Nobody in this fucked up castle looked at anybody else like a human . 

Damn it all, Ed was not a fan. 

“He wanted out of zee fight anyway,” Ed said, finally. “At least zis gives him an excuse zat doesn’t include passively letting himself die.” 

Alphonse, at least, nodded along. So Ed pretended that it was Bill and Madame Pomfrey’s problem that they looked horrified all over again. 

It wasn’t long before Madame Pomfrey waved Ed and Al and Bill off. “Go rest,” she said. “I know you’re all living on Wideye Potion and spite. I’d set up beds for you all here, but I don’t imagine I would be successful at keeping you in them.” 

“Can I wait, so I can speak to the Headmaster?” Alphonse’s eyes were huge and gentle. Despite Ed’s own mild dislike of the Old Man, he found himself hoping Pomfrey would let him. It would be good for Al, Ed thought. 

Madame Pomfrey looked at Alphonse with the gentlest expression Ed had ever seen on her face. “He’s going to be asleep for a long while yet,” she said. “He needs his rest, and so do you. Get some sleep, and then you can come back.” 

Alphonse’s disappointment was palpable. Ed threw his arm over his brother’s shoulder, said in quiet Amestrian, “I’ll walk you to Ravenclaw Tower.” Because Alphonse wasn’t always sneaky, but this was a prime example of when he would be. If Ed didn’t make sure Al didn’t make it to his dorm, he’d probably sleep in a hidden corner outside of the infirmary until Pomfrey let him back in. 

To his credit, Al gave a good show of pretending his master plan hadn’t just been foiled. He gave Ed a heartbreakingly earnest smile, said, “Thanks, brother. I appreciate it.” 

Ed didn’t think Pomfrey (or Bill, for that matter) spoke this world’s fucked up dialects of Amestrian (German, or whatever the shit) but her gentle expression had extended over the both of them. Both she and Bill looked touched by their exchange. And only Bill had the excuse of being in the same building as siblings he desperately missed. 

“Take care of zee Old Man,” Ed said to Madame Pomfrey. 

“Of course,” she said. 

Bill looked doubtfully over at the door that led off to where Dumbledore slept. “I’m wondering if I should go home or stay another day in the guest rooms.” 

Pomfrey’s gentle expression disappeared. “You’re tired,” she said. “And you’ve just expended considerable magical energy saving a man’s life. It would be unwise to travel. Do you still have access to the guest dorms?” 

“Think so,” said Bill. 

Pomfrey crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t want to be sleeping in an infirmary, you might as well give last night’s password a try. But if it doesn’t work, you’ll be coming down here to sleep. Don’t think I won’t check, too. Don’t make me owl your mother.” 

Bill blanched. “I’m a grown man!” 

Pomfrey turned grimly satisfied. “Of course you are. But I doubt that will stop Molly Prewitt on the warpath.” 

“You drive a hard bargain,” said Bill. But once his pale shock had worn off, he didn’t seem very bothered. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” said Pomfrey. 

Ed didn’t even want to think about the undertones of that exchange – if he thought too hard about it, he’d be picturing himself Bill’s age, blanching after being threatened with his own mother, and that hit a painful spot in his chest he preferred to leave neatly buried. 

Off in Gryffindor Tower, Harry considered the Half Blood Prince’s scrawling handwriting. Sectumsempra: for enemies. 

“Double check everything,” said a memory of Professor Elric, scowling at the front of his Alchemy classroom. “Check your math, check your circle, check your inputs and your expected outputs. Zis is not zee time to leave sings to chance.” 

Carefully, so carefully, Harry waved his wand at a stray sock. “Sectumsempra!”

The sock was torn to shreds. 

Chapter Text

Harry was used to Dumbledore ignoring him, keeping him out of the loop, being horrifically quiet, etc. But after Alphonse temporarily killed Voldemort in Malfoy Manor, it had seemed that maybe Dumbledore was going to be a bit more upfront about things than he'd used to be. 

Apparently not. 

"Harry, please," said Hermione. "He's a busy man."

Ron nodded around a forkful of eggs, swallowed harshly, said, "He could 'ave any number of reasons for not showing up to breakfast. He's the bloody headmaster!"

"You're probably right," said Harry. But something about this morning's disappearance pinged through Harry's skull and vibrated there. 

"You don't mean that," said Hermione disapprovingly. “I can tell.”

"You're glaring at your pumpkin juice like it killed someone," said Ron. Harry blinked away his glare; Ron was right, and his pumpkin juice deserved better than that. He savored his next sip as an apology.

"It's just that neither of the Elrics are in their spots either," Harry said once he'd swallowed. He gestured with his raised glass over at the Ravenclaw table, where Luna sat uncharacteristically alone. 

Hermione sat straighter on her side of the bench, her hair seeming to crackle with her attention. "How did I miss that?" 

At the Head table, both McGonagall and Snape looked a little sour without their short blonde buffer between them.

Ron shrugged. "Everyone's got off days." He shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth by way of punctuation.

"Dumbledore, Alphonse, and Elric all gone the same morning," said Harry. "And they want me to think it's none of my business!"

"Maybe it has to do with something in Germany," said Ron, looking a little worried. "What do we really know about the Elrics, anyway? Maybe something happened to a relative." 

That explanation was almost good enough for Harry to drop his paranoia, but Hermione shook her head. "I think Professor McGonagall would be gone too, in that case. She's been really invested in the two of them lately."

"Not Flitwick?" said Ron. "He's Al's Head of House, isn't he?"

"Not Professor Flitwick," said Hermione with a nod. "I don't know what happened, obviously, but Professor McGonagall has been oddly protective of the Elrics these last few weeks."

“You?” said Ron slyly. “Not knowing exactly what happened?” 

“Oh, shut up, Ronald,” said Hermione. 

Ron grinned, shut up by eating half a slice of toast in a single bite. A younger Harry might have been uncomfortably reminded of Dudley, but this sort of gluttony was all Ron. As with anything that was all Ron, it filled Harry with a sort of warm fondness. He forced that fondness ruthlessly down in favor of maintaining his current state of paranoia – he’d spent too many years kept out of the loop to put up with it now! He wasn’t going to let love and friendship anesthetize him!

“So, since Professor McGonagall is eating her breakfast like the rest of us, will you both believe me when I say it’s probably something I should know about?” 

“Bloody hell,” said Ron around his toast. “Shoulda known we couldn’t get him off it.” 

Harry took real offense to that statement. “Yes, I’m being so unreasonable. It’s not like I haven’t been systematically lied to for years because I’m ‘too young to know,’ and ended up having to act anyway but with incomplete information!” 

 “We know, Harry,” said Hermione. Harry flinched when her hand landed on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, kept himself from pulling away. He knew if he gave himself a moment to adjust, the touch would be soothing. Hermione, ever sharp, clearly didn’t miss his reaction, her voice dropped to a gentle hum when she said, “It very well might be something you need to know, but the best you can do is drop by the Headmaster’s office later. We’ll go with you if you’d like.” 

Harry jerked his shoulder out of Hermione’s reach – if she couldn’t tell why Harry might be a little reluctant to do that, well, he wasn’t sure how he’d go about explaining it to her. 

Alphonse slept through his morning classes on Wednesday, October 2nd. He slept long and darkly, blessedly free of dreams. After waking near lunchtime, he remembered thinking that maybe sleep would come when he’d successfully removed the Headmaster’s curse. I don’t think it’s from relief, though, he thought. It’s just that he’d stumbled back to the Ravenclaw dorm thoroughly exhausted. 

Pulling on his Hogwarts robes, he idly wondered if Brother had woken up in time to teach the classes Al had missed. Back in the armor, he hadn’t quite noticed just how little Ed slept; Al didn’t sleep at all, so anything more than four hours seemed like a lot. But now that he was back in his body, now that sometimes all his body wanted to do was sleep, he realized that perhaps he should be alarmed by Ed’s sleeping habits.

And sure enough, when Alphonse slid into his spot next to Luna at the lunch table, she smiled placidly at him and said, “We missed you in Alchemy this morning. I could tell your brother was thinking hard about something.” 

“So he did make it to class,” said Al. 

Luna’s smile turned almost shark-like before turning placid again. “But not to breakfast.”

That was good to know – at least Ed had gotten some sleep after the Headmaster’s medical fiasco. “Zat’s good,” he said. “We had a late night last night.” 

“I thought so,” said Luna. “You didn’t pass through the common room before I went to bed myself, so I wondered what you were up to.” 

“Uh – “

“Oh no, I don’t need to know what you were doing – I wasn’t asking. Just letting you know that I’d wondered.” 

Al nodded weakly. “Sanks, Luna.” 

She caught his gaze, made direct eye contact. The haze in her eyes didn’t disappear, but a fierceness managed to cut through it. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, or if it concerns me.” It wasn’t a request, or even a command. It was simply a description of how the future would be. 

Shaking off his earlier unease, Alphonse nodded more firmly. “Of course.” 

Luna hummed, turned her attention to her sandwich. Alphonse chanced a look up at the Head Table where Ed was engaging in some sort of silly argument with Professor Snape. As he should be , thought Al. Ed wasn’t Ed without engaging in petty but explosive disagreements with authority figures. 

After a moment’s watching, Ed turned. Across the crowds of students, Ed flashed Al a smile and a wink. Cheered, Alphonse served himself a generous portion of soup.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Al thought that he might have trouble paying attention in class after essentially amputating Headmaster Dumbledore’s hand and stripping him of most of his magic, but his sleep had been truly restorative. His notes were careful and precise, his attention was flexible and ready to be directed. 

He managed to earn points for Ravenclaw in Herbology, scored well on a quiz in charms. When the day ended, Al still felt rested. 

After a quick stop to the Great Hall to load up on dinner items, Alphonse made his way down to the Hospital Wing. He wanted to ask after the Headmaster’s condition as soon as possible, and he rather thought Madam Pomfrey would give him more access after demonstrably sleeping though some classes, attending some others, and eating a few good meals. He was right. 

The main room of the Hospital Wing was relatively empty – a student or two languished behind their curtains, but it wasn’t busy. Alphonse waved at a patient who was both awake and had their curtains open. They weren’t someone Alphonse knew, but they flashed him a small smile all the same. Al then poked his head through the door at the back of the room, to the hallway that led to both Madam Pomfrey’s office and the staff ward.

“Hallo?” 

Madam Pomfrey stepped through the storeroom door. “I was wondering when you’d show. I’m glad you had the sense to take the day, first.” 

Al sheepishly ruffled the back of his hair. “I sought you might be. Zat’s probably zee only reason I wasn’t back here zee instant I woke up.”

“Well, even if it’s under threat of what I might think, I hope you continue to show good sense.” Madam Pomfrey shut the storeroom door behind her, looked off toward her office, then off toward the staff ward. “I assume you want to check on the Headmaster as soon as possible.” 

“If it won’t be too taxing for him,” said Alphonse. “I just want to help as much as I can.” 

“You want to help?” said Madam Pomfrey. She shifted her weight, looked at him appraisingly. “If you want to help and you’re caught up on your coursework, I could use a volunteer.” 

Volunteering. Huh. That wasn’t exactly what Alphonse had in mind, but wasn’t a broad interest in medicine at least part of the reason he’d started studying alkahestry to begin with? What would it hurt to learn magic healing too? He looked down at the Ravenclaw badge on the chest of his robe. The house’s eagle sat proud against its heraldic field of blue. Alphonse was kind and loyal and hardworking. Alphonse was brave, with no small amount of cunning, too. But now? In this world that he’d found himself in, with no guarantee of how long he might be there? Knowledge for knowledge’s sake was what he wanted to focus on. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’d love zat. If zee Headmaster is sleeping, I can help you until he’s ready for visitors. If you would like reoccurring help, I would love to do zat, too.” 

Madam Pomfrey held out the jars in her arms with a nod. “Well, this will be a good place to start. If you don’t mind taking these out to my workstation in the student’s ward. I’ll go check on the Headmaster, see if he’s awake for visitors.” 

“Zat sounds good,” said Alphonse, taking the assorted jars carefully, tucking one under an arm, another in the crook of an elbow, a third, fourth, and fifth clutched to his chest by his forearms. Madam Pomfrey waited only to confirm that Al’s grip was secure before she bustled off into the teacher’s ward. 

Belatedly, Alphonse realized that he probably could have put them all under a levitation spell, but. Well. Teacher had always taught him that using alchemy for things that could be accomplished without it was a mark of an alchemist’s entitlement. She would probably cross-apply that philosophy to magic. Some things just had to be done by hand. 

He pushed open the door to the main ward with a spare shoulder, made his way over to Madam Pomfrey’s curtained off workstation, laid out the jars. Despite his own stays here, they weren’t anything he recognized. Al carefully unscrewed the lid of one. It was a thin beige paste, generously peppered with visible potions botanicals. He used a hand to waft up the aroma, keeping his nose a safe distance from anything actively dangerous. Its smell, much like its appearance, was heavily herbal. There was a spiciness that appealed. 

Alphonse replaced the lid, eyed the next jar. But as much as he wanted to throw himself into this study of magical medicine, he hadn’t really come down here to scrutinize potions. If Madam Pomfrey intended to teach him, he’d probably learn them all eventually whether he examined them now or not. 

With an eye to avoid disaster, he pushed the jars a little further from the edge of the workbench. Though magic could fix most spills, some potions were volatile enough that contact with a floor might render them ineffective. Al didn’t want to be responsible for wasting materials on his very first task. Nodding to himself, Alphonse followed an internal beckon to the rest of the student ward, slipped out of Madam Pomfrey’s workstation. It was still quiet, but from this corner, he could hear the occasional whimper from behind one of the drawn sets of curtains. 

“A quidditch practice accident,” someone said. Alphonse couldn’t quite help sliding into a defensive stance. When his pulse calmed enough that he could see again, it was obvious that the speaker was Madam Pomfrey. But Al still took another moment before righting his posture. Madam Pomfrey did him the favor of ignoring it, continued. “I don’t understand why people are so intent on hurting themselves with contact sports.” 

“The student over there?” said Al when his voice returned. 

“Mmhm,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I thought you might be aware of him. He plays for Ravenclaw.” 

Alphonse was not aware of a Ravenclaw quidditch player in the Hospital Wing. Aside from Luna, the prefects, and his roommate Gerry, Alphonse had not become acquainted with many of his fellow Ravenclaws. “I’m sorry he got hurt.” 

“Me too,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Follow me, Alphonse.” She swept off into the corridor at the back of the ward. Alphonse followed. When the door closed behind them, she did not continue on to the teacher’s ward. Instead, she ushered Al into her office. 

“Is zee Headmaster not awake?” 

“He’s awake,” said Madam Pomfrey. “But I think we should speak, first.” 

Oh fuck , thought Al with a mental voice that sounded a lot like Ed. “What about?” 

Madam Pomfrey gestured at one of the couches by the hot drink dispenser. Al sat, and she sat in one of the adjacent chairs. Her face was cleanly smooth. Her lips sat at a neutral angle, her forehead was relaxed, her eyes did not lean into the crinkles in the corners. “How are you adjusting to Hogwarts?” 

“I? Vas?” Al wasn’t expecting that. There were a number of things he might have expected, but not that. 

“You only discovered that magic existed this summer,” said Madam Pomfrey. “It is the very beginning of October. You have already 1) had a relative become one of your professors, 2) stormed Malfoy Manor, and 3) saved the life of the most important man in wizarding Britain. This is not the sort of behavior we expect out of fifteen-year-olds. It can be traumatic, and I want to check in.” 

Ah. That was more the direction Al had been expecting. “I’m fine,” said Al. “Really. Considering zee sings zat happened in Am – er, Germany, zis is not unusual. Bruder attracts trouble.” 

“Young Mr. Elric. Your brother is not the one who killed You-Know-Who and saved Professor Dumbledore’s life.” 

“He is zee one who got turned into a cat.” Al was still bitter about that one. He didn’t like the concept of transfiguring humans and animals, not into inanimate objects and certainly not into each other. It was not his favorite thing. 

Madam Pomfrey betrayed a flicker of exasperation. “Transfiguration? Is that the thing that bothers you the most out of all this?” 

The only person who’d tried to talk to Alphonse about the cat incident was Professor McGonagall. Al liked her, really, he did. But she was also the very person who had done the transfiguration. And here was Madam Pomfrey who’d been so kindly efficient with the pained whimpers of an old man. “Honestly?” said Al, “I had nightmares after killing Voldemort. Zey were worse after zee cat incident. It was too much like somesing zat happened in Germany.”

“You didn’t even know magic existed in Germany,” said Madam Pomfrey. The exasperation in her tone had landed now somewhere in the ballpark of disbelief. 

Alphonse snorted. “I didn’t. But I was already an alchemist. And zee very worst alchemy involves human transmutation. Zere was a researcher Bruder and I were studying with. And well. He had a young daughter and a dog. We didn’t have zee strength to do it, but a vigilante put little Nina and Alexander out of zeir misery not long after we left.” 

The horror that crossed Madam Pomfrey’s face was vindicating. If she wanted to say something, Alphonse didn’t let her do it. “Also tomorrow’s zee anniversary.” 

“Of the little girl’s-?”

“No,” said Al, shaking his head. “Of zee day we burned down our childhood home and Ed entered zee military as a State Alchemist when we were ten and eleven.”

“I’m sorry what? ” 

“I’m sorry,” said Al. “I shouldn’t have dropped zat on you. It’s just been a difficult six months.”  

Madam Pomfrey sat back in her chair, reached over with one arm to spell a hot chocolate out of the drink dispenser. She didn’t look at him again until she had a steaming mug cupped in both hands. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “You talking is the point of this exercise.” 

She took a drink of her hot chocolate, blinked, said, “I’m sorry, would you like a cup?” 

Alphonse considered the offer, nodded, but stood to fix it himself. He didn’t look at her as he spelled hot chocolate from the dispenser to a waiting mug. “I don’t know how much Professor McGonagall told you about how Bruder and I came to be here.” He wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to spread the whole truth further than it had already gotten, but if Madam Pomfrey already knew… 

Pomfrey’s eyes were searching when she said, “She only told me about your brother’s arm issues. Nothing else.” 

Alphonse wrapped his hands around his mug of hot chocolate, sat back down. “I don’t know how much I should tell you if you don’t already know. Zee Truth didn’t say nobody could find out, but zey implied zat zey would prefer zee news to travel as little as possible.” 

“The Truth?” said Madam Pomfrey. “What Truth?” 

Al took a long drink of hot chocolate to stall. Why couldn’t he and Brother tell people about their origins? He understood why it would be bad if everyone found out, but the Truth hadn’t said a thing about not being allowed a few confidants. And though Dumbledore also encouraged secrecy and Al wasn’t quite so suspicious of Headmaster Dumbledore as Ed was, he certainly wasn’t going to keep secrets just because the Headmaster might want to keep the full details close to his chest. 

The hot chocolate felt good on the back of Al’s tongue. He savored it a moment longer. “Alright. I’m done caring about secrets,” he said. “Bruder and I aren’t from zis world. We weren’t told why we were sent here, but we were sent by a regulator of Life, Death, and the Universes. It stands to reason, zen, zat Truth wants us to bring it someone who circumvented Life and Death. Zee only one who fits zat bill is Voldemort. We didn’t know magic existed because it doesn’t in our home world. I never had bursts of accidental magic zere, but zey started up almost as soon as we arrived in Berlin. Just wasn’t sure what it was until. Well.”

Madam Pomfrey blinked. Her hands trembled as she took another drink of her hot chocolate. 

“You can check wis Professor McGonagall,” said Al. “She knows about it. And she collected proof by talking to some of zee people who helped us at zee Universität.”  

“You were sent by a regulator of Life, Death, and the Universe?” said Madam Pomfrey. “How old are you again?” 

Alphonse smiled – he got that a lot from people back in Amestris, when he was a child in a hulking suit of armor. Not so much when he was a teenager in an unusually frail-looking human body. “Almost sixteen,” he said. 

Madam Pomfrey carefully set down her hot chocolate and looked at the ceiling. “Fifteen years old,” she said to nobody in particular. Then she righted herself, glared at Al. “You said ten and eleven. Does this mean that Professor Elric is only sixteen himself right now?” 

Al’d thought that the school medic, of all people, would have been in the loop about his brother’s actual age, but apparently not. “We needed one of us to work an adult job after we got here, and I was too emaciated to stand. I’d spent zee last several years with my body existing in zee Truth’s void while my conscious mind was tied to a suit of armor. I’d erased zat tie right before we left Amestris to give Bruder his arm back – what he’d originally traded for my consciousness, you understand. So Bruder went to zee Truth for my mind and body back, but unlike zee time we failed at resurrecting our mozer, he actually knew what he was supposed to trade. Zee Truth liked zat Bruder gave him zee ‘right’ answer, so zey offered us a deal and sent us here instead.” 

Al liked this truth telling. He hadn’t even given Professor McGonagall this many details. But Madam Pomfrey had arranged her face to careful blankness again, and Al couldn’t tell how any of this was being received. For a moment, he was tempted to look at her chi patterns for a better guess. But that would be invasive , he thought. 

“Too emaciated to stand,” said Madam Pomfrey, pulling a booklet from her robe. “Mrs. Weasley sent along recovery notes when you arrived here in September, but she didn’t mention anything about you starting too emaciated to stand!”  She took pen to paper, and Alphonse immediately recognized her booklet for the medi-witch equivalent to an alchemist’s notebook. He patted his own breast pocket, reassured to feel the ridge of a leather-bound spine.

He didn’t quite know how to feel about her taking notes on him, but it felt so good to remove the selective filters he’d been building since Mom died, and his life had been consumed by secrets. Even the truth-tellings he’d given to Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, and Headmaster Dumbledore had been curated for effect. 

After a moment, he decided that the liberation of sharing was worth the quiet scratches of Madam Pomfrey’s quill. He said, “You should haff seen me when I first fell out of zee void. By zee time I arrived at zee Burrow, I was already a few months into recovery. But when we landed, Bruder had to use alchemy to hide me under a sidewalk while he collected supplies, because zere was no way I was going anywhere right away. Zee only reason he didn’t keep me underground for multiple days was because zere was a University library right zere. One ov zee circulation managers kept me in her office until zee Head Librarian agreed to bring Bruder and I home wis her.”  

Madam Pomfrey did not seem to know what to do with that last bit of information. Her quill stopped its scratching and she set her notebook face down in her lap, looked at Alphonse seriously. “If it were any other student, I don’t think I would believe you.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” said Al. Because he did. If someone in Amestris had told him they’d universe-hopped from a land of magic, he would have smiled politely before handing them over to Mei for inspection. And if it was pre-Mei, well, he would have consulted his brother, and Ed would have laughed and laughed and laughed. “Honestly, I wonder why you believe me at all.” 

“I try to keep pace with muggle medical advancements, and I’ve never seen anything like your brother’s prosthetic.”  Madam Pomfrey picked up her hot chocolate back up, put her nose in the path of its steam. 

Alphonse threw his free hand into the air. “I know! It’s been impossible for us to find a mechanic to do maintenance. We’re going to arrive back in Amestris and Winry is going to slaughter us both for letting it go so long. But Bruder really is doing zee best he can by himself.” 

Madam Pomfrey traced the edges of her notebook’s cover. It was still lying face-down in her lap. “And I’m the medical professional supposed to be overseeing him right now. Of course,” she said, an exhausted quaver in her voice. “Has your brother said anything about our plan to try regrowth on Friday?” 

“No,” said Al. “But zat doesn’t mean anysing. I haven’t seen him since we went to bed last night. And we had too much on our minds to talk while walking.”

“Right,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I don’t think I can handle any more conversational bombs before I finish sorting through everything you’ve said already, but before we wrap this up, I want to revisit your problems with transfiguration.” 

In the rush of telling Madam Pomfrey everything, Alphonse had almost forgotten that the conversation had taken direction from dwelling on kitten-shaped Ed. He deflated slightly, not quite sure if he was ready to talk more about his issues with transfiguration. “I will get over it,” he said finally. “But zat doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

Madam Pomfrey made a thoughtful noise. “Have you done much reading about human transfiguration? You’re not quite at the level where you’ll have to perform it, but you can’t avoid it forever. Especially if you’re hoping for your NEWT.” 

Al tried to sink into the chair cushions. “Some,” he said. 

“And how much is some?” 

Oh, he did not like the knowing expression on Madam Pomfrey’s face. But he found himself compelled to answer honestly. “Not much,” he said. 

The notebook was open again, and Madam Pomfrey was writing. “Then it sounds like that might be a good first step, Mr. Elric. Read about the subject. At least then you can start with theory, and you won’t have to actually look at demonstrations while you get yourself comfortable with the idea.”

Alphonse did not imagine he would ever quite be comfortable with the idea, but he could plainly see that it wasn’t the answer Madam Pomfrey wanted to hear. “I can do zat,” he said instead, voice small. 

Madam Pomfrey closed her notebook, tucked it back into her robe. “Really, Alphonse. It isn’t the same.”  

He would try to believe that. 

Chapter Text

After their conversation, Alphonse followed Madam Pomfrey through to the teacher’s ward. The closer they got to Headmaster Dumbledore’s bedside, the calmer and more collected her posture became. Sure enough, she did not say a word to the Headmaster about the many secrets Alphonse had spilled to her. 

It had not actually occurred to him that she might spread his story around until they’d left her office, but now Al could not help but wonder how far their conversation might travel. Fuck it, he thought, borrowing from Ed’s extensive vocabulary. I wanted to share, so I did. If she tells, I won’t confide in her again, but I refuse to regret this. He did feel better, even if the thought of reading about human transfiguration filled him with a sick sort of dread. 

Madam Pomfrey drew the curtain around Headmaster Dumbledore’s bed just enough for the two of them to scoot into the enclosed space. The old man was half-sitting, propped up by an inclining hospital bed and a multitude of pillows. A rolling tray table had been positioned over his lap. His cup of soup was empty, but his sandwich had been picked apart for the choice cuts of meat. 

Alphonse had yet to encounter a sandwich at Hogwarts he’d felt compelled to pick apart like that – the kitchens had access to the sort of fresh ingredients that the military institutions of Amestris could only dream of (not that he had any real experience eating from military cafeterias, but he’d watched Ed eat at them, and that was bad enough).

The Headmaster’s eyes opened, and he smiled faintly. “Young Mr. Elric!”

“How are you feeling?” asked Alphonse. 

The headmaster lifted the bandaged stump of his wrist. “Incomplete,” he said. “But I suppose that’s better than dead.” 

Al could imagine. Since his arrival at the Burrow, he’d learned to feel the presence of the magic inside of him. By the rueful look on the Headmaster’s face, Alphonse rather doubted that he was only talking about his missing hand. But. “I remember when Bruder lost his limbs,” he said. “It’s an adjustment, and I am so sorry you have to go srough it.” 

“It’s certainly not your fault, young man. Don’t apologize.” The Headmaster was trying for that uncomfortable eye contact he favored, and Alphonse deliberately averted his gaze.   

“I’m not sorry we did it,” Al said. “Given zee current political climate, zis school needs you for its Headmaster. Zat doesn’t mean I can’t empathize.” 

“I’m glad you’re not sorry,” said Professor Dumbledore. “But Hogwarts would endure with or without me.” 

Yup. The Headmaster was not referring solely to his missing hand. Alphonse was about to jump to the defense of the unmagical – Ed certainly managed to be an asset to every situation he inserted himself into, and he didn’t have any magic at all – but Madam Pomfrey slid between them. “Now Headmaster, I don’t believe Alphonse came down here to debate your usefulness. He was the one who attended to your immediate first-aid needs, kept you alive long enough to get down here. I think it’s understandable that he might just want reassurance that you’re still among us.” 

Professor Dumbledore looked away. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much,” he said. Alphonse believed him. It had taken him years to remember his encounter with the Truth, after all. 

“You were rather delirious,” said Madam Pomfrey. 

The Headmaster flinched. Maybe Alphonse didn’t believe him. Still, he could hardly blame the man for intentionally suppressing the delusion Alphonse had leaned into. If Dumbledore remembered anything of the things he’d said while Alphonse kept him calm and awake, he’d have every right to be embarrassed. 

“I’m just glad to see you’re okay,” said Alphonse. “I vas zee one who had to carry Bruder to zee doctor after he lost his arm and leg, you know. And I managed to keep him zen, but it was a near sing. We wouldn’t have made it if we didn’t live literally next door to our region’s foremost amputation experts. I vas so afraid zat I wouldn’t be lucky twice.”

“I’m glad you were,” Professor Dumbledore said, taking the conversational out that Alphonse had implicitly offered. “Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome,” said Alphonse. “I would do it again, Professor.” Al hoped his message was clear: I’m not embarrassed or upset about our conversation, so please don’t beat yourself up about it. He’d honestly been glad about the Headmaster’s confusion – it had kept him talking, which was so much better than some of the alternatives. 

“Hopefully, you will never have to,” said Professor Dumbledore. He gave a small, pained smile that made Alphonse sure he’d understood. 

“We can only hope,” said Alphonse. 

Madam Pomfrey tsked from her position on the Professor’s other side. “I do hope you both will be leaving major medical intervention to the professionals in the future.” 

“Mr. Bill’s a professional,” said Alphonse, aiming for a cheeky smile and probably failing. “And Bruder has a good bit of experience in jerry rigging medical alchemy at zee last minute. You could almost say it was his job!”

“I’ve come to the realization that your brother isn’t much more experienced than you are, Mr. Elric,” said Madam Pomfrey. “The two of you just operate under that fiction to preserve a status quo. You’re both too young to have people’s lives on your shoulders.” 

Al snorted, and Madam Pomfrey amended her statement. “Any more than you already have, at any rate.” 

She didn’t say a damn word about Bill Weasley, though. Right, Al could use that later. Settled, he turned back towards the Headmaster. “Have you gotten any rest?” 

“Phenomenal rest,” said Professor Dumbledore, in the pleasantly bland tone of voice that meant he was probably lying through his teeth. 

“I hope you get some more,” said Al. “I know Bruder’s going to stop by soon – he’s had some experience, learning to live without an arm.”  

Dumbledore looked to Madam Pomfrey, expression inscrutable. She nodded at him, said, “Best not to worry about it right now, he won’t be by for another few days. Right now, your main prerogative is to rest.” 

“Of course,” said Alphonse. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t haff mentioned it.” 

“Don’t apologize,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I’ve already discussed it with him, myself. But I think the Headmaster might be getting tired.” 

Headmaster Dumbledore sunk further into his pillows. “I’m afraid so,” he said. 

Alphonse knew a dismissal when he saw one. He gently patted one of the Headmaster’s hands, said, “Well, I hope you have a good evening, Professor. Get some rest. I will be by again tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Elric,” said the Headmaster. “I shall see you then.” 

Encouraged, Alphonse smiled as broadly as he could. “See you zen!” He turned from Professor Dumbledore’s bedside and let himself be ushered from the teacher’s ward, through the student’s ward, and out the main doors of the Hospital Wing. 

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” said Madam Pomfrey. 

“Yes!” said Alphonse. “After dinner?” 

“Sure,” she said. “Are you still interested in volunteering?” 

“Absolutely,” Al said. 

“Then I’ll have a proper schedule written up for you by the time you arrive. I’ll expect you to time your visits to the Headmaster to run alongside your volunteer hours – if I suspect you’re spending too much time down here, I will cut you off.” 

Overcome with a sense of being cared for – and cared for by an adult who was starting to really understand his unique circumstances – Alphonse near tackled the medi-witch with an exuberant hug. There was a moment where she didn’t respond, and Al was briefly afraid that he’d overstepped. But then she gingerly patted his shoulder, and Alphonse decided it was probably alright.

When he pulled away, Madam Pomfrey looked a little bewildered. “Sorry,” he said, when the moment stretched a little too long. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Just get some rest tonight. I don’t have any use for a volunteer that’s asleep on their feet.” 

So, she wasn’t going to comment on the hug. Al decided that it was probably for the best. It might have been a little weird to impulsively hug your medic, but after so many years without any sort of real sensation, Alphonse wasn’t going to waste time feeling bad about sometimes defaulting to physical affection – he’d spent so long without it. So long as he was respecting other people’s boundaries, he wasn’t going to deny himself the simple delight of having a body again. 

“Sanks,” he said. “But zat goes for you too! You’re zee only medic on staff at Hogwarts, and zat sounds like an awful workload.” 

Madam Pomfrey huffed, said, “I’ll be alright, lad.” 

He hadn’t really realized just how awful her workload must be until the undertones in her voice gave her away. After a few more pleasantries, Alphonse went off toward Ravenclaw tower thinking about the truly ridiculous student to staff ratio. Maybe I can convince the Headmaster to hire more staff, he thought. Surely, the only school in magical Britain had enough funding to adequately provide for the needs of the student body without running horrifically understaffed. Surely. 

Maybe he could get some details on the problem from one of the portraits before he went to bed.

Minerva McGonagall had not thought to worry about the Headmaster when he didn’t show up for breakfast. Merlin knew that her own sleep schedule had gotten unpredictable once she’d attained a certain age, and Albus had always been a bit of a night owl, even in their younger years. 

When he also missed lunch , she found herself a little more concerned. But she really didn’t have the time between eating and getting to her next class to go looking for him. She could tell that other members of the staff were a little uneasy – Severus especially looked worried. And that worried her, because Severus usually knew more about any given situation than she did, drat him. 

As she sat at her desk after lunch, waiting for her class to arrive, she sent Albus a quick owl, hoping he’d just got caught up in paperwork. Nothing. Damn. 

It wasn’t until dinner time that she had time to visit his office herself. She grabbed a sandwich from the Great Hall and made her way through the castle. She let herself through the gargoyles, kept herself intentionally still on the moving staircase, even though she wanted to rush upwards under the power of her own legs. 

When she got to it, she knocked on the door. Nothing. “Albus?” she called. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.” 

Nothing. Damn.

She let herself in, found a room in utter disarray. “Shit.” And with that, she let out a string of curses in Scots, and then more curses in Scottish. This was almost exactly what she’d feared. “Who do I even contact about this?” she said to the air. “What’s our plan for this, again?” She knew she and Severus had concocted one – what they would do if somehow the Headmaster was taken, but she couldn’t remember exactly what it was. 

She was about to send off a patronus to Severus, hoping to Merlin he had more details – fearing the implications of him having more details – when a green envelope constituted itself in front of her. Minerva snatched it from the air. 

Minerva’s breath caught as she slid a finger under the seal. The envelope opened, and Poppy Pomfrey’s voice issued from it. 

“Minnie,” she said, “I realize I probably should have informed you sooner, but my mind just caught up to me. Albus is in the infirmary. I’ll drop by your quarters to give you details, if you don’t mind. He’s rather too exhausted for visitors. I’m on my way now.” 

Fire blazed, and the envelope collapsed in a pile of ash. Minerva let the ashes fall among the detritus on the floor. The infirmary, she thought to herself. Why was Albus in the infirmary? She knew there was something horrifically wrong with his hand, but he’d assured her that it was under control. Minerva believed him; her specialty was hardly curse breaking. 

It struck her then that Poppy had said that she was already on her way. “Shit,” Minerva said, not for the first time in the last several minutes. She hiked up the hem of her robes, cast an endurance charm, and raced out of Albus’s office, hoping that she’d get to her rooms in time to welcome Poppy with a passive aggressive plate of biscuits. 

She did not. By the time she arrived at her quarters, Poppy was already standing in the hall, looking intently at Minerva’s door, forehead creased with concern. “Poppy,” said Minerva. 

Poppy looked up. “Minnie,” she said. “It’s good to see you.” 

Minerva flicked her wand at the door, and it swung into the room beyond it. “After you,” she said to Poppy, who nodded, looking relieved. 

“Of course,” Poppy said, eyes darting down the hall. The hallway was deserted, quiet enough that Minerva was reasonably sure that there weren’t any students tucked away in spare corners. But in a castle like Hogwarts, ears were everywhere. 

Poppy stepped across Minerva’s threshold and Minerva wasted no time in following her. The door closed behind them. After a beat of silence, Minerva threw up an additional privacy charm – she kept her quarters well warded, of course, but it paid to be cautious. 

“So,” she said, finally. “Is there any particular reason you failed to inform the Deputy Headmistress of the Headmaster’s incapacity.” 

Poppy glared at her. “Don’t give me that, Minnie. I spent last night trying to keep the stupid man alive. If it weren’t for young Alphonse’s quick response, I don’t think he’d even be here. By the time he was stable, I was both exhausted and had students to tend to.” 

Minerva deflated. Hogwarts was chronically understaffed, these moments of poor communication happened with alarming frequency. “Of course,” she said. “Was it the hand? He told me that it was under control. Silly of me to believe him.” 

“It was,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Apparently his plan was to die heroically some time this spring. The Elrics pieced this together, decided it was stupid, and enlisted Bill Weasley to help them break the curse.” 

It was always the Elric brothers, wasn’t it? Minerva gestured at her table. “Why don’t you take a seat? I think we could both use some tea.” She turned toward the counter where her kettle lived, began the preparations without even waiting for an answer. 

“I’d like that,” said Poppy. “Because honestly, the only reason I even thought to inform you about Albus was because I wanted to talk to you about Alphonse.” 

Alphonse. Minerva looked down at the tea she was brewing, sighed. She summoned a tin of biscuits from her cabinets to go with it. She wasn’t going to pull a Molly Weasley and throw alcohol in the tea – it was a school night, after all – but a conversation about the Elrics at least required some comfort food.

When Minerva returned to the table, Poppy took one look at the biscuit tin and threw herself over the table. “Perfect,” she said. “these are just what I need to get through this conversation.” 

Minerva snorted, sat down across from her colleague. “The last time I had a conversation about the Elrics, Molly Weasley spiked the tea. I figured biscuits were the least I could do.” 

“That sounds like Molly,” said Poppy. “She does not like to cope sober.” 

Minerva nodded absently, pushing Poppy’s tea in front of her. “So. What exactly is it about Alphonse that is more disturbing to you than our headmaster almost dying?” 

“He said you knew about it.” Poppy’s face looked a little anxious, but her hands were steady as she methodically dunked a biscuit into her tea. 

Minerva took up a biscuit into her own hands. “Oh?” she said. 

“And I’m really hoping you do, because his claims were rather extraordinary.” 

“Oh,” said Minerva. “He told you about his universe hopping adventures, didn’t he?” 

Poppy took a bite of her biscuit. Minerva couldn’t be sure, but she would not be surprised if it was to buy time before speaking. Well, Minerva certainly wasn’t going to fill that pause by speaking more . She took a bite of her own biscuit. 

It was another moment before Poppy found her words. “He did,” she said. 

“I’m afraid I can’t offer more proof beyond what the boys themselves told me,” said Minerva. 

Poppy sighed mournfully. “I was afraid of that. Alphonse said something about you getting some proof from Berlin?” 

Did the theories of two eccentric muggles count?  Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose, then decided to give Poppy what she knew. Albus wouldn’t like it, but young Alphonse had already spilled the beans. And really, what was Albus going to do about it from the Hospital Wing?  “I did go to Berlin. And I found a pair of muggle women who took the Elric brothers in and helped to forge their paperwork. The one who actually brought them into her home guessed about the universe hopping. The one who helped with the paperwork thought they were a government project gone wrong but liked onto the universe theory when it was presented. The boys never said anything about it to them, but apparently, they did not blend in well.”

“I don’t think those boys would blend in well anywhere. And poor Alphonse tries so hard at it – Edward in the red coat, and Alphonse actually wearing his uniform hat,” said Poppy. The legs of her chair scraped against the stone floor as she stretched back in her chair. “I’ve recruited him as a volunteer, because that’s really the most I’m qualified to do. I’m not a mind healer. Minnie, those boys really need a mind healer.” 

“If we let them anywhere near the ministry, they’re going to disappear, Poppy.” 

In their entire acquaintance, Poppy Pomfrey was not a woman who used foul language. And she didn’t now, but the way her face contorted would make any sailor blush. Across the wooden table, Poppy’s hand rested white-knuckled against the grain. Minerva reached over and patted it, smoothing out the tension in her ligaments.  Poppy didn’t let the contact stay, though. She pulled her hand to her lap and gave Minerva a sharp look. “We need change, Minnie. I’m not qualified for this.” 

“You’re the best we’ve got, I’m afraid.” 

“And that’s on Albus’s hiring practices,” Poppy said. 

“That’s on the Ministry’s education budget,” said Minerva. “But we’re certainly not going to get an increase with Ms. Senior Undersecretary suddenly ruling the Wizengamot.” 

“No,” said Poppy, aghast. “I was hoping that was just the Prophet misreporting!” 

“Unfortunately, not.” Minerva leaned back in her chair, lifting her teacup and saucer to rest on her chest. She hit it with a small warming charm, felt the steam rush up at her face. Her muscles relaxed infinitesimally. 

“I never thought I’d hate a person – other than You-Know-Who, you understand – as much as I hate that woman. But here we are.” Poppy took a ferocious bite from her biscuit. For a moment, the sound of chewing filled an angry silence. 

“It’s not just her,” said Minerva. “Obviously. Hogwarts being underfunded is a chronic, long-term issue.” 

Poppy nodded. “Of course,” she said. There was another pause. “Part of me is glad that Alphonse is volunteering – between him and Miss Wemple from Hufflepuff, I might actually be able to keep on top of the infirmary while treating Albus. But on the other hand, I probably shouldn’t be relying on my patients to do my work. And make no mistake, despite being in relatively good physical health, Alphonse is a patient.” 

Minerva felt a twinge of guilt. “Did he tell you about his transfiguration issues?” 

“He did,” said Poppy, looking disapproving. “I know that Edward isn’t a student, so it isn’t expressly against your moral code. But transfiguring an underage muggle?” 

“I know,” said Minerva. “But you saw him at the Tournament. He was exhausted! I was just trying to force him into taking a break.” 

Her mouth was still open, ready to continue with justifications, but Poppy waved a tired hand. “I get it,” she said. “You couldn’t have known. Alphonse spilled his secrets this evening like someone who’d never shared anything in his life, so overshared to compensate. If those boys aren’t used to keeping secrets, I’ll eat my hat right here.” 

“I should have known,” said Minerva. “Alphonse avoids transfiguring animals in class almost entirely. Admittedly, I’ve been lenient about his progress because he had just a few months over summer to learn four years’ worth of material. But I should have noticed that animal transfiguration was the only topic he was lagging in.” 

“Hindsight,” said Poppy. And Minerva knew that was true. 

But still. “He’s never going to trust me again,” she said. “And I know he’s not one of my lions, but I’ve taken to thinking of Ed as an honorary Gryffindor. So, Alphonse is adjacent, like Padma Patil. And that’s forgetting his affiliation with other organizations.” 

“The Alphonse I spoke to this evening didn’t sound like an unforgiving sort, Minnie.” Poppy placed her half-eaten biscuit on her plate, leaned her elbows on the table. “He’s just fifteen, and only now safe enough to begin processing everything that’s happened to him these last few years.” 

“Deposited in the middle of a wizarding war, and now he’s feeling safe enough to process.” 

Poppy shrugged, bowed her head toward the tabletop, stray curls of graying hair brushing against the warmly worn wood. “I think he told me less than a fraction of everything and it already sounded tremendous. And he’s at a school built like a fortress – wizarding war or not, Hogwarts is a pretty safe place to be.”

“Tell that to poor Mr. Potter,” said Minerva. “I think he’d disagree with you on your assessment of Hogwarts’ safety.” 

Poppy jerked her head up. “Okay, let me restate. This school is a pretty safe place to be for everyone but Mr. Potter, and I’m sure you’ll agree that Alphonse isn’t Harry.” 

 Minnie wasn’t sure that was true. It seemed that every year, He Who Must Not Be Named was infiltrating the school somehow. And last year, a teacher was using blood quills on her students during detentions. If only Minerva had known, then. She would have gotten the toad flung out on her arse immediately. Not even the ministry could ignore someone using dark artifacts on their students. 

“Is it, though?” she asked. 

“No,” said Poppy. “It is not. I’m just trying to make a construct where young Mr. Elric feeling safe here isn’t abominably horrifying.” 

“Right,” said Minerva. Some of the steam had rolled off the surface of her reheated tea. She took a tentative sip, relished the feeling of heat traveling down her throat. She took another, settled even further back in her chair. 

The chairs at Minerva’s table were plain wood, but she managed to give the impression of someone sinking deeper into cushions anyway. There was something comforting about resting on an unyielding chairback, feeling the solidness against each muscle as they relaxed. 

Poppy lifted herself up from the table, said, “Minerva, you need softer chairs.”  

Minerva looked up from her tea reproachfully. “No.” 

Poppy sighed. “Fair enough.” 

After another bite of biscuit, Minerva abruptly realized - “Poppy, you never actually explained the details of Albus’s condition!” 

Poppy jumped as though burned. “You’re right!” she said. “I didn’t!” 

If Minerva thought that talking about Alphonse Elric was nerve wracking, talking about her boss wasn’t better. And when that conversation was over, she and Poppy rock-paper-scissored over who was to inform Severus. Merlin knew Minerva didn’t want to do it.

True to their word, Hermione and Ron escorted Harry to the Headmaster’s Office that evening. The gargoyles let them through with the password, but when they knocked on the door itself, it was to no response. Harry knocked again. 

“Something’s wrong ,” Harry said. 

“Maybe,” said Ron, finally looking a little worried. Harry looked at the furrow in his best friend’s brow with no small amount of vindication. 

“It’s definitely odd that we haven’t seen him all day,” said Hermione. “But at least both Edward and Alphonse showed up later in the day? Maybe their disappearances were unrelated?” 

“Unlikely,” said Harry. 

“Unlikely,” said Hermione. “You’re right, it is unlikely. I knew it when I said it.” 

The three of them glared at the doors to Dumbledore’s office. “It’s almost curfew,” said Ron. “Have you got the cloak?” 

Harry did not have the cloak. “We’d better get back to the common room,” he said. “But I want it stated in the record that I don’t like this at all.” 

“Something’s fishy, alright,” said Ron. 

“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Hermione, with a sour look on her face. “We always do.”

Chapter Text

Thursday dawned a blue-skied October 3rd. Light filtered through the windows in Ed’s quarters, and in the moment after waking, Ed’s mind began screaming once again at the impossibility of his exterior view. Ed was getting better at accepting magic without understanding it, but it still caught him when he was vulnerable. Accepting things he did not understand wasn’t something that came naturally to him. 

But all the same, the light shone on Ed’s face. And in early October in the Northern Hemisphere, it meant that Ed really did have to get up. He was pretending to be an adult and he had responsibilities, damnit. With a roar, Ed managed to roll himself out of the bed in a general approximation of standing. The knee of his automail leg squeaked as it straightened. Ed winced – a squeaky knee didn’t hurt in any physical way, but the anticipation of Winry and her wrenches was enough to make anyone cower. 

Straight from bed, Ed hobbled over to his desk. Yup. His internal clock had not deceived him. His magic teacher’s agenda was topped by the date in a scrolling font, and it had automatically changed to the 3rd. If he’d had any doubts, his pocket watch was next to it. Ed had popped it open before placing it there the night before, intentionally setting himself the visual reminder. 

“It’s the third,” Ed said to the air in Amestrian. “A day for moving on.” 

And so, Ed endeavored to do just that. He dressed in his flamboyant red coat, slipped his gloves over his hands, and went to go slip his watch into his pocket. He glanced at the face. “Shit,” he said, because breakfast was already half-over. He bolted from his chambers for the Great Hall – damn everything, Thursday was omelet day, and Ed wasn’t going to miss it!

Besides, it might be October 3rd, but at least it wasn’t Friday. Ed still had twenty-four hours to recreate the occupational therapy he’d done as a kid. At least I’m only sixteen, he thought to himself. It wasn’t that long ago, really. 

Still, Ed couldn’t help but be cheered by the thought that he had another day of leaving the Old Man to his devices. By the time he’d made it to his seat at the teacher’s table, he was in relatively good spirits. He took his seat between Greasy and McGonagall, nodded toward where Flitwick was piling a selection of books on his chair a few seats down. He must have gotten a late start that morning, too. 

Over at the Ravenclaw table, Alphonse was sitting with his head close to the girl with the enviable pocket laboratory. Ed wondered what they were discussing, wondered just how far Alphonse had let Luna into his confidence. 

“Are you alright, Professor Elric?” said McGonagall. Her obvious concern aside, she still looked guilty when she looked at him. 

“I’m fine,” he said, not quite sure how to make her believe it. It was honestly the truth. Ed had been a little disturbed in the aftermath of the cat incident, but that was just his life. In retrospect, it seemed silly to think that he might have gotten out of this magic hellscape without it happening at least once.

“It’s not about your feline adventures, Edward,” she said. 

“Oh?” said Ed. Directly assuming what she meant now would probably give more than he wanted away, so he tamped down any automatic responses without quite registering what they might have been. 

“A few things,” said McGonagall, placing one of her elegantly aged hands in Ed’s lap. She withdrew, and sure enough there was a folded bit of parchment on his knee. Ed glanced down the teachers table – Greasy looked interested in the exchange, but what else was new? He was watching, always watching. If he didn’t have the stones to come out and ask his questions, Ed didn’t feel at all compelled to give him any answers. 

Ed made eye contact with McGonagall, jerked his head unsubtly in Greasy’s direction. She nodded, a performatively reassuring smile touching the edges of her mouth. Ed moved to open the parchment, and McGonagall did not make any moves of protest, so he figured it was safe. Either it was coded (which he doubted, none of these wizards used codes as far as he could tell), or Snape already knew about it. Ed sped up his movements, smoothly unfolded the parchment where it sat in his lap, within sight of McGonagall and Greasy, but out of sight of the rest of his coworkers. 

I’ve heard about your escapade with the Headmaster, I imagine that must have been stressful?  

Ed gently tapped his fingers together, let loose a combustion reaction, smothered the burning embers of the paper in Snape’s morning tea. Greasy snarled at him. “That was uncalled for, Professor Elric.” 

“Yeah, probably,” said Ed. “But fuck you, honestly.”

A small sting hit Ed’s shoulder. He’d seen the light of the spell in time to dodge, but he figured it was due. 

“Severus,” said McGonagall, turning Greasy’s name into an admonition. 

“At least I’m not a student,” said Ed. “He’s picking on someone his own size, for once.” 

McGonagall didn’t look like she agreed with that assessment, but she didn’t say anything about it, so Ed let it lie. The omelet that had appeared on his plate had all Ed’s favorite fillings, and food was the one thing Ed would turn down a fight for. 

“I love omelet days,” he said, to keep the conversation flowing. 

“The elves outdo themselves every time,” said McGonagall in mild agreement. 

Greasy, the spoilsport, took a bite of his buttered toast. It was all he ever ate for breakfast, and Ed seriously wanted to know how someone with the privilege of always being surrounded by all this food could possibly turn it down. But whatever. 

After a moment of companionable silence, Greasy said, “I tried to fix it, you know.” 

Ed looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Was the Great Hall the best place for this conversation? Probably not – the Slughorn walrus at the other end of the table suddenly looked interested. Well, if you don’t act covert, people usually don’t suspect shit. Ed pitched his voice slightly louder, said, “I know.” 

Greasy seemed to get that principle, because his voice was not lowered when he said, “He wouldn’t let me bring in outside help. I tried to convince him.” Good old avoiding the exact specifics for the win. 

Ed snorted. “Waste of time, honestly. If I’d tried to convince him, it would not have worked. I just brought in zee help and insisted.” 

Greasy looked down at his toast, and Ed gently nudged him with an elbow. “You’re a bastard for bullying children, but zis one wasn’t your fault.” 

Snape scowled at him. “I’m aware.” 

Ed decided he’d let Greasy have that one. “Right,” he said, scarfing down his last bites of breakfast. “Anyway, I had a late start zis morning. Got to go over my lesson plans.” 

And with that, Ed fled the Great Hall and its delicious food. Fled the Great Hall and McGonagall’s penetrating stare, fled Greasy’s heavy self-hatred. He stopped by the Ravenclaw table to give Al a pat on the head, first, though. 

It was October 3rd – Ed’s day for looking forward, and for remembering how far he’d come.

Alphonse spent the morning of October 3rd in an approximation of quiet reflection. His conversation with Madame Pomfrey from the night before had left him thoughtful, and the promise of learning about medical magic had him looking forward to the evening, when he’d grab something quick from the Great Hall before heading to the Hospital Wing, both to see Headmaster Dumbledore and begin his actual volunteering. 

It was nice to have something good begin on October 3rd. Alphonse rode that high through breakfast, rode that high through his morning classes. Then Harry Potter appeared in his personal space before lunch, flanked by an apologetic Hermione Granger and an exasperated Ron Weasley. 

“I want to know,” Harry said, with absolutely no preamble. “Dumbledore said he was going to keep me in the loop from now on, but he’s been missing for almost two days now and nobody’s told me anything.” 

A volatile child pawn. Ah, memories. “Hello to you too, Harry,” said Alphonse, stalling. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this. On the one hand, Harry had every right to be upset about this. On the other, it really wasn’t the Headmaster’s fault for not saying anything. He was rightfully exhausted by the pursuit of healing. 

Belatedly, Alphonse realized that either he or Ed should have been the one to say something. Madame Pomfrey had too much to do, and Alphonse wasn’t even sure who among the staff even knew the details at this point. He hadn’t said anything to his classmates out of respect to the Headmaster’s privacy, but there were a few people who probably should have been informed right away. 

“Sorry,” said Harry, bitterness and insincerity in his voice. “Hello, Alphonse.” 

Al glanced around the hallway – nobody seemed to be paying much attention to their exchange, but there were too many ears around. He put on his most cheerful voice, clasped his hands together. “We have so much to catch up on!” he said. 

Harry looked about to protest, but both Hermione and Ron seemed to get the ploy, because they needled gentle elbows into Harry’s ribs in an impressive unison.  Hermione put on a cheerful voice of her own. “I got to see you every day during summer school,” she said. “Twice-weekly alchemy is not enough.” 

She offered him an elbow, and Alphonse gamely stuck his arm through it, marveling as he always did about the phenomenon of sensation. “Agreed,” said Al, “I know a good spot!” 

“Lead the way, mate,” said Ron, looking mildly impressed by the show. Harry nodded tensely. Alphonse could see that he’d tried to reign in his visible tells of aggression, but he still looked furious. Ed might have been a volatile child pawn too, but at least he always had a sense of humor about it! Alphonse smiled brightly for any surrounding eyes and began winding his way to the Room of Requirement. 

Luna had mentioned that this room had been involved in a set of ill-fated student shenanigans the year before, but he wasn’t prepared for how antsy the entire disaster trio got as they neared the room. The instant the door closed behind them, Harry rounded on him. 

“Who told you about this room?” 

Alphonse did not flinch, made sure to look unimpressed with Harry’s dramatics – that’s what worked with Brother when he was in a mood. “Luna,” he said. “We have to set up her mother’s portable laboratory somewhere . We use it in zee Ravenclaw tower study rooms too, but if zose are full or we don’t want to be disturbed, we come here.”

“Luna,” said Harry. 

“I would die to see the inside of that laboratory,” said Granger, looking insatiably curious. But as was usual with these kids and positive emotions, it was barely a moment before she wiped her face clean. “Of course, it was Luna.”  

“What’s zee problem?” Alphonse asked. “It’s not especially trafficked, and it’s hard to get into unless you know exactly what you’re looking for. Perfect for discrete conversations.” 

“We had to stop using it after it was compromised,” said Harry. 

“By that awful sneak, Marietta Edgecombe,” said Hermione, crossing her arms. 

Ron grinned at Hermione. “Oh, come off it, ‘Mione, you just give her shite because you want to feel better about permanently disfiguring her face.” 

“What?” said Alphonse, alarmed and reassessing his opinion of Hermione once again. 

Her nose was in the air, a sure sign she was feeling defensive about something. She tossed her hair in a voluminous fluff over one shoulder. “It isn’t my fault she broke a magically binding contract.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like you told anybody what the consequences of that contract were,” said Ron, evidently unable to resist needling her a little further. Even Harry looked cheered by the direction of this conversation. 

“Wait. Who is Marietta Edgecombe?” said Alphonse. “And how, exactly, did you permanently disfigure her face?” 

Hermione sniffed. “She graduated, so you wouldn’t know her. But she was a seventh year Ravenclaw whose mother worked in the Ministry. She sold out our defense group to this awful professor to avoid a scandal.” 

“And Hermione’s contract spelled ‘SNEAK’ on her forehead in scarring boils,” said Ron, still looking delighted. 

Alphonse looked up at the vaulted ceiling – the room had chosen a mostly cozy configuration for this talk, but the ceiling was higher than he’d ever seen it. “I somehow doubt zat we have to worry about any one else leaking zee location.” 

“But half of Slytherin House knows where it is,” said Harry. “And not just the ones that have supposedly switched sides.” 

“Can we just accept zat zere is no one else currently here, and zat zis room is one of zee more secure places available?” 

Harry scowled. Hermione sniffed. Ron looked between his friends, focused on Alphonse. “I think so, mate. These two just get stubborn sometimes.” 

“I am not stubborn, Ronald,” said Hermione.

Both Ron and Harry looked at her incredulously, and Al couldn’t quite hold back his own grin. 

“Oh shut up,” she said finally. “I’m sure the Room can handle one covert conversation. Alphonse, what do you know?” 

“I sought Harry was zee one who absolutely needed zee information,” said Al; Ron directed his grin at him, and Al couldn’t bring himself to regret the sass. 

Harry’s scowl deepened and Hermione’s cheeks pinked. Hermione looked at Harry, who looked at her. Finally, looked back at Alphonse. 

“Come off it, Alphonse,” he said. “I need to know. Hermione’s just looking out for me.” 

Alphonse sobered. “You’re right. You’re definitely on zee list of people I should have informed. It was just a busy night, and it slipped my mind. I’m sorry.” 

Harry didn’t look like he knew what to do with apologies, and Al wondered what that said about this kid’s life. Nothing good, he knew. Harry shuffled his feet, then moved past the apology without mentioning it. “Well, get on with it,” he said, voice suspiciously gruff. 

“Zee Headmaster is in zee Hospital Wing,” said Al, deciding to be direct about it. He ignored the round of gasps from his classmates, went on. “Bruder, Bill Weasley, and I decided to try and break zee curse on his hand. We were successful, but zere were consequences.” 

“Your brother?” said Hermione. “But Professor Elric’s a muggle!” 

“So?” said Al. “I wasn’t using magic eizer. I went in wis alkahestry, Bruder went in wis alchemy, and Bill went in wis magic.” 

“Fascinating!” said Hermione, curiosity back in full force. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of alkahestry! And using it alongside alchemy and magic! How did that work, exactly?” 

Ron cleared his throat, said, “‘Mione, the Headmaster’s in Hospital.” 

“Oh, right!” she said. “Is he going to be okay?” 

Alphonse had been there, so he smiled at her before he said, “Wis time. He lost a hand, and his magical core was depleted in zee process. Madame Pomfrey says zat zere is enough left for zee magic to recover, but. Time.” 

“That’s awful,” said Hermione. “I’m so sorry.” 

“And Voldemort wasn’t involved at all?” said Harry, eyes wide.

“No,” said Al. “But zat doesn’t mean it isn’t your business. If it was anyone else, I would have told you to back off. Professor Dumbledore’s wellbeing is important intel to key players in zee war, and you deserved to be told right away.” 

Harry looked down at his shoes. Oh no. Alphonse put a hand on his shoulder, noting the way Harry tried to control a flinch. Oh no, again. Alphonse pulled his hand away, positioned himself as non-threateningly as he could. Harry’s shoulders stayed tense and drawn, but his face relaxed a fraction. He looked up at Al – Harry might have been taller than Ed, but he was still short for his age – and said, “Thanks.” He briefly made eye contact, with a nod of acknowledgement, but that didn’t last long before Harry’s eyes resumed their measured pace around the perimeter of the Room. He did not seem to know what to do about Alphonse taking responsibility for his actions. 

Al was not comforted by this behavior. Both Ron and Hermione looked sheepish, like this sort of terrified-masquerading-as-mulish was Harry’s unfortunate base state. They looked like they were apologizing for him. That wouldn’t do. Alphonse resolved to catch Ron and Hermione each alone at some point over the next week, explain to them that Harry had nothing to apologize for, and that they shouldn’t be doing for him with their postures. But for the moment, calling them on it wouldn’t do Harry much good. 

The only thing that might pull Harry out of his awkwardness was action, so Alphonse went with it, said, “I’m going to zee Hospital Wing after dinner tonight, to set up formal volunteer hours. Would you like to see zee Headmaster?” 

Harry did not look like he wanted to see the Headmaster, and Alphonse could hardly blame him. But after a moment, his eyes – Alphonse was still not used to the green of them – cleared. “I’d like that,” said Harry. 

“We could bring him some books,” said Hermione. 

Ron looked at her with exasperated fondness, said, “And maybe some chocolate.” 

Hermione glared at him, but said, “Oh yes, alright. Chocolate too.” A tension that had been hanging in the air broke, finally, and Alphonse took in an easier breath. 

“I sink he will appreciate zat,” said Al. In all honesty, Al had no idea what Professor Dumbledore might appreciate. He somehow doubted that the Headmaster wanted his students-turned-war pawns seeing him so imminently after injury. But Alphonse clearly remembered the promise his brother forced out of the Professor. Harry deserved to be informed and involved, and if Alphonse was going to be semi-responsible for the Headmaster’s care under Madame Pomfrey’s jurisdiction, well. He was going to make sure that promise was upheld. 

“Speaking of chocolate,” said Al after a moment. “We’ve used up at least half of zee lunch hour. We should get down to zee Great Hall if we want to eat anysing.” 

“Bloody hell,” said Ron. “We’d better run, then.” 

Hermione checked her watch. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t want to be at my afternoon classes on an empty stomach.” 

Ron and Hermione made a coordinated beeline for the door, but Alphonse hesitated in following them. Harry hadn’t moved, either. He nudged Al with one shoulder. “Thanks,” Harry said, in a voice so quiet that Alphonse almost missed it. “For apologizing. And for meaning it.” 

Alphonse didn’t have time to respond before Harry went off after his friends. He wanted to tell Harry that he deserved earnest apologies. Wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be thanking people for the bare minimum, but Ron and Hermione had fallen into step as Harry caught up with them, and very purposefully absorbed him into bright chatter about Quidditch. 

All Alphonse could do was fall into step himself, and join this conversation about lighter, brighter things. 

That evening, as Alphonse sorted Madame Pomfrey’s paperwork and helped hospitalized classmates with their homework, Harry, Ron and Hermione crowded around Professor Dumbledore’ bed. Hermione had half a library with her. Ron helped the Headmaster carefully unwrap a selection of chocolate frogs. Harry sat awkwardly at the head of the bed, but as their visiting session wore on, Alphonse knew he saw him smile. 

For his own part, Alphonse kept busy away from them. He’d been planning on visiting with the Headmaster himself that night, but he figured his classmates could use the privacy. And every time he heard a laugh echo from the teacher’s ward, Al smiled into his work.

Friday was October 4th, and Ed still hadn’t written out the physical therapy exercises he’d learned when the loss of his limbs was fresh. Madame Pomfrey had sent an owl to his quarters the night before, Thursday evening, asking him to send along his plan for his first session with the Old Man, and Ed hadn’t been sure what to send her. 

It had been a while since he’d had to do those exercises regularly, and what ones he still did had been modified for the maintenance of automail. He’d been focused instead on relearning his arm, and the exercises he used to remind himself that he had a wrist again were wholly different from the ones he’d used to acclimate his shoulder to the vacancy that had been beyond it. 

This morning, Ed had managed to wake in time to run a dawn exercise class, and he was jogging down the lake with Girl Ginger by his side. Potter was a few yards behind them, keeping pace with Granger. Boy Ginger was stretching on the sidelines, apparently having overslept and sent Harry out of their tower dorm ahead of him. 

The lake glittered pretty to Ed’s right, and he turned his head to watch the water as he ran. An impact hit his right shoulder, and Ed almost stopped running in favor of a defensive stance. But he was getting to know Ginny’s nudges. He turned his head back to her without breaking pace. 

“What’s on your mind?” she said, a bead of sweat sliding down her forehead. 

“Ugh,” said Ed. “It’s nothing, really.” 

Ginny did not look impressed. “Horseshit.”

Alphonse had visited Ed’s rooms just before curfew last night, had caught him up on Harry-and-friend’s information status. Ed didn’t quite know how Girl Ginger should fit into that. Boy Ginger would probably have something to say about ‘endangering his little sister’ and Potter would probably be hurt that telling Ginny occurred to Ed faster than telling Harry himself had. 

Ed decided to aim for the abridged version, said, “Madame Pomfrey asked me to help zee Headmaster wis physical therapy. Our first session is tonight.” 

Ginny’s pace faltered but didn’t slow. “Professor Dumbledore needs physical therapy?” she said. Ed detected danger in the forced lightness of her tone. 

“It’s new,” Ed said. 

“It has to do with why he stopped showing up for mealtimes on Wednesday, doesn’t it? What happened?” Ginny clearly expected full details. Damn. 

Ed cast a glance back at Harry and friends, saw that Ron had fallen into his place on Harry’s other side. Looking was a mistake, because Ginny tracked the motion. Her expression turned ferocious. She came to an abrupt halt, stumbling forward from her excess motion. Ed used up his excess kinetic energy in a flying leap, turned midair to face his student. Ginny gestured at her housemates, who were slowing in surprise. “Anything they can know; I can know too! I am so sick of people treating me like a child!” 

This was the sort of situation where Ed wished people knew he wasn’t eighteen. Maybe Ginny would be less touchy about this if she knew he was also underage. “It’s not about zat,” said Ed. “I just forgot to tell zem, too. It has been a busy week.” 

All three of the sixth years were breathing heavily, but Granger piped in with: “Alphonse told us yesterday, we visited the Headmaster last night.” 

“Al told me,” Ed said. 

“Then what’s your hesitation?” said Ginny, plainly enraged. 

“Start running again and I’ll tell you,” said Ed. “We want to move onto zee actual workout before breakfast, yes?” 

Ginny scowled at him, complied. Ed let out a breath of relief and got himself back up to speed. Potter, Granger, and Boy Ginger straggled behind them, but stayed close enough to hear the conversation. They had all the subtlety of Major Armstrong, honestly. 

When they were at an even pace, Ginny elbowed him in the side. Fair enough. Ed elbowed her back before saying, “Old Man had a curse on his hand. Your bruder Bill helped Alphonse and I break it, but zere were complications. And I happen to have experience wis zee sort of injuries involved.” 

“What kind of complications?” said Ginny. 

“Go visit zee Headmaster yourself if you’re so curious,” said Ed. “Admittedly, he got zee curse over summer by being stupid about one of zee Mold’s traps, but now zee medical fallout really doesn’t have anysing to do wis you.” Ed shot a glance to sixth years, added on, “Any of you!” for good measure. 

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Ed wasn’t going to let that fly. “Alright,” said Ed. “You all needed to at least know zat zee Headmaster was incapacitated. I will give you zat, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. But zee details are his own business.”

Ed turned back around to see how Ginny took that bit. She looked more thoughtful than argumentative. Ed wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Sparring was always more fun with a pissed off opponent.

They circled the lake just in time to see Alphonse and Luna jogging across the green toward them. Ed grinned, and began splitting his students into pairs. Gym club went too quickly, after that. 

In fact, the entire day went too quickly after that. Ed spent his classes distracted and his passing period busy, trying to remember exactly what Winry and Granny had taught him in those early days post failed transmutation. He’d coped remarkably well, so said everyone. But his memories were still dimmed and blurry from the pain and spatial disorientation. 

By the time dinner had wrapped and Ed had run out of excuses, he still felt like he was going to be winging it in the Hospital Wing. But as he made his way to it, Al fell into step beside him. Ed could do anything, if Alphonse was beside him. And maybe Ed didn’t quite know how to write down the physical therapy he’d done, but he knew his body still remembered the movements. He just needed to sit down with the Old Man and do them. 

“It’ll be fine, brother,” said Al in quiet Amestrian. “I know it’s been a long time since you’ve had to do these specific exercises but doing them again isn’t going backwards.” 

Ed hadn’t realized that he was worried about going backwards. Absently, he rubbed his shoulder where his automail used to attach. Ed wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to this revelation. So instead, he just gently nudged Al’s shoulder, said, “It’ll be fine.” 

Alphonse gave him a knowing look, but Ed decided to ignore it. The Hospital Wing was too close at hand to really get into the sort of playful argument that might normally ensue. They rounded the corner, stepped through the doors to the infirmary, and walked through the corridor of student beds to the back. Ed kicked that back door open, ignoring Al’s little puff of indulgent exasperation, and turned left toward the faculty wing. 

Ed was surprised to find that the Old Man already had a visitor. 

Chapter Text

“Who’re you?” said Ed, not bothering to moderate his tone, to the man sitting at Dumbledore’s bedside.

The man turned, and something inside Ed faltered. He knew this vibe. Intimately. 

“Ah,” said the Old Man from his hospital bed, gesturing his one hand at the visitor. “My dear Nicholas, this is Professor Elric and his brother Alphonse, the alchemists I was telling you about. This is my old friend and mentor Nicholas Flamel.” 

“Nicholas,” said Ed. 

“Mr. Flamel,” said Al. 

Ed gathered himself, positioned himself into a stance that was aggressive, but not outright threatening. “You have a stone.”

Flamel eyed them warily. “Everyone knows that I once had a stone. I’m living on leftover elixir.” 

“Leftover elixir my ass ,” said Ed. “We bos know zat’s not how it works.” 

“Not another wizard alive has created the philosopher’s stone,” said Nicholas Flamel, eyes hard. “I can’t imagine you know the first thing about how it works.”

“I sure as hell haven’t made one,” said Ed. “And I’m insulted zat you sink I would, bastard. I tried, for years. And decided not to when I figured out zee primary ingredient.” 

Flamel sent a hasty look at Dumbledore, who was watching the proceedings with confusion, and stood from his perch on the bed. He took several hasty steps towards the middle of the room and then refocused on Ed. “Is this a conversation you want to have here?” he said, gesturing at the Old Man, and at Alphonse. 

“ Bruder was wis me when we figured out zee ingredients. He was wis me when our government leaders tried harvesting material. I don’t have secrets from Alphonse.”

Flamel balked, and Ed was pleased that Dumbledore noticed. The Old Man leaned forward from his pillows. “Nicholas, what’s going on? You told me you destroyed the stone.” 

Nicholas pulled a wand out of his sleeve, and Ed slid toward him on quiet feet, knocked the weapon clear. “I don’t want you doing shit,” said Ed. 

“If you were trying to cast privacy spells,” said Alphonse, “I will do it.” His voice was, to any outsider that didn’t know him, exceedingly mild. But Ed knew his brother, could hear what was underneath the façade of calm. 

Nicholas Flamel didn’t look happy with this development but nodded all the same. Ed didn’t turn from him, even as Alphonse began muttering spells in his position by the door. Normally, Ed liked to keep a wary eye on magic being performed, even if it was being performed by his brother. But a holder of the stone was by all means the greater threat. 

“What possessed you?” said Ed. “Why would you make one?” 

At least Flamel looked guilty about it, the bastard. He ignored Ed’s question, addressed the Old Man’s first. “I’m afraid they can’t really be destroyed,” he said. “Only disassembled in certain ways. I made it so that it was functionally unavailable, at least.” 

“And you chose to put it inside yourself,” said Ed, disgusted.

“Bruder,” said Alphonse, switching into quiet Amestrian. “Our own father had one inside himself. And he couldn’t figure out how to take it out, despite trying.” 

That was logic Ed wasn’t ready to listen to. Nope. “Zee only good sing about zis situation is zat Flamel never taught anyone else to make it.” 

“Our dad never taught anyone else how to make it,” said Al. 

But Ed wasn’t gonna be kind to Van Hohenheim, so he whirled around to face Flamel again. “I don’t know why you made one, and I don’t know if you’d do it again. I don’t know if you regret it. So, excuse me if I don’t trust you. Why are you here?” 

“He’s my old teacher,” said Professor Dumbledore. “And he’s here to visit his hospitalized student.” 

That was a perfectly viable explanation, and part of Ed wanted to get the Old Man involved in the conversation. The larger piece of him, however… “Stay out of zis,” he said.

Alphonse wandered over to the Old Man’s bedside, perched atop the white sheets, placed a hand on his wrinkled forehead protectively. Ed wondered who Al was protecting him from, tried to ignore the sting of possible betrayal. 

“Neither of you could possibly know about the secrets of the philosopher’s stone,” said Flamel. “Your brother mentioned something about your father? I’ve never heard even a rumor of another alchemist who discovered it.” 

Ed swore, said, “Another damn wizard who speaks German.” 

Flamel’s expression hardened. “And if you know half of what you seem to insinuate you know, you’ll know that the creation of a philosopher’s stone is not exactly a discrete process.” 

“And yet,” said Ed, “here you stand, zee esteemed old mentor of Albus Dumbledore, wisout anyone having any inkling of what you did to accomplish zee stone.” 

“To be fair,” said Alphonse, from his perch on the Old Man’s bed. “We searched for zee stone for years, following legends zat hadn’t zee faintest clue how it was made.” Flamel eyed Alphonse gratefully, but Ed’s sense of betrayal faded at the hard look Alphonse shot this alchemist-wizard. “Listen, I may be trying to keep my bruder from maiming you, but I have questions too. We have liked creators of zee stone before, but only zose who did it under orders or were duped.” 

Flamel’s face slackened and he said, “Orders? There is not an institution in the world that has access to the process!” 

“Ah,” said the Old Man from his bed, because he couldn’t keep his nose out of anything for long. Damn it all. “That might be the problem, Nicholas. These boys aren’t from this world.”

Nicholas stared at the Old Man incredulously. “You found yourself alchemists from another universe and didn’t feel like you should consult me about it?” 

Dumbledore looked more sheepish than Ed had ever seen him. Alphonse might be able to get the headmaster to cave , sometimes, but this Nicholas Flamel seemed to make Dumbledore practically cowed. “I rather thought I wouldn’t bother you with little things in your last years, Nicholas,” the Old Man said. “I thought you’d rather spend the time with Perenelle.” 

“Last days, my ass,” said Ed, under his breath and in Amestrian. Alphonse, with ears that must be tuned to hear Ed being rude from unnatural distances, frowned at him. Ed waved that off – he could tell when his little brother was amused and just didn’t want to admit it. But Flamel looked a little too indignant to have not heard him. Alright, Ed was not going to let the German-speaking go. He switched back to English, said, “German. Why does everyone in England speak German?” 

This time, Flamel actually answered the question. “I’m originally from France and I’ve been around longer than any of the current forms of the European languages,” he said. “I’ve learned a fair few of them.” 

“Zat must have been fascinating to observe,” said Alphonse, still perched carefully near the headmaster’s shoulder. 

“It was,” said Flamel, and his expression turned quizzical. “But would you mind repeating yourself, Professor Elric?” 

Ed snorted, said, “Last days, my ass.” 

“I wasn’t wrong,” said Flamel. “That really isn’t exactly any of Germany’s extant dialects. Well, maybe. I’d have to hear more to be sure.” 

“No shit,” said Ed, back in English. 

“I did say these boys were from another world,” said the Old Man, looking mighty pleased with himself for an Old Man in a hospital bed. 

“That you did,” said Flamel. “But excuse me if I still default to being your teacher and questioning your judgement.” 

They had said that Flamel had been the Old Man’s teacher before, but somehow it clicked differently in Ed’s head this time. This stone-using nutjob had not only been the Old Man’s teacher, but he’d been his Teacher . Not for the first time, Ed found himself very grateful for Izumi Curtis. And then his brain skidded to a halt. “Wait, if you were taught by a master alchemist, why zee hell are you not an alchemist, Old Man?” 

Dumbledore did not look offended, and Flamel looked completely unimpressed. It was the later who responded. “You might imagine that my interest alights on various subjects over the centuries,” he said. “When Albus was looking for apprenticeship, I was interested primarily in transfiguration and potions.” 

“Transfiguration,” said Ed, making sure the word sounded like an insult. 

“It is more easily versatile than alchemy,” said Flamel. “And I wanted to explore how precisely they connect. My point is that by the time Albus was looking for a teacher, my primary focus was no longer alchemy. You can understand that I was rather done with the subject.” 

Flamel was clearly trying to communicate some deep trauma with his expression, but Ed couldn’t understand that. Ed had been through hell and back because of alchemy, and he would never ever get enough of it. As much as Ed hated to use his father as an example for anything, Van Hohenheim had never had enough of it despite his considerable life experience. 

“Though I did have some interest in alchemy when I applied for his apprenticeship,” said Dumbledore, “I was fully aware that it would be focused on transfiguration. I wanted to study transfiguration.” 

Ed had known that wizards were utterly insane, but this was the sort of empirical proof he could put on a formal military report! He doubted anybody would disagree!

“Zis is why you couldn’t find a good alchemy professor out of your entire world,” said Ed. 

“So you do claim to be from another world,” said Flamel. “You never did say it yourself.” 

Now the Truth hadn’t expressly forbidden them from sharing their otherworldly origins, but Ed was sure it hadn’t intended they spill the beans to everyone and their brother. Instead of commenting one way or another, Ed decided to roll his eyes. 

“You’ll find I have centuries’ experience with recalcitrant boys,” said Flamel. “You won’t be able to bait me.” 

“Is zat a challenge?” said Ed. 

“Bruder,” said Al, finally sliding from his perch on the Old Man’s bed, though he continued to position himself defensively between the headmaster and Flamel. “Please excuse bruder , Mr. Flamel. I’m afraid I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Alphonse Elric, and I would very much like to hear your story wis zee stone. But perhaps not where people not in zee know might hear.” 

“I won’t be handing you the secret,” said Flamel. 

“Trust me, you won’t have to,” said Alphonse. “We already know. I would say zat finding out was one of zee worst moments of our alchemical careers, but it has so much competition, and we ended up finding anozer way to what we wanted.” 

Flamel nodded slowly at Ed’s younger brother, and Ed reflected that maybe he should let Alphonse be the face of the Elric Brothers. It went against his protective instincts something fierce, but just look at the results Al got! Besides, Alphonse was growing every day. Only ever a year younger, they were no longer at an age where that meant much. And Al was not a kid trapped in armor anymore, nor was he a kid recovering from severe malnutrition. He and Al had gotten opportunities to grow separately, towards the end of their time in Amestris and Ed was only just realizing that they’d backslid from that progress upon arriving in Germany. 

But now was not the time to get philosophical. Nicholas Flamel, the Old Man’s old teacher, was standing before him with the undeniable feel of a philosopher’s stone running through his veins, and Ed needed to establish a truce. 

“If Alphonse can hold on to your wand,” said Ed, “We can all continue our visit wis zee Old Man, and zen we must talk.” 

“That would be fine,” said Flamel, seeming so unalarmed with this request, that Ed would bet good money that he could complete a circle with his hands. He would almost have had to have seen the Truth when making the stone, anyway. Ed doubted it was a skill anyone would leave uncultivated. Still, though Ed had learned how to fight magic users pretty quickly, he had a better idea overall of how alchemists fought. He could take an alchemist. Even an obscenely old one with centuries of experience.

Flamel gently nudged his wand with the toe of his boot closer toward Alphonse, who rose from his perch to pick it up from the ground. There were nods all around. And Ed felt a moment of injustice at how serene Old Man Dumbledore looked, with his Teacher short a wand and information dangling just out of his reach. 

Ed watched as Alphonse again settled himself next to the Old Man’s shoulder, watched as Flamel sat at Dumbledore’s other side. He didn’t like the proximity, but Ed felt better when he came to stand by the end of the bed, putting himself at a good position for mediating anything that might get ugly. 

There was a beat where they all just looked at each other, half awkward and half wary, before Dumbledore cut in with a voice so cheery it had to be put on. “So, I hear you’ve come to teach me the secrets of an amputee, Professor Elric!” 

“I don’t know zat zey are secrets,” said Ed, rolling up his sleeves. “But sure. Some disclaimers: I am obviously not currently missing an arm, and when I was missing an arm, I was missing zee whole sing, so zee exercises may not translate properly. But apparently, I am your best option if you want to avoid making yourself publicly vulnerable, so we will do what we can.” 

“I do appreciate whatever you might be able to help with,” said the Old Man, still with that placid, mild expression. This was not the attitude Ed was expecting just days after the loss of a hand and the extreme depletion of magical reserves. Alphonse, too, looked mildly alarmed by the Headmaster’s serenity, and Al almost definitely had a better picture of his true mental state than Ed did. 

“Well,” said Ed. “We’ll see what we can do!”

Ed slapped his hands together and pulled a low armless chair from the flagstone flooring a reasonable distance from Dumbledore’s bed and sat with his feet in line with his shoulders. He couldn’t quite help a smirk when he heard Flamel’s quiet gasp at the circle-less alchemy. Al, ever the best teaching assistant Ed could hope for, looped his arms behind the Old Man’s back and helped shift him into a good position for seated exercise and levered the back of his hospital bed for optimal support. 

Ed sent him a grateful look, rolled out his shoulders, and grinned at the headmaster. “Alright Old Man,” he said. “Let’s do zis.” 

It ended up being easier than he thought it would be. The instant Ed put himself into the role of exerciser and teacher, Winry’s instruction came flooding back. And more than her instruction, Ed found himself remembering her rants about carefully anonymized patients and their care plans. Without meaning to, Ed had picked up a reasonable amount of care knowledge. Edward always felt his best when he knew things. His confidence picked up, and under Al’s approving gaze, Ed got the Old Man moving. Slowly, carefully. 

“Progress won’t be immediate,” Ed said as their session began to wrap. “It took me a long time to be ready for automail, and I broke a few speed records for zee timing of my surgeries.” 

“So I begin to realize,” said the Old Man, smiling wryly at the stump of his wrist. 

“Just be patient,” said Alphonse. “Rushing yourself will only inhibit your long-term healing.” 

“I rushed myself,” said Ed. “And it was fine. But if you rush yourself, be sorough and careful about it.”

Speaking of careful, that careful serenity was back on the Old Man’s face; he clearly felt some type of way about this conversation, and he didn’t want to betray what exact type of way it was. Ed, who’d never hidden an emotion in his entire damn life, wanted to take him by his hospital gown and shake him. 

“Just do whatever you sink is necessary,” said Ed. “But take care of yourself while you do it.” 

“I suppose that is fair advice,” said the Headmaster. There was a pause. 

“I’m not sorry,” said Ed finally. “I know zat you didn’t want to try and cure yourself. I know zat zee consequences are more severe zan we hoped. But you’re alive. And as a muggle wis a missing limb, I sink saving your life was worth it.” 

There was a crack in that careful serenity. “Of course, Edward.”

During the entire session, Flamel had been sitting quietly off toward the other end of the room. But here he did speak. “When one lives as long as I have, every human life seems too short. For what it’s worth, Albus, I’m glad you’re still with us.” 

Ed looked up at Flamel. Those were strong words for someone whose own life was sustained by the premature deaths of others. But he seemed genuinely sincere. His eyes were genuinely sad. Ed shook himself, squashed his rising sympathy. Anyone could be sad over the prospective loss of their own student. It didn’t mean that this alchemist cared about the lives of strangers. And Ed needed him to care about the lives of strangers. Ed needed to know that Flamel wasn’t planning on refueling his own stone, needed to know that he wasn’t leaving this world to be plagued by a life-hungry alchemist. Getting sympathetic too quickly would only blind him to potential danger. 

The Old Man still did not seem to understand the true implications of Ed and Al and Flamel’s ongoing conversation; he was looking at his old mentor with a heartbreakingly grateful expression. Hogwarts Headmaster, Head of the Order of the Who-sits, heartbreakingly grateful for the kind words of a man with a stone. Ed didn’t like it. He glared at Flamel, and then glared at the Old Man for good measure. 

“You’re one to talk on zee importance of human life,” said Ed. To Dumbledore, he added, “He may be your teacher, but his opinion doesn’t mean shit.” 

“He was his Teacher, bruder ,” said Al. 

“Zee Old Man chose a shitty teacher,” said Ed. 

“He had no way of knowing zat!”

Ed gave his brother a dirty look, not willing to admit that Al had a point. 

“He was an excellent teacher,” said Dumbledore, somehow managing to raise his voice above the din of Ed and Al’s mounting argument. “I won’t pretend to know what aspect of the construction of the philosopher’s stone so repulses you, I won’t pretend to know if your concerns are valid. But Nicholas was the best teacher I could have hoped for, whatever his faults might be.” 

Ed gave the Old Man a snide look. “You’d haff to be a better teacher zen exists anywhere to make up for - ”

Alphonse elbowed him sharply. Ed glared at him, shut up, then glared at the man in the room who actually deserved it. Flamel did not look sorry, just placating. “I think I have a better understanding than most of the value of human life.” 

That was it. Even Alphonse stepped aside to clear the way for Ed throw the other alchemist into a headlock. But the doors to the ward burst open right as Ed moved. “You had better not be upsetting my patient,” said Madam Pomfrey, striding demon-like into the fray. 

Ed straightened, pulled his arm back from where it was extended to wrap around the nape of Flamel’s neck. Infuriatingly, Flamel looked unruffled. To Ed’s horror, Madam Pomfrey stepped between them. “Might I ask why you think it wise to attack the greatest alchemist of all time?” 

Ed spat. “Second rate poser, at best, and out of practice.” Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and Ed’s spit vanished from the flagstone floor. 

“Frankly, Mr. Elric the caliber of his alchemy is beside the point. Whatever your differences, I will not have you fighting in my infirmary. I appreciate you taking the time to help with the Headmaster’s rehabilitation, but you can either settle down or get out. The same goes to you, Alphonse, as appreciative as I am to have your help.” 

It was then that Ed noticed that Al had not simply stepped aside to let Ed attack. He looked flushed and furious and was several steps closer to Flamel than he had been before. That was actually really comforting. Ed took a deep breath, took several steps back, and gave Madam Pomfrey an apologetic smile. 

“Right,” he said. “I don’t sink I want to be here anymore anyway.” Ed sent one more glare in Flamel’s direction, said, “I want your story. Finish visiting your student, zen come to my office for an actual discussion about zis.” 

Flamel looked about to protest, but Alphonse stepped forward again. “Madam Pomfrey? Can I help you while Mr. Flamel finishes his visit? I don’t trust him. I understand zat zis sounds crazy, but I want to keep an eye on zee headmaster.” He looked at Flamel. “And I want to make sure we have zat conversation.” 

Ed shivered at the look in Al’s eyes, but felt a cold sort of satisfaction anyway. He wasn’t going to let this guy just disappear on them. 

Madam Pomfrey fixed Alphonse with a glare bitter enough that Ed felt skewered by it. “As I’ve said, young man, my infirmary is no place to hash out old grudges.” 

Alphonse glared right back. “Madam, I am not asking to continue the fight. I am content to leave the two of zem alone for zee visit. I just vant to be here.” 

Ed watched the stalemate, wondering exactly how much influence Al had managed to curate with the mediwitch in his short few days of volunteering. For an instant, it looked like it could go either way. For another instant it seemed that Madam Pomfrey was about to bodily throw both Ed and Al right out of the infirmary. And then she caved. “I don’t want you leaving the medicine cabinet, understood? You’ll be sorting out a recent batch of potions from Professor Snape.” She turned her glare to Ed, said, “And you are leaving.” 

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Ed said.

“Please, Madam,” said Flamel, voice patronizing again. “The boys are just trying to protect their headmaster. I respect that.” 

Madam Pomfrey snapped before Ed could. “If you keep up with that quiet apologetic tone of yours, I’ll be thinking the Elrics are right. If you don’t want to be kicked out yourself, you’ll focus on this visit and let me handle the boys.” 

That was another indicator of Al’s influence: not only would she let Alphonse stay in the infirmary, she placed his judgment more highly than an apparently renowned and impeccable reputation. Al was always good at making friends, Ed thought. 

“Thank you,” said Al. 

Madam Pomfrey gave him a grim smile. “You’re welcome.” She looked from Al to Ed and back, nodded, then herded them both out of the teacher’s ward. Ed let himself be guided by her hand on his back, kept firmly in front of her for fear of tripping on the hem of her long robes. Al departed at the medicine cabinet, off to work on sorting, and Ed was alone with the matron. Together, they swept through the student’s ward and out the main door of the infirmary. She fixed him with a look so serious that for a split second, Ed thought she was glaring at him. He was surprised to realize she wasn’t. “Why do you and your brother think Nicholas Flamel is dangerous?” 

Ed looked away from her. Hesitated. “We have encountered makers of zee philosopher’s stone before. Zey are rarely good people.” 

“Why that is might be something I don’t want to know, isn’t it?” 

Ed looked back up at her gaze. “I wouldn’t give you zee specifics if you asked,” he said. “But it is somesing I regretted knowing as soon as I figured it out.” 

“Right,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Get out of my infirmary. I don’t want to see you until your next visit with the Headmaster.” 

Ed flashed her the largest smile he could manage. “I can do zat.” 

When she disappeared back through the large double doors of the infirmary, Ed took a deep breath. On the exhale, he looked around at the flagstone walls of Hogwarts Castle and set off back toward his quarters. It was getting late. With any luck, Alphonse would bring Flamel by for their discussion soon.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long before Flamel swept out of the teacher’s ward. It had been quiet enough in there that Al was sure that there had been a silencing charm on the environment. He’d never admit to trying to listen in, but. Well. He’d had an ear out. Just in case. Still, there had been nothing but a plainly manufactured indistinct murmur coming from the teacher’s ward, and that blandness did not quite explain the drama with which Flamel swept from the room, his silver-spangled robe glittering as it swirled about his feet. They’d argued, Alphonse was almost sure. 

It was clear that Flamel had every intention of bypassing Alphonse entirely and sweeping his way out of Hogwarts, and that just would not stand. Alphonse hastily sealed the lid of the last jar he’d been refilling, slotted it into its place, and grabbed for Flamel’s arm. “I believe there’s a discussion we still have to have,” he said, defaulting to Amestrian for the relative privacy the language offered. 

Flamel’s stride faltered. “Right,” he said, thankfully transitioning into his ‘German’ neatly. “I suppose I shall follow you, then.” 

“Thank you,” said Alphonse, “for agreeing to come along.” 

“I don’t know that agreeing is quite the right word.” 

Al fixed him with a patient stare. “Come now,” he said. “I’m sure you want to question Brother and I as much as we want to question you. You can’t possibly want to trust two alchemists with the secret of the philosopher’s stone with your student.” 

Flamel looked wary. “Albus can handle himself.” 

“Can he?” said Al. 

“I’ve come to understand that you’re but a fifteen year old boy,” said Flamel. “I rather suspect that a man now into his second century can handle himself rather better than you can.” 

It was bluster and Al knew it. He let out a breath, glancing around at the students in the ward, who were watching their exchange a little too curiously. He wouldn’t put it past these kids to cast a translating charm. “Let’s keep moving, Mr. Flamel. I think we’ll both feel better when this conversation is done.” 

Flamel inclined his head, and their march through the ward and into the rest of the castle continued. If he had been anyone else, Al thought the atmosphere might be tense. If he was Ed, the atmosphere would probably be a little murderous. But Al was himself, and very good at putting people at ease, even strangers with every reason not to trust him.

Al managed to get the other alchemist talking about the French countryside by the time they knocked on Ed’s office door. 

“You two look friendly,” said Ed, also speaking in Amestrian, when he opened it. 

“I thought we’d save talking about anything important for when we got here,” said Al pleasantly. 

Suddenly, Flamel looked uneasy again. “The walls really do have ears here at Hogwarts.” 

He said it like the portraits were an inconvenience, and that didn’t sit right with Al. But he let it slide, gestured at him to enter Ed's office first. When the door clicked shut behind them, Al waved his wand at it, muttering a quiet Muffliato. “For those walls with ears,” he said. And if Flamel caught the slightly bitter tone in his voice, so be it. 

It was clear that Ed had made a manic effort to clean up a little while he waited for them - the round little tea table had been hastily swept clear of papers and pulled out from the wall. Three hardwood chairs had been grouped around it, and Ed pointed at one with a meaningful look at Flamel. Flamel took the not so subtle hint, sat. 

Al could not quite help but watch Flamel warily as he sat down himself, felt Ed’s reassuring presence fill the third chair. 

“So,” said Ed. “You made a stone.” 

Flamel’s guard was up immediately. “I will not, of course, be telling you how to make one. I guard my proprietary secrets closely.” 

“Oh fuck you,” said Ed. “We already said that we know how. If we all agree that this is shitty knowledge that can’t be spread around, I think we can agree to talk around the main ingredient without actually mentioning it.” 

Flamel considered that. “How can I be sure you wouldn’t guess from what I share?”

“Brother,” said Al. “We already know he made one. If we tell him the main ingredient, then nobody is telling anybody who we don’t have explicit proof already knows.” 

Ed glared at him, seemed to study Alphonse’s expression for a moment. Then he shrugged. “That’s a fair point.”

Satisfied, Al looked Flamel dead in the eye, aiming for penetrating and uncomfortable. Before saying another word, Al felt outward with the Dragon’s Pulse. Sure enough, the feeling of a stone running through the ancient alchemist’s veins was unmistakable. “We know that the main ingredient of the Philosopher’s stone is human souls. We even know the right arrays to produce both true stones and red water, though we won’t be going into those particulars. Both Brother and I can solemnly swear that we’ve never made one.”

“And we need to know why the hell you did,” Ed added. 

Flamel sagged in his chair. It was clear that he had been hoping that Ed and Al were all bluster and false assumptions. Their almost-casual statement of the true method was enough to unsettle him. “So you do know.” 

“We wouldn’t lie about that,” said Al. 

Ed crossed his arms. “Honestly, if we didn’t already know how the philosopher’s stone was made, we would be lambasting you for answers. We know because we were looking for it, once upon a time.” 

“I suppose that does make sense,” said Flamel. “I thought the two of you might be trying to trick me into giving up the secret by pretending you already knew it.” 

Al couldn’t quite fathom pretending to know something he didn’t. “But outright asking for knowledge is the best way to get the whole answer,” he said, face open with his confusion.

Flamel looked amused by that. “I take it he was sorted into Ravenclaw?” he said. “I don’t put much stock in the way Hogwarts separates its students, but sometimes it does make sense.” 

Ed was a good brother, because he just shrugged. “I don’t have the patience to play games with people,” he said. “I’d be upfront about asking, too.” 

“So in the spirit of being upfront with our questions,” said Al. “Why?”

“Why were you looking?” Flamel asked. “Why does anyone look?” 

“We didn’t actually do it,” said Al. “So what possessed you, once you figured out how it was done? What could possibly have moved you to kill that many people?” Because Alphonse needed a damn good reason to kill anybody, even if he did understand that it was sometimes necessary. He thought of casting the killing curse at Voldemort, which he’d done with no hesitation and on instinct, felt his bravado slip.

Ed must have noticed, thank goodness, because he slid in smoothly. “We just need to make sure you’re never going to do it again.”

“And what would you do if you thought I was?” Flamel said, eyes sharp and mouth a hard line. 

There was a pause. 

“Then I rather think our business is concluded.” Flamel made to rise from his chair. “If you’re nothing but a pair of toothless boys, then I have no reason to humor your questions.” 

“We’ve stopped stones from being made before,” said Ed. “We would do it again.”  

“In that other world of yours?” Flamel was clearly trying to make the words a sneering dismissal, but he sat back down, having not even finished standing up. There was an almost undetectable tremor in his voice. Almost undetectable. 

Ed threw up his hands. “Does it matter, where? We did it there, we can do it here. And before you go after us about our age again, that fossilized asshole was even older than you.”

“You value Professor Dumbledore’s opinion,” said Al, to give a more concrete threat. “We could ruin that opinion for good and ever. We saved his life, he has a vested interest in listening to us.” 

“And what would make him listen to a pair of children over his old teacher? Tell me.”

“Al did say that we just saved his life,” said Ed. “He owes us a life debt.” 

“You saved his life like clumsy hacks ,” said Flamel. Al felt a twinge of guilt, because even between the two of them and Bill Weasley’s curse breaking expertise, it had indeed been a clumsy hack job. 

Ed, though, wasn’t impressed. He rolled his eyes, said, “Yeah, sure, medical alchemy isn’t my specialty. But where were you to do it instead?” 

Alphonse could see that Ed hit his mark. Flamel’s whole body went still, rigid and fragile. Al took the opportunity. “I don’t want you to be a threat, Mr. Flamel. I want Voldemort to be the only problem we have to worry about. We’ve been friends with creators of stones before. I suppose we don’t even need to know your reasons. We just need to be able to trust you.”

Flamel looked horrified at the very idea of there being other successful creators of stones, though that must have been obvious from the moment he realized Ed and Al were telling the truth. “I won’t make another,” he finally said, and he seemed like he meant it. 

“Even if yours starts to run low and you realize that you’re running out of years?” said Ed. 

“Even then” said Flamel, bowing his head. “I am an astonishingly old man. I’ve lived my time.” 

Alphonse thought of his father, who had so desperately wanted to experience normal aging. Wanted to die a mortal death beside their mother. He thought of the Father, who would have done anything for more life and more power. Flamel’s hair had only the first touches of gray. His hands were calloused from his research, but there was always more to learn. Was Flamel really ready to re-enter mortal time, whenever that might come for him?

He reached out with the Dragon’s Pulse again, felt at the eddies of energy that flowed around and through Flamel. Alphonse wished he’d had more time with Mei, wished he’d learned to read intention and mood in a person’s chi. He felt more unsettled about Flamel’s stone than ever.

Ed, on the other hand, seemed to relax. The mistrust in his expression had shifted to a sort of settled determination. “I don’t trust you,” said Ed. “But honestly, if you make yourself our problem, we’ll deal with it when we get there.” 

Flamel flattened his hands on the table. “The two of you are children who have performed human transmutation multiple times. You aren’t especially trustworthy yourselves.” 

“That’s fair.” Ed leaned back in his chair, projecting an air of bored nonchalance. “We don’t trust you, you don’t trust us. We keep each other in line.” 

Something about this conversation was insulting for every party involved, Al thought, but that was perhaps the most sensible proposal Ed had ever made. Flamel hesitated. Then, he waved a hand. A piece of paper materialized in it - magic, not stone-fueled alchemy. He offered it first to Ed. “As a gesture of goodwill, if either of you need to reach me.” 

Ed took the paper, cocking his head to one side as he read it. It was the address to a house. Under Fidelius, Al realized from the way the words seemed to settle in his mind when it was his turn.

“Thank you,” he said, handing it back to Flamel. “You already know where to find us, of course.” 

“Of course,” said Flamel, curling his fingers around the paper. Just like that, it was gone. 

The three of them just stared at each other for an extended moment, digesting the conversation so far. It occurred to Alphonse that they had reached an accord, that everything that needed to be said was said.

“Shall I escort you from the castle?” Al asked, and it was genuinely just an offer. “I still have to go back to Ravenclaw tower myself.”

“No,” said Flamel, standing up, eyes distant. “No, thank you. I know the way.” 

Alphonse just nodded. Ed however, rose from his own chair to open the door to his office. Al followed him.

When pleasantries were over, and they had watched Flamel’s back disappear down the long hallway, Al turned to look at his brother. “We’ll have to watch him,” he said. 

“On the bright side,” said Ed, “I’m never upset to have another researcher to talk to.” 

Alphonse thought of their many letters to Ollivander about magical theory. “I don’t think he gave us his address so we could bother him with research questions, brother.” 

“So?” said Ed. 

Maybe that was a hidden price of making a philosopher’s stone - you’d end up faced with the Elric brothers’ determined curiosity at some point or another. 

Elric brothers. Determined curiosity. “Oh no, Brother!” 

“What?” said Ed. 

“Madam Pomfrey was supposed to look at your leg this evening!” 

In all the hubbub, they had quite forgotten.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t let the missed leg-examination go for long. She was at Ed’s door first thing in the morning, and bustled him through his fireplace to the infirmary quite against his will. 

“I don’t sink it’ll even work!” said Ed. 

“I know,” said Madam Pomfrey, shooting him a tired look. “Alphonse told me everything, and if I can’t heal a curse scar, I somehow doubt I’ll be able to heal divine retribution. But as the medical practitioner overseeing you, I have to at least try.” 

Ed swore. “Alphonse has really been telling everyone everysing, lately.” 

Madam Pomfrey’s tired look turned unimpressed. “He’s fifteen and he’s been through a lot of traumatic events in short order. Talking is healthy . You should try it yourself, young man.” 

That was uncalled for. Ed huffed at her, but sat on the indicated hospital bed. Just a curtain away from the Old Man’s, too. Oh, the indignity . Madam Pomfrey handed him a hospital gown and snapped the curtains shut around him. 

Changing into it did not improve his mood. He flexed his automail leg, wincing at the slight squeak that issued from the knee. Worse, the sound summoned Madam Pomfrey. “I understand your mechanic is literally a world away,” she said, peering around the curtain.

“ Alphonse ,” Ed hissed between his teeth. 

“I don’t have the expertise to help you maintain it, clearly,” she continued like he hadn’t spoken. “But you will let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Right. “Sure,” said Ed, lying unrepentantly. Madam Pomfrey looked skeptical, but she didn’t call him on it. 

Instead, she said, “Can you take it off?”

Ed had known that was coming, but he still winced internally. Just internally, though. “I can take off zee leg, but zee port is grafted to my thigh.” 

Madam Pomfrey muttered something that Ed only barely couldn’t decipher. Something disparaging about muggle medicine. Aloud, she said, “Well, take off what you can, Professor Elric, and I’ll do my best to work around it.” 

“Just don’t try to magically remove zee port,” said Ed. “I want to be able to use my automail when zis doesn’t work.” 

Madam Pomfrey’s expression softened. “Of course,” she said. “You’re right.” 

Assured, Ed reached down and unclipped the leg from its port, mourning the loss of its weight and sense of feeling. He set the leg down and shook out his stump gingerly. “Normally automail only comes off for maintenance,” said Ed. “It even stays on during prolonged hospital stays.” 

“Really,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Is that true of the prosthetics in this world, too?” 

Ed shrugged. He probably should have looked into the science of prosthetics here, but after realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to find a mechanic who could work with his leg, he stopped looking into the question entirely. He hadn’t wanted to think about how long he might be stuck in this world, how long it might be before he needed a new leg, and what clumsy replacement he’d end up stuck with. There had been so many other things to learn, avoiding the problem had been easy. 

Madam Pomfrey magic-ed up a short little stool, sat to get a better look. She tapped the metal edge of his port with her wand, not doing anything magic that Ed could tell, just listening to the muted tink! of impact. She hummed, bustled out of the room. 

She reappeared promptly, a cluster of potions stuffed into the pocket of her starched apron, and one in hand. “Let’s try this one first,” she said. Ed groaned, but drank it down. 

His hair promptly grew six inches. 

Madam Pomfrey sighed, and on it went. By the time she was ready to concede defeat, Ed had drunk no fewer than six potions and had listened to her carefully recite seven spells. “You’ll stay here tonight,” she said. 

“Vas?” said Ed. “Why?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. It's late, and while I spelled the potions out of your stomach and canceled the spells as soon as it was obvious they weren’t going to work, I don’t want to play around with potentially dangerous complications. Don’t put your leg back on, either, just in case the stump is affected overnight.” 

Ed scowled, but he wasn’t actually adverse to delaying putting the leg back on. Removal was painless, but nobody was a particular fan of reattachment. Not even Ed, and Winry always said he was a masochist. 

For his part, Alphonse focused on a few things that weekend: his work with Madam Pomfrey (which included helping Ed reattach his leg on Sunday morning), his research with Luna, and his homework. The homework was the lowest on his priority list, so of course it wasn’t until Sunday night that he sat down to do his transfiguration essay. 

Though Alphonse had largely adjusted to the idea of magic, had taken like a duck to water in the performance of most magic, he had yet to properly wrap his mind around transfiguration. Part of it was definitely the cat incident. Ed, Al noticed, was still sending McGonagall suspicious glances when they sat together for meals at the head table. 

But mostly it was Al’s own discomfort with flouting every alchemical rule he knew - and rather more badly than the other branches. At least potions had inputs and outputs that directly reflected each other. Charms dealt with things no alchemy could do at all, so there was no space for comparison. But transfiguration was a direct corollary, and that was where Al’s trouble was. 

Perhaps it was silly to worry about it. Perhaps he should just keep trying to separate it mentally on his own. But as Alphonse placed a period toward what he thought might be the dead middle of his essay, he stopped writing. 

She had said any time. Alphonse clapped his hands, tapped them to his paper, binding the ink to the parchment and pulling up the excess carrier. He rolled the dry scroll and slid out of his bed. It was late enough to be nearly curfew, but he could get to her office with plenty of time, get a pass to come back. 

She probably didn’t mean late Sunday night when she said “any time” but Alphonse was going to take her at her literal word. Even if he was just going to her office for transfiguration help, not to talk about any deep emotional turmoil. 

He slid on his shoes, tucked his rolled essay into the pocket of his robe, and set off for McGonagall’s quarters. 

She was not especially pleased to see him. “Mr. Elric,” she said, meeting him at her door with slippered feet. “I’m glad you’ve come, but did you have to choose Sunday at nine?” 

Alphonse found himself swept through the door all the same, urged toward a chair at a scrubbed little table remarkably like the one in Ed’s quarters. Except McGonagall’s was free of papers and was decorated with a vase of nice flowers. 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” said Alphonse. “But I was working on zee transfiguration essay.” 

“On Sunday at nine?” said McGonagall. Her voice was chastising, but humor glittered in her eyes. 

“I’m a student,” said Al, playing at sheepishness. “Students procrastinate.”