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Chapter Text

[26 July, 1991]

The night was dark and stormy. Thunder rumbled through the clouds, slightly drowned by the sound of torrential downpour. Standing in a large field, tall and regal against the nearby dark wood, Hogwarts looked quite inviting with its fireplaces lit cheerfully, enveloping windows in a soft glow, everyone tucked inside quiet, safe, and warm.

All but one, that is. 

A lone cloaked figure stomped through the rain down the path from hogsmeade, growling and cursing as they limped and slipped in the mud. A crumpled piece of paper was clutched tightly in their hand. They picked themselves off the ground and kept trudging on, down the path, through the grass, and onto the stone steps of the castle. Stopping in front of the large wooden doors blocking them from cheery warmth, the figure pounded their fist against it, the resounding booms echoing inside.

"Albus! I know you're in there!" he, as everyone now knew, screeched, "Let me in right now!" The pounding on the doors did not cease. The doors did not move. "Albus!" 

The man clapped his hands together, about to slap them onto the wood, when something finally stirred.

Chink clunk creeeeeak

The doors slowly opened. Revealed was an elderly woman hastily wrapped in green robes and pink curlers resting in her hair.

"Who on earth is outside at this hour and in this rain? What are you doing? Who are you?" she asked.

"I need to see Albus." The figure demanded, not waiting for her to respond before he was pushing past her into the hall.

"Now wait just a minute young man! Can't this wait? It's late, people are trying to sleep, and you are absolutely covered in mud!"

"It can't wait. It's urgent. Now where is he?"

"What is so urgent it has to be done at this hour? Who are you?"

"Albus Dumbledore knows who I-"

"It's alright, Minerva, I can take it from here," an old voice interrupted. They turned to see a wizened old man, wearing red robes half hidden by a magnificent silver beard. Small spectacles balanced delicately on his nose.

"Albus!" the green clothed woman gasped.

"There you are!" The boy pointed a gloved finger at him, "We need to talk."

"Do we, Edmund?" Albus' eyebrows rose.

"Why else would I be here?" Edmund glared daggers with intense golden eyes. Dumbledore let out a tired sigh.

"Let's go to my office. Minerva, you may go back to bed."

"Are you sure?" Minerva gave one more narrowed look at the sopping wet figure in the doorway.

"Edmund is an old friend of mine. We have some catching up to do."

It was with reluctance that Minerva left, obeying Albus' meaningful look and request, but not without a curious glare that clearly said 'we will discuss this later.' Edmund waited, tapping a foot impatiently on the floor. Finally, Albus turned back to him, studying his dripping, muddy form as he spoke.

"Now. I think my office may be a tad cozier than a cold, empty stone hallway, don't you think?"

~~~

After leading Edmund to his office (what kind of a password was 'sugar quills' anyway?), Albus sat behind a cluttered desk and threaded his fingers together.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Edmund? I haven't seen you in years. You still look as young as ever."

"Where is it?" Edmund snapped impatiently, refusing to sit and crossing his arms.

Albus blinked innocently. "It?"

Edmund stomped his foot in frustration. "Flamel's stone!"

"Flamel's stone?" Albus' eyebrows rose slightly higher than usual.

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you have it!"

"Mr. Heidrich, can assure you that Flamel's stone is not here." he explained patiently.

"Really? Then why else would I have this?" With a satisfying thunk, Edmund slapped the heavily crumpled, damp, and muddy piece of paper onto the desktop with his right hand. Albus silently picked it up and dubiously read the single line of scratchy cursive, lips pursed. Edmund himself didn’t need to see to know what the letter said.

[It is with Albus Dumbledore now. -F]

Albus blinked innocently. "...It doesn't say anything about a stone."

"It's implied!" Edmund raged, "I know you have it! Now where is it? It's not safe with you wizards!"

"Mr. Heidrich, I don't think you need to be quite so aggressive. I can assure you that the stone is perfectly safe where it is," Albus admitted patiently, seemingly unfazed by the shorter man screaming at him.

"No it's not! You don't understand!  Nowhere is safe!  It isn't safe anywhere or with anyone but me!"

Albus leaned forward at his desk, fingers woven together and one eyebrow still raised. "...Forgive my observations Mr. Heidrich, but it was in Nicholas Flamel's possession for six hundred years, was it not? Perhaps you could consider that others can use it safely as well?"

"No. ...This!” Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, “This is why I need it! You wizards don't understand!  You never will! Look here, Albus," he leaned closer to the desk, making sure to glare straight into Dumbledore's spectacled eyes, "That stone should never ever be used. Flamel knows this, but the bastard is doing it anyway. Don't tell me you are planning on using it as well!"

"Let me be clear that I have no intention of doing so, Mr. Heidrich. Now, why don't you have a seat so we can chat properly?" The tone in Albus' voice was not a suggestion as he leaned back into his plush chair.

“I’m not here for a chat, I’m here for the stone.” Edmund pushed stubbornly.

“I’m afraid I cannot give it to you.” Albus sighed, clasping his hands together. 

“Why not?”

“Mr. Flamel, it seems, has chosen to entrust it to me as its caretaker, not to you.  Perhaps, then, you may consider it was for a reason? Perhaps it would help if you could explain why we cannot understand.”

The cloaked man gave out a heavily annoyed sigh. “His reason, Albus, for not giving it to me, is that he is afraid of confronting his past mistakes.”

“Afraid?”

“He is afraid of facing me.”

“You? Are you that old, Edmund?” At Edmund’s glower, Dumbledore sighed, nudging a small bowl of candies towards the cloaked man. “Please, sit and have a lemon drop, and let’s discuss this.” Finally Edmund sat, but he did not touch the bowl, instead eyeing the elderly wizard with an intense determination.

“I’m not leaving without the stone.”

“And I still cannot give it to you.”

“Then it seems we are at an impasse.”

“...How about we make a deal, Mr. Heidrich?” A conniving glow lit in Albus’ eyes after a moment of thought. Edmund scowled. “An ‘equivalent exchange,’ as you like to say?”

Edmund raised an eyebrow. “What are you proposing?  I’m still not letting you be my apprentice.”

“Not quite that. I fear any ability I may have had to use alchemy is long gone," he said a little mournfully, "Rather, since you refuse to leave...” Dumbledore reached over for a lemon drop, popping it into his mouth thoughtfully, “...I will allow you to stay here and help keep an eye on the stone.  But only on one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“As you know, Hogwarts is a school. We cannot have a random man running around the castle for no reason, yes?”

“Get to the point, Albus,” Edmund grumbled.

“But,” Dumbledore ignored him, “Teachers are allowed to hold residency in the castle all year round if need be.” A satisfied smile crept over his face just as Edmund’s darkened dangerously.

“And what,” Edmund spoke through gritted teeth, knowing the answer, “Are you proposing that I teach?”

“Why, alchemy, of course. After all, according to your own words so long ago, 'only you have the knowledge to teach it properly.'”

“Dammit, Albus!”  the soaked man slammed his fist onto the desk, wincing slightly as the wood dented suspiciously, “Haven’t I also told you time and time again that I will never take an apprentice?! As far as the wizarding world needs to care, alchemy dies with me!”

“Will it, Edmund?” Albus Dumbledore asked in a low voice, sounding serious for the first time and leaning forward in his seat to gaze piercingly at the golden eyed man’s face, “Will you?  For I have known you many, many years, and age has yet to even touch a hair on your head.  Not even Nicholas Flamel, a man whom you have claimed to hold long ties with, has escaped such even with his stone. How old are you?”

“That has nothing to do with this, Albus.”

“Oh, I think it does.” he disagreed.

“Well, it’s not what we agreed to discuss. We are here to talk about Flamel’s stone, not my age.” Edmund replied stonily.

“Why will you not teach alchemy?  It would be a true shame for the art to die completely...  Teach them, Edmund,” Dumbledore pleaded, “Even if you will never teach me. You can tell them why it is so dangerous.  Wizards can learn to understand, can’t they?  Why do you refuse so resolutely?”

“I’ve tried, Albus!” Edmund threw his hands up in frustration, “All you wizards do is go and mess things up!  You cannot understand because wizards will never understand equivalent exchange!  You think your magic will make you invincible against the consequences of alchemy, but it cannot and it never will.” At those last words, Edmund’s gloved hands were trembling slightly, balled into fists.

“Does this have to do with Nicholas Flamel and his alchemy?” Dumbledore calmly assessed.

“...He was formerly my apprentice. We do not speak anymore. He does not know true alchemy.” The man named Edmund’s voice had suddenly gotten very soft, almost regretful.

“Edmund…” Dumbledore seemed to realize he had hit a soft spot. “Have you considered trying again? If Flamel has made some kind of mistake, then can’t you teach other wizards how to not do the same?”

“Your arrogance will make you try.”

“I’m not talking about me anymore, Edmund. I understand you will never teach me.  But there is a generation of young witches and wizards here who are still growing, still learning, who have not yet learned the blind arrogance us adults may have. You can make them understand. Please, consider?” he implored.

“...You won’t let me teach anything else, will you? Ancient Runes? Not even physical education? Hell knows you wizards never get enough of it.” Any sadness Edmund had been expressing earlier was now replaced with slight desperation.

“I’m afraid we do not have any other teaching slots open.  We have already found ourselves a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Ancient Runes has been secured by Professor Babbling for many a year now." Albus informed him quite unapologetically, “But I must kindly remind you, that only teachers are allowed to live in the castle. This is my price. A room, monetary compensation, and food will be given to you as well, of course.”

“...You bastard.” the shorter man scowled once again, crossing his arms. “As if I care about the money. Fine,” he spat, “I will teach alchemy.  But it’s not for you, and it’s not for your little wizard and witch spawns, I’m doing this for the sake of the stone.  If I catch the kids having a single thought about mistreating alchemy, they are out of the class.  I will not teach those who cannot listen.”

“Ah, excellent!” Dumbledore clapped his hands in delight, his eyes crinkling into a softer smile as he placed his hands back onto the desk. “...Thank you, Edmund, truly. I am glad we have reached an understanding. I will send the house elves to clean up a room for you. Will you need a tour of the castle? It has been quite a while, after all.”

“No. I should still know my way around.” 

“Alright.” Dumbledore seceded, "Now, it is late.  There has been enough discussion for one night.  I will tell you details on the stone tomorrow.” He did not lie, for now it had to be past one o'clock in the morning.  Even Edmund looked tired behind his angry exterior.

“You’d better,” Edmund growled under his breath as he stood up and turned to leave. However, just before reaching the door, he stopped, seemingly thinking to himself. “Oh, and one more thing,” Edmund said after a moment and turned to look at Albus again, pulling down his hood to reveal strikingly golden blonde hair pulled back into a long, low ponytail. He smirked slightly, as if laughing at some private joke of his. “I will be teaching under the name Elric. Edward Elric."

Chapter Text

[27 July, 1991- Present]

After some time to clean it up, Edward was escorted to his new room by a house elf named Gleep. Despite all of the long years he had spent in the wizarding world, certain creatures still didn't sit right with him. House elves were one of them. All he could see was some kind of chimera, like a mix of a dwarf and a naked bat.  

The unsaid sentiment and reluctance to follow didn't seem to bother Gleep though. The small creature was so overjoyed to help he was almost skipping. 

"Mister Elric, Gleep is so pleased to meet you! A new teacher!  Hogwarts has not seen a new class in years and years. The students will find it so exciting!" The little elf was short and stout, bearing green tinted skin with large, flappy ears and a silken pillowcase neatly belted to his form with a curtain tie. A wide smile was plastered over his plump face. However, his bouncing enthusiasm was starting to get on Ed's nerves. 

"Yeah, yeah." Ed muttered, a knot of anxiety filling his chest at the reminder. Teaching. After nearly seven centuries of holding his truth, of trying to rectify his mistakes... here he was, teaching alchemy again. Damn that bastard Dumbledore. Damn his former apprentice too and his disgusting Stone. This was a mistake.

But he couldn't leave the Stone unattended. The wizards could not be trusted with it in their hands, they had no idea what they were dealing with. ...No idea. And he bet his whole remaining arm and leg that they would use it anyway even if they found out, just like Flamel. It disgusted him. Bastard.

Cursing colorfully in his head, he followed Gleep down several more hallways until the house elf stopped next to a large painting of a valley surrounded by grey mountains. In the middle of the valley sat a sleeping giant.

"Here it is!" Gleep squeaked and knocked on the painting, "Hello Ingus!" He waved at the giant who merely grunted in response, rubbing sleep out of its eyes, "Mister Elric will be rooming here. Mister Elric, you can set your password with Ingus!"

"Thanks." Edward said.

"I must go now, but I will bring you your classroom number in the morning!" The little creature bowed deeply to Ed. Ed barely had time to wish it goodnight before it disappeared with a snap. 

"Right…" Ed sighed, rubbing his sore shoulder and studying the giant. It blinked large, sleepy eyes at him.

"...Password?" The giant rumbled mournfully.

Edward stared with a frown. A password, huh? Wizards always used the stupidest words. Fizzing whizbee, lemon drop, exploding snap (he could never get over the name of that game), it seemed they were always attracted to the most common wizardly funny words they could find. Why, he didn't know. What he did know is that he wanted something no silly wizard would guess just by rattling off a generic list of objects and plants. Perhaps his own choice would be a little cliche as well, all things considered, but he knew it was nothing the wizards would guess.

"Alphonse," he finally spoke aloud, softly. "make it Alphonse." A reminder. Of why he was here, and who he still needed to return to.

"Alphonse," the giant repeated slowly, nodding sadly as the painting swung open. 

Inside, the chambers were cozy. A large fireplace sat on one wall, already lit and enveloping the room with its warm embrace. A desk, a bed, and a closet were on the other side. In the middle of the room sat a large plush rug and a single armchair facing the fire. A side door went into the bathroom. Edward sighed and shrugged off his sopping clothes, laying them across the armchair to dry by the fire, taking a moment to massage his stiff leg and shoulder in the warmth of the yellow light. The skin around his ports were swollen and tender from the shoddy weather.  He also noticed some rust flaking by his collar. Sighing, he stripped the skin-colored sleeve from his right arm to check the components underneath. The sleeve had done a decent job of protecting the metal and wires from grime, but the moist weather had still managed to trap somewhat around his bicep, causing some browning. He would need to maintenance soon… the last thing he needed was his joints locking up again. Or worse, it breaking.

Fixing the automail was a pain... he could fix most of it himself now, hell knew that the automail mechanics in his chest had yelled at him enough over it, and having lived so long he'd had to do it numerous times. The only thing he needed help with was fixing the port. Even with the best of care, after going about fifty years without a proper re-maintenancing, the port could start to make his reaction time extremely stiff. Edward rolled his shoulder and wiggled his fingers, scowling at the stiffness. He would find time to fix it tomorrow. For now though, he just wanted to sleep. Upon inspecting the closet, he found several sets of spare robes and nightgowns. Edward clicked his tongue. Did wizards still not believe in pants? 

After transmuting one of the gowns into some proper pajamas, Edward flopped into bed. Exhausted though he was, his mind still circled around and around. The reminder of teaching returned to the forefront of his mind. Truth, what was he supposed to do?  Lives depended on him doing this right. The ruby stone in his own chest warmed in sympathy, hundreds of thousands of muted voices attempting to reassure. 

"I'm sorry." He whispered, allowing his mind to tune into their thoughts.

'It's not your fault,' they thrummed, 'you're going to save us all.'

"I don't want another tragedy. Millions are dead." He rolled over onto his side, inspecting the metal fingers splayed out in front of him.

'And you're saving millions more.' 

"I don't want to do this again." Curled under the plush blankets, Ed fought off a soft wave of panic. "How am I supposed to prevent more pain when I have already caused so much? I can't even fix us." A wave of voices rumbled in agreement, but the rest spoke insistently.

'Make it different this time. We are still here. Save us, save them, and teach well. These kids may not be as proud as he.'

"But they could be!" Ed tightened his jaw and his fingers curled towards a fist as if ready to punch an imaginary foe even as half of the muddled voices cried in agreement and the other half in protest.

'You don't have a choice but to prevent it.' 

"I will." Edward sighed as he signed himself onto another promise he wasn't sure he could keep, feeling the heavy weight in his chest. How could he save Flamel's abomination when he couldn't even save the people trapped in his own? How could he teach anyone alchemy when his last attempt had ended in such failure? The guilt he had been sitting on for seemingly endless years grew a little bit thicker. He closed his eyes.

"...Goodnight."

~~~

[Year 1341]

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" Edward looked up from the books he was organizing on the shelf.

"You own this bookshop, right?" A lanky teen with brown messy hair and bright green eyes stood in the narrow messy aisle, clutching a thick leather-bound book Edward didn't recognize in his hands.

"That's right," Ed agreed, slipping his own onto the shelf, "need something?"

"I was wondering- you see, someone gave me this book and I've been trying to decipher it, but I'm having trouble understanding it. Have you ever seen anything like this before?" The teen held out the book, three words gracefully carved into its worn cover. 'Theorie der Alchemie.' 

"Well now," Ed frowned in thought. He'd done much researching in his years in Germany, but had yet to find an entire book on this world's interpretation of alchemy. But suddenly, here it was. Being offered to him in the hands of some random kid. He held his hands out for the book. "May I?"

The teen pulled the book back momentarily in hesitation, but did hand it over. Edward flipped carefully through the pages and parchment inserts filled with many languages, notes, and circles. It looked to be a compilation of numerous researchers.

"...Who gave this to you?"

"I- I don't remember. He was tall and cloaked. I don't remember his face but he only had one arm. I think. It could have just been under his cloak. He just said he didn't need the book anymore and that I had the right spark or something..." the kid shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"I see." Ed traced a gloved finger over the notes, heavily intrigued. "If you don't mind... why, exactly, do you want to decipher this book?"

"Because it's about alchemy! The foreign art that nobody has mastered! Imagine what I could do if I cracked the code! All of that knowledge, that power! You've got a bookshop. You're a researcher too, right? Surely you understand."

"I do. And I also know one more thing than you do." Edward met the teen's eyes, green and full of a fiery life, intelligence, and a desire to learn.

"You do?" The teen seemed surprised at his response. Edward smirked. 

"I know that there are exactly two people on this earth who have mastered alchemy, and one of them is me."

"You? So you know what the book means, then?"

"I don't know what this interpretation of alchemy is, but I do know it as a fundamental art."

"Really? Can you teach me?!"

"Well…" With a hand on his chin, Ed evaluated the boy's eager posture. The boy's determination reminded him greatly of himself, his eyes holding a bright stubborn light. Was this what Mustang meant when he'd said that he had a fire in his eyes? "...that man who gave you the book was right. You do have a spark. What's your name, kid?"

"Nicholas. Nicholas Flamel."

"Alright Nicholas Flamel, on condition," he waggled a finger at the teen's excited face, "You see, Alchemy's first law is equivalent exchange. You must give something in order to receive something back. My price is to help decipher this book, as well as you to become my assistant at the bookshop here. It gets lonely working alone all the time. In return, I will teach you how to master alchemy."

"I accept!" Nicholas eagerly agreed, but seemed to realize something and tried to look serious. "As long as I get to keep my book when I am not here, that is." Ed laughed.

"I am no thief, kid. I just want to read it as much as you do. I know a lot about coding, and I can guarantee you some of this is gonna be just that. Better to work as a team, right?"

"Right." The kid nodded, pleased, but then held up a finger of realization. "Hey... you know my name now, what should I call you? It's only equivalent exchange." 

The blond smirked. "You catch on quick, don't you? Well, I suppose..." Pleased with Nicholas' response, Ed pointed a thumb at himself.  "You can call me Elias. Elias Schmitt."

~~~

[Present]

"Mister Elric, sir!"

Ed awoke with a groan, uncurling his head from the pile of blankets. He blinked blearily up at two very green, oversized eyes staring back at him.

"Ah, Mister Elric, sir! I have brought you your classroom number!" the house elf proclaimed in its squeaky voice.

"...Thanks, Gleep…" he responded wearily, poking a hand out into the cool air to grab for the piece of paper in the creature's hands.  Gleep eagerly handed it over.

"Master Dumbledore said to also tell you that breakfast is ready at the teacher's table! I made the quiche myself!" The elf bobbed his head, stepping back a few paces. "Mister Elric can head down when he is ready!" With a loud snap, Gleep was gone.  

Wearily, Edward rubbed his eyes and stared down at his sheet of paper. Room 332. Where he was supposed to teach alchemy. He swallowed a knot of dread as the events of last night snaked back into his mind. Damn Dumbledore.  Why had he agreed to this?

'You must save the stone,' a voice reminded him. 

"I know," Ed grumbled, finally rolling out of bed to find some clothes.  It appeared his own had already been taken to be laundered, because there was a fresh set of robes neatly folded in the armchair. After once more transmuting them into pants and a coat, and some of the extra pajama fabric into gloves, he slipped on his boots and headed down to breakfast.  His limbs were still sore, but at least his shoes were dry and it had stopped raining.

Edward only got lost once on the way to the dining hall, and he was proud of that. With how big the castle was, and how the stairways kept changing, it had infuriated Ed when he had first arrived many years ago. Thankfully, he still mostly remembered the paths, even though it felt a little surreal to be wandering the halls once more.

Upon entering the dining hall, Edward noticed the smell of delicious food wafting from the teacher's table.  Hot pies, pasties, rolls, scrambled eggs, a whole multitude of mouth-watering smells just waiting to be eaten.  As always, Hogwarts did not slack on its mealtimes. Even, it seemed, if there were no students.  There were seven teachers at the table; a greasy-haired man with dark robes, a frail woman with glasses so large and magnified her eyes looked like they were going to come out of her head, an unusually short, cheerful man, a lady containing wavy grey hair with a very battered patchy hat covered in dirt, the stern, grey-haired woman from last night, a nervous-looking man in a large blue turban, and Albus Dumbledore himself. 

"Ah, Edward Elric, there you are!" Albus greeted, clapping his hands together, "I was just explaining that you agreed to teach alchemy!"

"Are you sure this is the right choice, Albus?" the dirt-covered witch asked, "He looks so young."

"Oh, I am perfectly sure he is the best choice, Pomona," Dumbledore appeased, with a soft snort from the stern woman. Ed merely turned tired eyes to raise an eyebrow at her.  He was aware that he barely looked seventeen, and no matter how many times he tried he could never formulate a permanent ageing spell. That was something he had found with magic; without the equivalent exchange, most spells were never truly permanent. Potions lasted longer, but the exchange still wasn't quite right. That's why dark magical rituals, like forbidden alchemy, were always more effective and dangerous.  With it, the cost was often a more worthy price.

"I assure you that I know my field very well." Edward added as he sat down between the greasy haired man and the bug-eyed lady and piled his plate high with food, "Better than anyone else."

"How arrogant." The greasy haired man commented. Edward shrugged.

"I do not lie."

"He speaks truth," the bug eyed lady interrupted, staring at him with her oversized spectacles. She pointed a shaky dramatic finger at him. Ed learned away just slightly. "You are not as you seem. The horror you bear and the horror you seek shall both be appeased. But beware, for there will be sacrifice."

Edward nearly dropped his fork. "What are you talking about?" Not even Dumbledore knew about the philosopher's stone inside of his own chest. The man might suspect, but he held no proof beyond Ed's aging. The crazy lady couldn't be talking about any other horrors though. 

"Your time is nearing," Was her only foreboding response, her face paling quite dramatically. She seemed to snap out of her weird trance. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have eaten something bad. I must go. I feel quite sick." She stumbled up from her seat and glided nervously down the hall and out the double doors.

"What," Edward frowned deeply, "Was that?"

"Your t-time? S-Sacrifice?" The turbaned professor stammered.

"Oh! Don't mind Professor Trelawney, dear… as the divination teacher she's a little eccentric and one for drama. Why, I believe she predicts someone's death every year, and none of them have died yet! Scares the students though." The grubby professor tried to reassure, "Heavens! I never introduced myself. I am Pomona Sprout, the herbology teacher. Snape is our potions teacher, Mcgonagall is transfiguration, Flitwick is charms," at the mention of his name, Flitwick waved a cheery hello, "Quirrell is our new defense against the dark arts teacher, and I'm sure you know Dumbledore already!"

"I do," Ed confirmed, appraising Albus' eyes which were gazing at him knowingly. Ed was sure he had guessed by now. "It is nice to meet you all."

"Now that we are all here," Mcgonagall interjected, "I feel it would be wise to discuss our options."

"Always in a hurry, Minerva," Dumbledore sounded almost disappointed.

"Always concise and to the point." She corrected. Edward was starting to like her. Albus surprisingly listened.

"Very well," the elderly wizard's voice dropped into a more solemn note, "I asked you all to gather at this time to discuss the philosopher's stone."

Edward immediately leaned forward, gripping the table. "What the hell, are you just going to tell everyone now?"

"Only those necessary," Albus smiled, "The students will never know. You see, the stone will need extra security. Mr. Elric here has promised to protect the stone, but I would like to take some extra measures, with the help of everyone here."

"W-what kind of m-measures?" Quirrell asked, looking terrified at the very thought. Edward frowned, wondering why Dumbledore had chosen this man to teach defense against the dark arts, of all things. There was something off about him.

"I would like you all to devise your own. The stone will be kept in the last of a series of seven rooms. Each room shall require a different kind of knowledge and skill to meet the next. I would like you all to choose something that is your specialty."

"But if the person has all of the knowledge and skills, then what's going to stop them from just getting through anyway?!" Edward demanded, "This stone is too dangerous to just be guarded by mere rooms."

"That is what the final room will be for," Albus explained, a satisfied glint in his left eye, "A friend of mine has devised a way to prevent anyone with ill intent from ever getting their hands on the stone. It will be quite impossible to retrieve, even for Nicholas Flamel himself. It is one of my more clever plans, I dare say!"

"How does it work?" Ed asked.

"Only he knows, I'm afraid," Albus said mysteriously, "He will be arriving on August first and explain everything then. Professors, you have until that time to devise your rooms. Make them as clever as you can. Mr. Elric, I would like to have a further word with you in my office after breakfast."

"Agreed," Edward said, not quite happy with the public meeting. 

"And now!" Albus served himself a generous helping of sausage and eggs, "I think it would be well to enjoy the rest of our breakfast."

Edward eyed the rest of the teachers as he stuck a piece of pancake into his own mouth. Sprout and Flitwick were softly discussing plans over their plates, McGonagall had her lips pursed in a hard, contemplative line, and Snape was watching Quirrell with narrowed eyes. It seemed he wasn't the only one to notice something off.

The turbaned professor in question was staring down at his plate, nervously picking at his food and looking quite pale.

"Is something the matter, Professor Quirrell?" Snape asked with the slightest sneer. Quirrell looked up, nearly dropping the food off of his fork.

"N-nothing at all, Professor S-Snape," he smiled shakily, "No, Nothing at all."

Chapter Text

[Year 1343]

"Elias, sir?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Sir?"

A hand waved in front of his face.

"Hmm? What?" Elias crabbily looked up from the notes he was absorbed in.

"Sir. I was wondering… can alchemy make someone live forever?"

At that question, Elias turned to fully face him, forgetting about his notes entirely as he stared Nicholas down contemplatively.

"What, exactly, makes you ask that?" It was not a friendly tone that left his mouth.

"Well, it's just…" Flamel shuffled uncomfortably, "I was looking through the records at school you see- for a project! I swear I wasn't snooping- but I found this."

Flamel handed Elias a sheet of paper. He held it up curiously, eyes traveling over the fancy script.

Elias Schmitt

Abschlusszertifikat am Durmstrang Institut

"My graduation papers?" He asked in mild surprise, "You stole them?"

"I made an exact copy." Flamel looked quite proud of himself, "But here. Look at the date. It's 1319! That's six years before I was born! But you- you don't look hardly a year or two older than me, and I'm almost graduated... And you're always so mysterious… I asked the people around the village about how long you and your shop have been here and nobody has an answer. Just that they think you've owned it for a long time. This graduation paper is the only record Durmstrang has of an 'Elias Schmitt'… and here you are, confirming it is yours. ...Do you ever age, Elias? Sir?"

"Ah… it would be you to find out." Elias pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, "You've always been cleverer than the rest, Nicholas." At Nicholas' puff of pride Elias held up a pointed finger with a glare. "Ah, cleverness is not always a good thing. However... in this you are correct; I am much older than I seem. But I am far from immortal. It is indeed due to alchemy, though not of a kind you ever want to touch. It is something I will never teach you and I hope you will never learn nor be tempted to do, for the reward is not worth the cost."

"But what is it?  What is the cost?"

"You don't need to pry into dangerous things, Nicholas."

"But I must know! Immortality is something that has long been considered impossible, even with magic! How can alchemy, a science, achieve such a thing that magic cannot?"

"This is not immortality, Nicholas. This is simply borrowed time. Borrowed time that I would never ask for had I a choice."

"Then why do you possess it? What happened? Why do you not have a choice? I must understand, Elias!"

"...Human lives. The borrowed time is human lives."

"What?"

"The cost," Elias gazed at him with dull, molten eyes, "What else is equal to longevity than another human's lifespan? There is a stone inside of me, what is called a philosopher's stone, that holds hundreds of thousands of half lives. And each day that passes, one of those souls gets weakened just to keep me alive. I can feel it, in my chest." He placed a fist upon his sternum, shaking his head softly. Flamel's eyes widened in growing horror as he continued on. "These lives cannot live forever, Nicholas. They are still human, if only just the soul, and slowly, one by one, they will burn out. It is theft of the cruelest kind. I did not choose this fate for them, and I hope you never seek it for yourself. No-one should ever have to face this cruelty."

"...Then why? Why is it inside of you if you did not choose it?" Flamel asked in horrified awe. Elias chuffed humorlessly.

"Why? This is the price I have to pay for my own failure. But also the price I pay to redeem myself. ...I'm going to find a way to take them home someday, Nicholas," he started the words like a mantra he had been repeating over and over to himself every day, a slightly bitter, wistful look overtaking his face, "I'm going to get them home and set them free."

~~~

[Present]

Once again, Edward found himself standing inside of Albus Dumbledore's office, Albus sitting pleasantly across from him at the desk.

"Who all knows of the stone?" Edward demanded.

"Just the teachers and the groundskeeper. Nobody else will know."

"Are they trustworthy?"

"I assure you that every one of them will keep it secret. Right now, nobody knows of the stone's exact location except for me and Nicholas Flamel himself... but that is what I have called you here for."

"You're going to tell me?"

"In a moment, yes. I am waiting for our groundskeeper, Hagrid, as I have a task for you both."

It was a few tense minutes before a very large, very tall man came through the doorway.

"You called, Professor Dumbledore?" Hagrid asked in a booming voice. The man was so large it made Edward momentarily feel like a kid again. He stood a little straighter. Still, something was a little familiar about him but he couldn't place it.

"There you are, Hagrid," Albus greeted, "This is Edward Elric, our new alchemy professor. Edward, meet Hagrid, our groundskeeper."

"A new professor, eh? Nice ter meet yeh." Hagrid held out a massive hand. Ed took it with a practiced smile, trying to ignore how just one of Hagrid's fingers was nearly the size of his palm.

"Likewise," he said.

"No what we are all introduced, I have a task for you both. Two tasks, really," Dumbledore pulled the attention back, "As you know, Hagrid, young Mr. Harry Potter is not receiving his acceptance letters. If he has not by August 1st, I want you both to go and personally deliver one and take him to get his supplies. He will need access to his bank account regardless. Here is his key." The elderly wizard produced a small bronze key. Hagrid accepted it, selecting one of the overwhelming number of pockets to slip it in, and gently patting the front.

"Wait, the Harry Potter?" Ed asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"That is correct," Dumbledore answered with a twinkle in his eye. "Harry will be starting his first year here this year."

"Fuck, Albus. You're asking me to teach the most famous wizard child ever alchemy? You must know, arrogance and alchemy do not mix well."

"I think you will find Harry to be quite humble. He knows nothing of his fame. I sent him to live with his aunt and her family so he could grow up with a normal life."

"He knows nothing?" Hagrid asked.

"He should know everything I instructed his relatives to tell him. But of his fame he should know very little."

Edward still pursed his lips in discontent. 

"The second task I have," Albus continued, "and why Mr. Elric is here as well, is of a more sensitive nature. The philosopher's stone. 

"Mr. Elric here has been tasked with assisting to protect it. As such, when you go to collect Harry Potter's supplies, you will also be collecting the stone itself. Nobody will see it as suspicious to go to Gringotts when you are helping a new Hogwarts student." a clever twinkle sat in Albus' eye.

"It's in Gringotts?" Ed interrupted.

"Not for much longer," Albus pointed out, "You will be bringing it here, and here it shall stay. Hogwarts is the safest place for it to be." Ed nodded in assent. "This is the vault it sits in. It is of highest security and only goblinkind may open it." Dumbledire slid a piece of paper forward on the table which the numbers 713 scrawled onto it.

"Memorize that. And give the goblins this letter from me. They will know who you are. Nobody else is allowed to go near the vault." Dumbledore passed them a letter signed with a neat, loopy scrawl. Edward pocketed it. Finally, Albus waved his wand at the piece of paper still on the table and it burst into flames, disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

"So we'll just have to wait until then." Ed surmised.

"That is correct. Now, I'm afraid Harry Potter's relatives, the Dursleys, are resistant to his letters, so we are expecting a small delay. I have placed a temporary tracking on Harry's whereabouts in case they decide to hide him. They have already tried moving him and locking us out."

"Tha's ridiculous!" Hagrid bellowed, "His own family! Trying to stop Harry Potter from going to school! What a load of-"

"Calm down Hagrid," Albus placated, "Should he wish to go, Harry will be going to school, whether his aunt and uncle like it or not. That is for certain. Hogwarts will never deny a student education."

Hagrid looked a little miffed at this but backed down.

"You delivered him to his family the first time, that is why I trust you to help him get to Hogwarts as well." Dumbledore explained. Hagrid beamed with pride.

"Tha's right Dumbledore sir! You can count on me! An' Professor Elric, of course."

"I knew I could." Dumbledore said pleased, and pushed forward a bowl of little yellow candies. "Lemon drop?"

~~~

After the debriefing, Edward quietly wandered the hallways, reacquainting himself with the castle's stone walls. The uneven echoes of his footsteps were swallowed by the hard granite.  Of course, with it being so close to the beginning of the semester, he should have been back in his room making a lesson plan, but the lingering anxiety had him pacing for miles. He supposed he could just wing it as the classes went, right?

'...You're just avoiding the past again,' a voice spoke from the stone, 'You can't hide from it forever.'

"I know." Ed grumbled to himself, "But I can try."

'You're failing,' another voice snarked.

"..." Ed wanted to tell the stone's voices to shut up, but he could never bring himself to. They were all the souls of people, many of them incomplete as they were. But even incomplete- floundering, confused, and unable to remember their names, they were still souls with thoughts, feelings, and blurred memories. They were still human in a way that Edward refused to deny. People, who had nothing left but whispering voices in his head. They couldn't feel, they couldn't see on their own, they couldn't taste or smell... the only contact they had left to the outside world was him. And if he could give them even the tiniest, saddest taste of freedom, he would. Just like he did for Alphonse. The dagger of guilt twisted in his chest. "Dammit…" he slumped into a windowed alcove, pressing his hand against the fogged glass.  

It was still terribly humid outside, a light drizzle keeping everything damp.  His ports throbbed but he ignored them, looking out across the empty Quidditch field towards the dark forest. A distant thestral winged its way in lazy circles above.  He sighed, refocusing on his own reflection in the glass.  Dark circles ringed his eyes from stress, his hair (was it getting too long?) was dull and lackluster.  If he looked closely, he imagined he could see a faint red glow deep within his eyes. The stone in his chest thrummed.

"Is it a student?!" Edward was torn from his reverie by a high, familiar, annoying voice. His heart sank further as he spun around and recognized who it was. "A wee student, this early in the castle? No! Oh my…" Peeves the poltergeist almost fell out of the air in shock. "Is that wee little Eddie Edmund?!"

"Shut it, Peeves," Edward's eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

"It is wee Eddie Edmund! Why, Peevsie thought he would never see you again!"

"I hoped not," Edward muttered, "You'd better leave me alone this semester. I don't have time for your messes right now."

"But Peevsie never plans, Peevsie just does!" The poltergeist had the gall to look offended.

"That's a lie and you know it. Look, you come near me or my classroom, and you get what you did last time, got it?"

"Peevsie knows…" he made a face, flipping upside down and blowing a loud raspberry at him. "Wee Eddie Edmund is no fun!"

"I hope to keep it that way. Now scram!" Ed clapped his hands together with a warning slap, and Peeves made a loud whine and buzzed down the hallway, creating a gust of wind so violent a nearby suit of armor rattled and its spear clattered to the floor with a loud clang. Ed sighed, lifting the dulled spear and fixing it back into the suit of armor's grasp.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, glancing up into its empty gaze. It never moved.

Wordlessly, he turned away to return to his room.

---

The next few days passed relatively quietly. More staff members slowly trickled in as the semester loomed closer.  He met the school's nurse, Madam Pomfrey, and Argus Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris. Ed couldn't help but think how much Alphonse would have adored her.

On the eve of August 1st, Hagrid approached him with the news.

"Harry still hasn' gotten his letters.  The Dursleys are tryin' to hide him good.  Been dragging him all over the country, they have." the large man looked quite miffed.

"Do you know where he is now?" Ed asked.

"Eh they're still on the road. Takin' a car and driving this way and that like that will help. Muggles are strange, aren't they? No, actually… I was hoping yeh would come with me ter Hogsmeade an' help me pick out a birthday cake."

"A birthday cake?" Ed asked, confused.

"For Harry. Since it's his birthday tomorrow and all.  Think he migh' appreciate it."

"I suppose it can't hurt." Ed decided. He could use an escape from the castle grounds, and he hadn't been to Hogsmeade in ages.  A change of pace would be nice from the anxiety-riddling grounds of the castle. Hagrid beamed.

They took a carriage down to the village- not a village anymore, Edward noted. In his absence Hogsmeade had blossomed into a hearty sized town. On a lonely hill apart from the rest of the town sat an old shack he didn't remember, boarded and dark.  However, everywhere else in the town positively bustled with life. 

"There's the new cake shop I've been wanting ter try," Hagrid pointed down the street to a cute small bakery, painted white and colorful sweets displayed in the window.  'Betsey's Batter Bakery' read the sign.  Upon entering, they were greeted with the soft jingle of a cheery bell and a greeting from the shop owner. Like the windows, the interior was full of quaint displays of cakes and cookies of all types. They spent some time browsing the treats, Edward noting some claimed to be spiked with love potions and the like. In the end, they walked out with a chocolate cake covered thickly with white frosting. Hagrid had requested 'Happy Birthday Harry' to be written on it with bright green icing. "Ter match his mum's eyes," he'd explained. Edward offered to carry the cake in favor of Hagrid putting it into one of his many coat pockets. It was only bound to get squished. Or eaten by mice. He pretended not to hear the faint squeaks coming from the hairy man's coat.

White waiting for a signal from Dumbledore, they decided to stop in the Three Broomsticks for a drink or two.  Ed ordered a firewhiskey with a strange look from the bartender, but at Hagrid's encouragement, set two drinks down in front of them. Edward took a sip and grimaced. He had no love of the spicy drink, or many alcoholic drinks in general, ordering it by habit, but some of the souls within him enjoyed it nonetheless. The drink was strong, and while he couldn't exactly get drunk himself, some of the souls liked to experience absorbing the kick if it was strong enough. It was one of the few ways he could make them feel something without causing much harm. Guilt simmered with the aftertaste of the whiskey.

Hagrid, oblivious to his musings as he nursed his drink, took a large gulp of beer. "So you're teachin' alchemy, right?"

"That's right."

"I heard it was a lost art."

Edward sighed. He should have assumed he'd be getting this question a lot.

"Not quite," he admitted, "There are only two real alchemists left."

"You an' Flamel?"

"No, Flamel knows party tricks. Child's play," he grimaced at his own choice of words, taking another swig of firewhiskey, "He hasn't practiced true alchemy in many, many years. I care not to count. You see, Flamel didn't like to listen to boundaries. He gave up the true art and created something else."

"I see… Who's the second person then?"

Edward grimaced and set his empty glass down on the counter, frowning darkly. "A man by the name of Van Hoenheim."

Chapter Text

It wasn't until well after dinner that they were contacted by Dumbledore. Edward was covering yawns, grumbling about being up so late. "We 'ave to wait for Dumbledore," Hagrid insisted. 

"Yeah yeah," Edward stifled another yawn, "I didn't know it would involve spending five hours in a bar."  They had moved closer to the fireplace as the evening set in, thankfully for Edward's joints, and Hagrid wasn't too bad of company. A little obsessed with large and dangerous animals, perhaps, but once Hagrid had found out he could see thestrals, and Edward described some of the stranger creatures he'd seen in Germany, they had hit it off alright. Still, five hours was a long time.  He'd been ready to crash and sleep hours ago. Unfortunately with the unpredictableness of the Dursleys, they were going to need to apparate at moment's notice.

Finally, as the clock on the wall hit 11:47, a sudden but brief puff of fire shot off just above Hagrid's lap, dropping a golden feather, a letter, and a small note into his lumpy coat.

"There it is!" Hagrid grinned and fumbled for the items. Ed leaned over to read it around his arm. 

The Dursleys have settled. Address is on envelope. Stormy night tonight.

The letter was another Hogwarts invitation.  Edward inwardly groaned at the mention of the storm, but they paid for their final drinks (warm butterbeer), went outside, and ducked into an empty alleyway. "Hut on the rock? In Cokeworth..." Edward frowned, "Sounds lovely."

"This migh' be tricky. They went a long ways teh get away from these letters. I've been delivering all of 'em myself." Hagrid grumbled.

"Well, we won't know until we find out." Edward said, throwing the cake under one arm as he fumbled for his wand, eyeing the stick distasefully once he removed it from his cloak pocket. "Grab on."

Apparration was as horrible as ever. Edward could not deny the usefulness of such a spell, but he still preferred train, or even walking, when he could. For now, he had to face the sickening sensation of being squashed through a twisting pipe. 

With a pop, they appeared at the top of a rock and immediately stumbled as the splash of a large wave slapped against their backs. Edward's loud swear was lost in the wind and torrential downpour. Hagrid steadied him by the collar.

"Think tha's it?" The large man pointed at a flimsy-looking stone hut stationed in the center of the rock island. The whole island was small, the only thing populating being driftwood up the beach, a single dingy boat tied to a dock, and a sparse spattering of sickly bushes and grass. The hut stood obnoxiously alone, a scraggly stone building with a worn roof, the sides chalky from years of sea spray exposure.

"Must be," Edward had to yell to be heard over the storm. They stumbled toward the excuse of a house, Edward hiding from the driving wind behind Hagrid's sheer girth. Reaching it, Edward pulled on the handle. It didn't budge. "Locked!" He shouted up.

"I got it." Hagrid scooted Ed out of the way and banged thunderously on the door. One, two, three booming knocks. There was no way that the Dursleys couldn't have heard, but there was no answer. Hagrid banged on the door again, this time the wood cracking slightly. A muted sound came from inside. Hagrid's next comment was lost in the wind, but he pounded the door for a third time, harder, and the wood splintered and shuddered as the whole thing ripped off of its hinges and fell to the floor. Inside was quite dank, four terrified-looking figures staring at them. A very large, very angry red-faced man stood in the center of the room holding up a gun, a bony woman cowering behind. On the couch sat an equally large, terrified boy Edward could only assume was their son. Lastly, on the floor covered in a flimsy blanket was a very skinny boy staring at them with wide green eyes, that Edward immediately knew was Harry Potter. Indeed, if he gained a little bit of weight and muscle, he would have been the spitting image of his father.

"Finally," Edward muttered, stepping inside and ignoring the gun for the time being. He knew all too well what it looked like when someone was intending to actually shoot, and the man he assumed to be "Dursley" wasn't anything close to threatening. Hatred stooped in after him and hung the door back on its hinges, abruptly cutting off the cold rain and wind to Edward's relief.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? Terrible weather out there." He went for the sofa where the terrified boy sat while Edward clapped his hands together and sealed the door back into the wall with blue sparks. The last thing he wanted was for the weather to knock it back in again.

Dursley with the gun made a strangled noise at the sight of the alchemy while Hagrid butted his son off of the couch.

"Oh, shut it. And put that thing down before you accidentally shoot someone," Edward glared at the large man whose finger was trembling so badly it couldn't even stay on the trigger. At this point he was going to shoot it on accident. Edward fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"An' here's Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed, gazing at the bony boy in the floor, "las' time I saw you, you was only a baby! Yeh look a lot like your dad, but yeh've got your mum's eyes."

Harry blinked owlishly at him in stunned confusion.

"I will not put this gun down! You are intruding on our privacy! Who are you? I d-demand you leave at once!" Dursley swung the gun back and forth between them, face now purple in fear and rage.

"Ah shut up Dursley, yeh great prune."

"That's enough. We're not here to hurt you. Now, let's put the gun down. It's not a toy." Edward intervened, putting the cake down to clap his hands and touch the end of the gun while Dursley was focused on Hagrid. Another flash of blue later and the weapon was fused shut. Dursley, upon the electrical sparks and failure of the trigger to budge, dropped it in shock.

"What are you trying to do?! Make it a bomb?!" He sputtered in rage, "Step back, Petunia, Dudley. I demand you leave at once! If you harm my family you will pay!"

"I just said, we're not here to hurt you or your family, Dursley. Look, I'm sorry we broke in, but I fixed the door," Ed rolled his eyes and kicked the broken gun into a corner. Vernon made a choking noise and took a step back. "We're just here to deliver Harry his letter. I hear you've been taking his mail away from him. That's illegal, you know."

"My letter?" Harry said from his spot on the floor. The kid hadn't moved, watching the newcomers and the Dursleys like a tennis match.

"Yer letter! Tha's right! An' about time yeh received it, too." Hagrid pulled the wrinkled envelope out of his coat pocket and held it out to the bony boy on the floor.

"S-s-stop this instant!" Petunia's voice quivered as she spoke up, cowering behind her husband still, "the boy is not allowed to see it!" But it was too late. Harry snatched the letter with a glare at his aunt and scrunched his eyebrows at the address. Peeling the letter open, he grew visibly more perpelxed at the contents. 

"...Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" He read aloud, confusion evident in his voice, "what does that mean?"

"Yer going to the finest wizard school in all of Britain! Just like yer mother and father!"

"He's not going!" Vernon spat. Petunia was nearly in tears. Harry and Dudley were dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, what? Wizardry?" Harry said from the floor.

"Yes," Ed supplied, holding up his wand, "pointy sticks. Bang bang. Magic." He didn't really expect the kid to believe them. Hell, it had taken a hard knock for Edward himself to believe it existed. It sounded absolutely ridiculous-- Was absolutely ridiculous. However, the kid beat his expectations.

"But I'm not a wizard. I can't do magic… neither did my parents, right?" He looked back and forth between the two newcomers and the Dursleys, seeking confirmation. 

"HE WILL NOT BE-" Mr. Dursley started at the same time Petunia sputtered.

"Y-your mother wasn't-"

"DURSLEY!" Hagrid's voice boomed over all. They all cowed in fear. "You mean to  tell me, that this boy- this boy! Knows nothin' about ANYTHING?"

Dursley deflated, muttering something incomprehensible. His wife was white as a sheet.

"Nothin' at all…" Hagrid moaned, pawing his face.

"I'm really a wizard? What about my parents? I thought they died in a car crash… they wouldn't die in a car crash if they were wizards, right?" Harry spoke. He sounded unsure.

"CAR CRASH? LILY AN' JAMES POTTER? DURSLEY!" Hagrid's anger soared again. Edward sighed. 

"Hagrid… just tell him. He's confused enough already." The whole situation was more chaos than Edward had desired to experience. With his soaking clothes dripping on the floor, he decided to set a quick example. "Look- siccus." He pointed his wand at himself and then Hagrid, the water evaporating right off of them. Wordlessly, he lit the flimsy fire as well. Harry gaped.

"Yer parents were both wizards- thumpin' good ones at that, no worries. And yer one too. Been signed up fer Hogwarts since you were born." Hagrid assured, "Only the best of schools."

Petunia made a high pitched scoff. "Nasty, they were."

"You knew about this? About my parents and-and me?" Harry started dumbfounded, rounding on Petunia.

"And we swore to squash it out!" Dursley spat.

"Knew?" Petunia shrieked, "knew? How could I not know, my dratted sister being what she was, coming home every summer to blab about her filthy school and turning teacups into rats! Our parents adored her- Lily this and Lily that- proud to have a witch in the family! I was the only one who saw her as she truly was- a freak! 

"And then she met that Potter boy, ran off and got married, and had you! I knew you would be just the same as her, and then she got herself blown up and we got landed with you! We knew the instant we took you in that we were not going to tolerate another freak in the family!"

Harry stared at her wide eyed. "Blown up?"

"Shut up yeh bloody muggle! Don't you dare insult Lily and James- and Harry- like that!" 

"Harry," Ed spoke, "your parents didn't blow up. They were murdered."

"Murdered?"

"Are yeh sure we should be telling him this? It's not our place…"

"Then whose is it? Dursley?" Ed motioned at the cowering family slightly incredulously. Hagrid sighed.

Righ'... he needs teh know the truth, I s'pose…"

"What truth? What happened to my parents?" Harry asked, now agitated.

"I will explain, okay? To start... and this is relevant, I promise- you are not just a wizard, Harry. You are the most famous wizard alive." Edward supplied unhappily. The whole situation was ridiculous.

"I'm famous?"

"Very." Edward answered gravely, "Years back now, there was a dark sorcerer by the name of T- ah, Voldemort, who rose to power."

"Don't say his name!" Hagrid moaned.

"Fine. I won't. Anyway, he gathered a bunch of followers and killed thousands of people, men, women, and children alike. They spread mass fear and death wherever they went, all in the name of power. And "purity," I guess." he spat out with distaste, "Asinine reasoning. It was… a dark time. Eventually, he went after your parents too. They were part of the resistance and I guess he didn't like that. Your parents were killed by him. They died trying to save your life. However, when he tried to kill you, something went very, very wrong."

"What happened?"

"He disappeared," Edward said simply. "You destroyed him. Or something. Some say he is dead, others say he is wounded or biding his time, some say he is afraid- scared of you. Nobody knows how or why, but he is gone now and you are alive with only that scar of yours to show for it." Harry touched his forehead thoughtfully.

"When I was a baby… I remember a green light. Was that… it?" Understandably, the boy looked very disturbed, hesitant to reveal his memory but too curious to not.

"Avada Kedavra, most likely. The killing curse." Edward explained softly, "You are the only known human to be hit by it and survive. That, and you defeated the dark lord somehow in the process. Every wizard knows your name." 

"It's so sad though," Hagrid's annoyance seemed to have left him entirely at the story. "Yer mum and dad. The Prewetts, the Bones, the McKinnons- all gone because of you-know-who. Nearly you too… picked yeh up from the ruined house myself. Took yeh to this miserable lot. Wish I'd known how shoddy they were before." He glared down at Vernon and Petunia, still taller than them both while sitting on the couch.

"That's a load of old rubbish!" Dursley butted in, courage seemingly reclaimed. "Sure, you have something weird about you, boy, but it's nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured! And your parents, well, no denying they were weirdoes too, and the world's better off without them in my opinion- asked for all they got, mixing with these wizarding types- always knew they would meet a sticky end-"

"One more word, I'm warning you," Hagrid hefted his pink umbrella threateningly. 

"Hagrid," Edward warned. Dursley, thankfully, fell silent. 

"I can't really be a wizard though, can I? There must be some mistake… I can't do magic..." Harry spoke.

Hagrid laughed. "Not a wizard? Lily an' James' son? Never. Yeh ever made weird things happen when scared or angry?"

Harry frowned in thought, but looked back at Hagrid and nodded, breaking into a relieved grin.

"That's it! See? A wizard!" The bearded man affirmed, "Now just you wait- you'll be right famous at Hogwarts!"

"I said he's not going!" Dursley snapped, "He's going to Stonewall high and he'd better be grateful for it! I've read those loony letters of yours and they want all sorts of rubbish- spell books and wands and cauldrons and-"

"If Harry wants teh go, a great muggle like you won't stop him!" Hagrid stood from the couch in a rage, the furniture groaning and creaking in relief. 

"Hagrid, calm down," Edward warned, sensing danger.

"Yer mad of you think Harry Potter- the Harry Potter! Won't be going ter Hogwarts. It's the finest wizarding school in the world! Seven years there an' he won't even know himself! He'll grow up with wizards an' witches his own age, not your bloody fool of a muggle school. No, Harry will be under headmaster Albus Dumbledore hims-"

"I WILL NOT PAY FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" Dursley exploded, losing his fear to rage and stepping towards the oversized man. That was enough for Hagrid.

"NEVER," the man thundered, looking dangerously over Dursley, "INSULT-- ALBUS-- DUMBLEDORE-- IN FRONT-- OF--"

"HAGRID." Edmund stepped between them warningly, grasping the end of Hagrid's pink umbrella with his right arm and trying to look fierce despite being nearly lifted off of the floor from the force of the large man's arm, "Enough! Both of you! You're acting like children!" 

Grabbing the umberella was a mistake. 

Unfortunately, Hagrid was already mid-swing. The half-formed spell shot from the end and ricocheted off of the wall into the fire. The flames rose pink with a squeal from nowhere and the smell of fresh bacon filled the room. There was a burning smell of fabric and rubber from Edward's hand. He released the umbrella and dusted his hand on his coat, grumbling under his breath and glaring at the bearded man.

"Sorry!" Hagrid said sheepishly, "Shouldn'ta lost me temper… your hand!"

"It's fine." Edward shook his sleeve over it, not really wanting to explain the automail. He'd gotten a little too cozy with hiding it over the long years, especially after the 1930s and '40s. True, bionic arms were starting to exist in this world now, but they were bare and primitive compared to what he had. It was best not to get questions.

"Y-You just-! Utter madmen! Murderers!" Dursley spluttered in terror, herding his family hurriedly into the other room and slamming the door.

"Well, that was… interesting." Edward commented, eyeing the door behind which there were now some interesting thumps that sounded like moving furniture. He looked at Harry. "Don't care about you much, do they?"

"Uh, no they don't. Er... ...sirs. Who are you?"

"Heavens me! We never introduced ourselves did we?" Hagrid exclaimed. He held out a large hand for Harry to shake. "Reubeus Hagrid. Keeper of the Keys and grounds at Hogwarts! This here is Edward."

"Edward Elric," he supplied, "I'm… teaching alchemy this year." The words still felt foreign coming out of his mouth. Bitter.

"And you both use magic?" Edward thought the boy's question a little stupid. Obviously, they had both displayed magical prowess at some point during the whole interaction. Edward's glove was still smoking. Absently, he clapped his hands together, a piece of sleeve between, and mended the fabric. It would have a reddish pink splotch in the middle and his sleeve would be a little thin, but it would do for now.

"Yes." He answered shortly. Hagrid scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Well, I'm not supposed ter… I got permission to use it to help find yeh if needed… but I'd be grateful if yeh didn't mention, well, that teh anyone at Hogwarts…"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?"

"Well, it's a long story but - ah - I got expelled from Hogwarts to speak the truth. In my third year. Snapped my wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

Sometimes. Edward thought.

"But why were you-" 

"The cake!" Hagrid interrupted loudly. "Almost forgot. Where did it go?"

"I put it over here." Edwars brought the damp box over. Hopefully the cake wasn't too wet. Harry started at it in utter confusion. "It's your eleventh birthday, right? Happy birthday, kid."

Harry gingerly took the box, opening it up to reveal a slightly squashed cake. He stared at it for a couple of seconds, slowly breaking into a wide smile. "Uh, thank you, Mr. Elric," he stammered.

"You can just call me Edward. Look, I know this is probably a lot to take in so suddenly, but it's all real, I promise."

"I noticed. I mean- stuff like that doesn't just happen by itself, right? But I don't- but what if I can't learn magic?"

"Nonsense!" Hagrid rumbled in amusement. "If yeh've got the gene- which yeh very well do- the Ministry of Magic's proved that by authorizing the letter- then yeh can learn. And you will. Now, how abou' we have some cake, and get some sleep. Lots to do tomorrow."

After cake, and explaining patiently that there was, indeed, a ministry of magic, they settled down to sleep; Hagrid on the couch, and Edward and Harry on the floor. Edward lay close to the fire, ignoring his aching stumps from the weather outside, head on his neatly folded cloak, and eyeing Harry Potter's sleeping form in the shadowy light. The boy was small- perhaps a little too small- but became extra dwarfed under Hagrid's massive coat. The very opposite of threatening. But still- there was something about him. Something that unnerved Edward in the very pit of his soul. He didn't have an explanation, but he was going to keep a very careful eye on him. Something wasn't right. The souls in his body didn't like it either, roiling nervously in his chest. Edward shifted in discomfort as a rumble of thunder crossed the sky outside.  Maybe he was just getting too old and losing it. It could have just been the storm. Sighing, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to a fitful sleep.

~~~

[Year 1343]

"Elias, sir?"

"Hm?" He looked up from where he was staring blankly into the flames of the fireplace, a few crumpled pieces of parchment burning merrily among the logs. "What is it, Nicholas?"

"I-I've been thinking- about what you said the other day- about the philosopher's stone and getting home, and- well, I had an idea."

"An idea," Edward tiredly put his pen down and sat back in his chair with a sigh, crossing his arms, "and what kind of an idea is it? Trust me, I've tried everything."

"Well, I was thinking about alchemy and equivalent exchange, and how magic kind of, well, skips over that, and then I realized. What if we combined them both! Alchemy and magic! It could work- alchemy was the process you got here by and you probably need to ride it back since you say magic doesn't exist in your world- but with a fusion of magic… it could work! You could override equivalent exchange! What if… what if we made a philosopher's stone with magic and alchemy together! Magic could overwrite the death and then you could ride that home, right? A casualty free stone!"

"Alchemy doesn't work like that, Nicholas. And neither does magic."

"It's still worth a try, right?"

"No. Nicholas, you don't understand." 

"What don't I understand? If you combine the two then-"

"Have I taught you nothing? Alchemy always needs equivalent exchange. That's the first rule-the very foundation of the art. You cannot have it without its number one component. It's like… like trying to cook without the ingredients."

"Well if you don't have the right ingredients then you have to make something new! That's what this is. A new kind of philosopher's stone!"

"It's too dangerous to play with. Clearly, you don't fully understand alchemy as much as I thought! This isn't different ingredients, Nicholas, this is no ingredients! It will not work." Edward glared at his student, rising from his desk.

"But what if-"

"No! I forbid you to try it, Nicholas. You will cause death if you do. If I catch you trying, your apprenticeship is over. I will not encourage this. Never bring it up to me again." With that, he stalked out the door, leaving the young man alone in an empty room, unwanted notes still burning on a tiny pyre.

"...Fine, Elias," the young man spoke to the flames, a hard, determined light in his eyes, "then I shall not speak of it again."

Chapter Text

[Present]

Edward slowly woke to the sound of irritated chirping and a young boy's panicked voice. Something about an owl. Hagrid's low, lazy grumble then filled the air with a jingling of coins and the rustling of paper. Groaning slightly, Edward dragged himself up from muddled half-asleep thoughts and blinked his eyes into awareness. The souls in his stone murmured restlessly. 'Today,' they whispered, 'today is the day we will find it.' 

That's right. The realization brought Edward down into a mental slump.

Flamel's stone.

As desperate as he was to get it into his possession, a fleeting feeling of trepidation filled his body. Flamel's stone was… well, the last time he had gone near it, he had never felt anything so…. horrible. It bore the very wrongness a human-animal chimera did, but strengthened a thousand fold. He shivered at the thought, choosing to shake the feeling from his mind and sit up, stiff muscles whining in protest. His arm made a faint creak. He would have to oil it again as soon as he got the chance. Blasted wet British weather… his limbs weren't made for the moist air.  It was already hard enough to keep his automail together as old as it was. He'd been forced to rely on replacing parts with raw materials and alchemy in the hopes of making it rust less with help from the knowledge of the voices in his stone, and a little help from those he ever dared trust. A thought of soft amber eyes- far too close- to his brother's briefly filled his vision and he shook it away roughly. Now was not the time to dwell on the past.

"Good mornin'!" Hagrid greeted from around his newspaper, "did yeh sleep alrigh'?"

"Alright," Edward lied, stretching and yawning widely to get some blood flowing in his sore shoulder. At least the storm had died down in the early morning.

"Good. We should get goin' soon. Lots teh do today."

They had leftover cake for breakfast (Edward abstained as the thought of encountering the stone was making him feel rather sick, or maybe it was the storm) as they explained to Harry about wizard banks and where he would be getting his things. Edward didn't fail to notice Dudley Dursley quietly poke his head out of the other room, eyeing the cake hungrily. As soon as Dudley noticed him looking, he darted away out of sight. He shrugged, standing and dusting off his dark brown pants. "Everyone ready to go? I can apparate us to the Leaky Cauldron. No other way off of this blasted island anyway." Of course, there was the boat outside, but then the Dursleys, as unpleasant as they were, would be stranded. He wasn't that cruel.

"Apparation?" Harry asked curiously, but seemed eager when Edward took out his wand.

"Wizard word for teleportation." He explained with distaste, "An unpleasant experience, but effective. Grab my arm." He grasped Hagrid's sleeve with his right hand, and Harry grabbed his offered left arm. As he did, the unpleasant feeling of wrong in his chest amplified. He suppressed a shudder. Harry was staring at him with confused eyes. Whatever was off with this kid, he couldn't deny it now. This was not the storm. But what….

"Right, off we go. Don't let go of my arm until we've landed." Edward's voice remained steady, Hagrid oblivious to their interaction, and turned.

The ride through apparation was less pleasant than normal. He managed to keep his footing upon landing from years of practice. Harry tumbled, but his grip on Edward's arm saved him from falling on his face.

"Ugh, what was that?" Harry gasped, fixing his glasses. Edward almost sighed with relief as the kid let go of his arm. The voices in his chest roiled in discomfort. 'Unnatural,' they cried, 'Something is wrong.'

'Thanks, I knew that.' Edward grumbled in his thoughts. "Apparation." He said aloud. Behind them, Hagrid grumbled, a slight shade of green.

"Can't say I've done it much either. Feel rather seasick after tha'."

"The bar should be around the corner." With Hagrid's size, Edward hadn't wanted to apparate directly into the Three broomsticks. He didn't want the oversized man splinched or stuck in the wall somehow. Instead, they were in a dirty back alley on the muggle side of the world. Less pleasant, but more room. 

Exiting the alleyway, they were met with a dreary muggle morning. Cars drove slowly down the street through the light drizzle. There were few people on the sidewalk, none of whom seemed to notice the odd-looking troupe who stumbled out of the alleyway. 

"Are we in London?" A small voice spoke. Harry was staring around in wonder, taking his glasses off for a second to clean them. Edward noted they were held together with tape.

"Yeah. Not for long, though." Edward led the way down the street, ignoring the brightly colored shop windows they passed by. Harry stared at everything with wide eyes.

"Here we are," Hagrid rumbled, pointing out a ratty looking bar sandwiched between two shops. "The Leaky Cauldron. Famous place." 

Edward hadn't been to the Leaky Cauldron since he had last worked at Hogwarts. He'd always tried to avoid frequenting the same places for too long. It drew too much attention. But he wasn't surprised to see that it hadn't seemed to change at all. Wizard places never did. With a quick look across the sidewalk, they ushered Harry inside.

"Hello, Hagrid! The usual?" The bartender greeted, waving hello to the large man. 

"Not today, Tom. On Hogwarts business." Hagrid patted a nervous Harry on the shoulder, almost knocking him down. Tom gasped.

"Good Lord, is this- can this be?" He peered down the counter at the bespectacled boy, setting down his glass and polishing rag with shock, "Bless my soul. Harry Potter… what an honor."

The entire room went silent. Tom surged around the counter to earnestly shake the kid's hand. "Bless me… Welcome back, Mr. Potter. Welcome back." Edward pretended not to notice the tear that crept down the man's face.

"Harry Potter?" Someone whispered in the crowd of busy bar. "Heavens, it's really him!"

In the next moment, there was a flurry of movement and scooting of chairs as everyone crowded around to greet the boy.

"Alright, best not to overwhelm him- ah, well." Edward tried to step in, but was drowned out by the cacaphony of overjoyed people. He gave up quickly and tried to step back to avoid getting crushed in the suffocating crowd. The kid looked dumbstruck but alright.

He didn't fail to notice Quirrell in the surge of people. The nervous man approached Harry and shook his hand, stopping to chat for a minute or two. However, Edward missed the entire conversation as more curious and eager people bumped into his sides. He stepped back, somewhat thankful for his permanently short stature as the crowd swept past him and he was able to escape to the outskirts. He'd spent too long in the shadows now to be comfortable in the front. Attention meant a target on his back.

The meet and greet had been going on for almost ten minutes now with no end in sight, and Edward was immensely relieved when Hagrid stepped in to pull them away. "Lots teh do!" He said, holding one of them on each shoulder and dragging them through the crowd towards the side door.

Edward gasped a breath of relief at the fresh air, thankful to be out of the cramped space. He hadn't done well in crowds since-

"...Scared of his own subject- yeh doin' alright, Edward?" Hagrid was looking at him in sudden concern. 

"I'm fine." Edward grimaced out of his reverie and dusted his hands on his coat, pulling out his wand. "Let's go."

Quickly, forcing his thoughts away, he tapped on the brick wall. A soft rumbling later and the bricks opened up into an archway leading down a twisting street.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley." He introduced, the most famous wizarding hot spot in all of Britain." Unlike the dreary, drizzly, quiet day on the muggle side, Diagon Alley was filled with sunlight and the streets filled with people milling about and chatting. A few children chased a cat down the street and a firecracker whizzed overhead.

"We'll be getting all of your things here," Hagrid explained as they entered the street and walked past a few shops. Harry's head was whipping around comically, trying to take everything in at once. "But we need teh get your money first. Can't buy nothin' without that."

It wasn't too long before they reached the massive white building. "Gringotts!" Hagrid introduced.

"The only wizarding bank in existence," Edward added. "Never understood why there aren't any more."

"Why would there need to be? Gringotts is the most secure place in the whole world. Except maybe Hogwarts. Yeh'd be mad to try an' steal from here."

"...That wasn't my main concern," he muttered under his breath as they entered the stone walls.

"Goblins," he heard Hagrid mutter to Harry as they entered the main room. If "room" was even the word for it. Even Edward had never ceased to be amazed at how large it was. Gold-brushed forty-foot ceilings arching above them dwarfed even Hagrid in sheer size. The counter they approached was a rich mahogany also trimmed in gold. The goblin behind it had to stand on a footstool to see over the counter.

"Morning," Hagrid greeted, "We've come to take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"You have a key, sir?" The creature took a calculating glare at Harry over his thin spectacles. Edward tenses for another scene.

"Got it here somewhere," Hagrid rifled through his pockets, dumping moldy dog biscuits and old trinkets all over the goblin's counter and books. It turned its seedy glare to him. "Here it is!" Hagrid presented the little key. The goblin lifted it with spindly fingers.

"Yes… that seems to be in order." 

"We've also come for this." Edward added, searching for the letter in his coat  as Hagrid stuffed the trinkets back into his many pockets. Edward wondered when was the last time he had washed it. He handed the letter from Dumbledore to the goblin. "The object in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

"Very well…" the goblin studied the letter carefully, peering at them suspiciously. He handed the letter back to Edward with a light scowl. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Another goblin came over. 

"Take these three to Mr. Harry Potter's vault and seven hundred and thirteen."

Griphook nodded at them. 

"Right this way, sirs," he said, and led them down the hall.

"What's the object in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked curiously.

"You don't need to know." Edward answered tersely.

"Hogwarts business." Hagrid added, "Can't tell yeh what. More'n me job's worth teh say the least."

"Please step inside," Griphook said in his gravelly voice. The goblin motioned them into a minecart- Hagrid with some trouble and Edward trying not to touch Harry- a lever was pulled, and they were off.

Edward had never minded the trip down into the bank. It was always an adrenaline rush. The wind whipped through his long hair and he grabbed it to avoid smacking Hagrid, who looked quite green. Harry kept asking strange questions. He marveled at the kid's fortitude. He'd only learned last night that magic was real, was kidnapped by two strangers, teleported across London, brought to some massive bank run by creepy goblins, they were speeding down a mineshaft with magical waterfalls and dragons, and he wanted to ask the difference between a stalactite and a stalagmite? Hell.

"Stalactite is on the ceiling. Think they have to hang "tight" to it. Stalagmite have to be mighty to reach." He explained, eyeing Hagrid behind him and praying the man didn't lose his breakfast.

None too soon, they reached Harry's vault. "Here we are." Griphook introduced, unlocking the door. Inside glowed with mountains of coins and Harry gasped.

"All yours!" Hagrid beamed. Harry seemed dumbfounded. Edward waited outside while he and Hagrid piled coins into a bag, Hagrid explaining the currency as they did. The young boy was in awe of suddenly being handed a fortune. He came out with his bag of riches clutched in one hand and a stunned but excited expression on his face.

"Righ', vault seven hundred an' thirteen now." Nodding, the goblin led them back into the cart as dread seeped back into Edward's chest. Not knowing how he would feel seeing the stone again struck a cold nerve. But better in his hands than Nicholas'. The cart swept past a dragon and into another dark tunnel. Down, down, down. Screeching to a jarring halt, they were met with a short ledge which bore a thick metal door with no keyhole. Griphook smirked and told them to stand back as he ran a knobbly finger down its cold surface. The door dissolved before their eyes.

Any further conversation was drowned out by the loud buzzing in Edward's chest and moaning in his ears. He clutched at his chest with a stifled gasp.  The screaming and begging- Truth, he'd forgotten how deafening the drowning cries were- threatening to suck him towards it as if his own stone were worth consuming as well. A cacophony of dread in his ears, Edward reached for the innocent-looking brown package on the floor with a shaking hand. A wave of sick fell over him but he swallowed it down, slipping it into the outer right pocket of his coat as quickly as he could. Relieved as the magic holding the infinite depth of his pocket seemed to cut the horrible feeling a little, he straightened and turned around to nod at the party, clasping his hands to hide the trembling in his left. Harry's eyes were burning with curiosity and nerves.

"Are you okay? What was that?" the boy asked with wide eyes.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Edward was regretting letting the kid come along for this. He should have split at the bankstand. "Let's just go."

~~~

The ride back up was uneventful on the outside, but internally Ed was fighting waves of sick just as much as Hagrid. The rickety wild ride felt muted as the terrible Stone burned a heavy weight in his pocket and chest. The magic may have cut the horrible, sucking feeling off some, but the knowledge it was still there and the restless voices churning in his chest didn't let him forget.

'Abomination!' They cried. 'Terrible curse!' 'You must bring them salvation.'

"I will try. I promise." He murmured softly. 

"What did you say?" Harry asked next to him in the rushing wind. Sighing and ripped out of his reverie, he motioned to Hagrid's very green face. 

"We're almost out." Harry accepted the response, distracted as they passed under a shimmering waterfall.

The end of the wild ride couldn't have come soon enough. The minute they stepped off the cart, Hagrid excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Edward alone with Harry in a corner of the oversized lobby.

Leaning against the wall with a heavy sigh, Edward closed his eyes, trying to clear out the wayward cacophony in his head enough to think.

'Wretched, sinful, plague of souls!' They howled. 

'...I know.' Edward told them, 'Please… don't make it worse. I will set them free.' His stone roiled in discontent, quieting slightly. A few voices tried to comfort.

"..ric? Uh... Professor?" a tentative hand waved in front of his eyes. He blinked and looked down at Harry's large worried green eyes.

"What?" he snapped. Harry looked taken aback.

"Are you really okay…? Should you sit down? You're kind of pale..." the boy scuffed his feet nervously. Edward sighed heavily. 

"I'll be fine. Hagrid's right there anyway." he pointed at the oversized man heading toward them. Why did they have to take the kid to the bank with them? Dammit.

"Alrigh' there you two?" Hagrid asked. The man still looked a bit green, but he was standing somewhat straighter. Edward nodded.

"I'm going to head back with this, if you're good from here," Patting his pocket, Edward ignored Harry's burning curiosity.

"Righ'! Of course. Best not keep Dumbledore waiting." Hagrid nodded. He patted Harry on the back. "Professor Elric's got some other errands teh do. Ready to do yer shopping?" 

"Oh, uh, yes!" 

~~~

Edward said his goodbyes to Hagrid and Harry, watching them head down the street toward Madam Malkin's, Harry excitedly cradling his bag of coins. He wasn't sure about the boy yet… there was something a little too… calculated about him.

I must be losing it in my old age, he sighed to himself. ...The kid was only eleven. But still…

'He hasn't done anything yet,' one of the voices in the stone muttered. 'But something's wrong.'

'We have bigger problems.' another countered.

"I know." Edward resisted the urge to paw at his face, instead grasping the loathed wand in his left pocket and turning on the spot.

~~~

Roughly an hour later found Edward standing outside of Dumbledore's office, pacing agitatedly as he prepared himself to go inside. Should he even hand off the Stone now? It was, technically, part of his contract… but Albus hadn't made him make an Unbreakable Vow, just simply sign some traditional paperwork. There was always the risk that the paperwork could have been enchanted with something, of course…

Through the journey home, Edward hadn't even dared to remove the Stone from its measly paper wrapping. He didn't need to open it to know that it was… it, but the memory of the damned thing struck both his curiosity and his horror. Although, even now, the abomination in his pocket continued to affect him and his Stone; roiling and filling them with a terrible feeling. He knew he couldn't hold onto it forever by himself. It would drive him mad. But what was another option? Hiding it in the middle of nowhere somewhere far away? Not while Flamel and all of Hogwarts were holding a proverbial target over his head. Curse Albus and his plans.

"...Fiddlesticks." he finally spoke aloud. The office opened.

Albus sat calmly at his desk, fingers interlaced as he discussed with his portraits. The animated paintings immediately quieted as Edward's heavy steel-toed boots clomped across the wooden floor. Albus turned to greet him.

"Ah, Edward. I was expecting you would arrive soon." A smile crept across the old man's face. Edward scowled. "Lemon drop?"

"Save your pleasantries." Edward met the elderly wizard at the desk with a scowl. "I have the Stone. What I do not have is the knowledge of exactly what you are planning on doing with it."

"Straight to the point as always, Edmund…" Dumbledore sighed.

"You sound disappointed." 

"I think it wouldn't hurt to slow down and enjoy your life a little, instead of always rushing from one thing to the next," Albus responded, leaning back in his chair.

"If you think I've never tried slowing down, then I must be older than you think," Edward folded his arms, "I've dilly dallied far too long in my life. You could say I've run out of patience."

"I see..." With another sigh, Albus stood. "Then, I have something to show you. However, since you arrived so early, I fear it may still be being prepared."

~~~

Albus led them through the castle, down to a corridor that was musty and covered in dust. Soft light glowed out of a single classroom door. Albus stepped inside, and Edward after.

In the room they were met with a glowing orb casting sharp shadows on everything inside. The furniture looked grey, covered in sheets and dust protectors as they were. Right in the middle stood a tall mysterious piece covered in a white cloth. And standing in front of it, hands contemplatingly on his hips, stood an eerily familiar figure that stopped Edward dead in his tracks.

"Good evening," Albus greeted merrily.

"Evening, Albus." with a pleasant nod toward the man, he turned to gaze at Edward, holding out a familiar roughened hand. "And you, Edward. It is truly good to see you again."

Edward couldn't move. He ignored the outstretched hand, only bothering to gaze wide-eyed and burning at the figure before him. It was a moment before he found his voice, the words cold and flat.

"I didn't know you were still alive, Van Hohenheim."

~~~

[Year 1347]

"I think I've finally done it!" Nicholas couldn't help the excited whoop that left his mouth as he held up the piece of parchment paper.  His eyes roved over the hastily scrawled notes on his desk, double checking them compared to the transmutation circle grasped in his hands. Finally, after years of harrowing research, he held the answer in his hands. The answer to help Elias get home. 

"A magical philosopher's stone," he breathed. Not only the answer to crossing worlds, but the answer to time, miracles, to endless wealth, and immortality. Who knew how many he could create? To have the power to make all the people on this earth gods? To stop even death itself in its tracks? 

There was no time to waste.

~~~

Upstairs in his study, Elias woke to a terrible feeling in his chest, peeling his face off of the book he had fallen asleep on. 'Something's wrong' muttered over and over in his head and throbbed in his sternum, growing steadily louder. His insides turned over as he was hit with a shockwave of something he'd hoped he would never feel again. Something he had only felt twice before. 

The feeling of the world turning on its axis.

The whole room rumbled. Books fell off of shelves with the terrible thunder and his candle threatened to tip over. Hastily, Elias smothered the fire with his right hand and stood on the unstable floor, pushing himself away from the table towards the doorway. This was no earthquake.

A scream ripped through the air.

"Nicholas!" Elias shouted, throwing himself into the hallway, "Don't you dare! Don't you dare!"

The trembling compounded. Curses spewed from his mouth as he threw himself down the hall, dodging a falling vase. The trembling stopped as he was halfway down the stairs. He caught himself on the railing and leapt the rest of the way down, racing across the room towards his apprentice's study.

"Nicholas!"

Using his right arm, he wrenched open the locked door bearing the Flamel's cross and halted deathly still when he saw what lay upon the floor.

"...What have you done? Nicholas… what have you done?"

The study was destroyed. Papers and books blasted across the room, some of it crumbling to ash. Nicholas lay on the far side of the room, still connected to the remains of a massive charcoal circle scrawled on the ground. In the center of the room, resting in a ring of smoldering black, lay a beautifully terrible, miserable, ruby red stone that was slowly oozing golden fluid in a small puddle. His apprentice sobbed, fingers weakly scrabbling on the floor, Elias not knew for his wand or the horror he had just created, but as his eyes rested on the sight, his own stone screaming and moaning, he turned away to be sick. 

"Elias…" Nicholas muttered weakly from the floor, "I thought I had it right… the magic... it wasn't enough..."

"...Nicholas… ...What have you done?" Elias rasped once more, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand and unable to tear his eyes away from the devastating sight. He should have known. Nicholas and his all-too-eager questions, he should have realized-

"I'm sorry…" Nicholas cried, "I'm sorry… you were right. I thought magic would be enough to stop it… the dying… oh Christ, I can hear them crying…" 

"'Them', Nicholas?" Elias' stone was singing.

"They're still dying! Elias, they're still dying! The souls of the damned, they have no words, they're just… Elias, they're in agony." Elias wanted to be sick again. He sank to his knees, feeling suddenly cold. "I can't make them stop! How do I make them stop?"

"...You damned them, Nicholas. You damned them. And now they shall be the price for your transgressions." 

On the floor, the stone glowed brightly, pulsing as more golden fluid seeped into the wood beneath.

"I'm sorry! My calculations were perfect! I don't know what... Nobody should have died! I thought… I thought…"

"You thought," Elias bit out, trembling, "You thought what? That you were more powerful than Truth? That you could deny equivalent exchange? What have I been teaching you? Not even magic is a replacement for human life. Now thousands of people are paying the price for your arrogance."

"But what do I do, Elias? What do I do? It wasn't meant to be this way..."

"...You can only pay the price of playing god." 

.

.

.

.

(It wasn't immediate. The price that Flamel had paid to combine alchemy, magic, and human lives was a long and tortuous one. Europe was struck with a mysterious illness, slowly killing hundreds of thousands. Elias, who had rejected Flamel's apprenticeship entirely, did not know of the sheer amount until many years later. But Flamel, who had taken his Stone and fled in shame, knew every soul's name as they passed, carrying behind him a trail of devastation.

The deaths didn't stop for four years.)

Chapter Text

"What are you doing here?" Edward asked through gritted teeth. Hohenheim held up his hands placatingly, his wrinkled face as infuriatingly calm as Dumbledore's. They looked much the same now, actually, aside from Hohenheim's neatly trimmed hair and beard. Hohenheim had aged since Edward had last seen him, hair that had once been only licked with silver now fully grey.

"I thought Albus had told you, Edward… I'm here to create a safe place for the Stone."

"You?" Edwars laughed sarcastically, enraged. "You're the last person I would trust with it! You can't handle anything correctly!"

Hohenheim had the decency to look slightly hurt and sighed.

"...That's why I had actually hoped you would be here, Ed. I will need your help, you see."

"Mr. Hohenheim was rather excited to hear that you were here when he arrived. He said he was expecting as much. Was I wrong to assume…?" Albus interrupted placatingly, but the tension only grew thicker.

"You knew," Edward gathered, fists trembling, "You knew I would be here."

"I knew you were going to go after the Stone," Hoenheim corrected, "and by that, I knew you would end up here."

"I told you I never wanted to see you again! And definitely not near Flamel's Stone."

"I had hoped…" Hohenheim sighed in disappointment, "that one hundred years or so would have been long enough to cool your head."

"Then you aged poorly."

"And you, it seems, have yet to age a day." the old man said with a sad smile.

"You bastard-" Edward drew back his fist. Suddenly, he was frozen in place.

"Please, I don't think a fist fight would help," Albus pleaded, "Now, I think it would be wiser to try again and approach this more rationally, don't you think?" The elderly wizard lowered his wand slightly, still pointing it at Edward. Edward tried to snarl "fuck you!" but the spell kept him completely immobile. He hated magic.

"I would have to agree," Hohenheim lowered his hands, clasping them loosely in front of his chest. Edward glared, only able to move his eyes and a twinge of panic growing in him. Voices rumbled discontentedly in his head, some furious, some offering faint placations to his distress. He had the comfort of knowing the philosopher's stone's power would be able to break the spell, he'd done it before, but the price wasn't worth it. Furious, but knowing he wouldn't get anywhere with his fists (at least until Albus was gone) at the sobering thought of his stone, he blinked in submission. Albus flicked his wand. Edward gasped as he dropped to the floor, suddenly free. 

"Fuck you wizards," he muttered vehemently, rubbing his chest before saying louder, "How long have you two been in cahoots?"

"I've known him for a couple of years now," Albus explained, "I would not have let Hohenheim in on this if I did not trust him, Edward. Believe me. And as you have mentioned, he is the only other alchemist that we know of. He is an asset to the Stone's protection."

Edward sniggered. Then chuckled, tilting his head back in humorless laughter. "An asset?! Tell me, Albus, have you ever asked why he thinks he would be a good asset for Flamel's stone? This man knows nothing but doing for his own personal gain."

Hohenheim sighed, "You know that's not true, Ed-"

"Don't 'Edward' me," Edward snapped, glaring at the grey-haired man, "Not when I know what you're doing!"

"What is this about?" Albus questioned, tilting his head curiously.

"None of your business." Edward waved his hand discardingly toward the wizard, enraged eyes facing Hohenheim, "All you need to know is that this is the last person that you should have asked for help. He cannot be trusted with such delicate matters." He sneered the last words venomously.

"Perhaps if you would tell me why, I could understand," Albus probed with a hint of irritation.

"...It is alright. I understand why you do not trust me, Ed," Hohenheim's face looked actually sorrowful, and he bowed his head slightly in submission. Edward wanted to throttle the twinge of guilt that hit him. "But in all honesty, that is why I need your help. I cannot complete the safeguarding of the stone without you. I may possess the means... but this task, Flamel's stone, needs you to complete it to keep it at its safest. You have always had a stronger will than I for these things. You will not have to see me again after this, but I would like you to give me just one more chance. Please."

Speechless, Edward stared. Were those tears in Hohenheim's eyes? Crocodile tears, no doubt. He wrestled between guilt and anger, confusion in his heart. Hohenheim deserved none of his forgiveness, he was obviously manipulating him, so why did he always feel bad about it? The voices in his Stone were trying to fight louder than he could think, indecisive and angry. One little voice, sounding far too similar to his brother's (but that was impossible, because Alphonse was with Truth), echoed softly. 'He wants to protect this time. Does it hurt to try again?'

'Yes, it does!' he wanted to scream, 'it hurts and it bites back and it happens again! We don't trust anyone!' 

'You know that's not true. Can you do it one more time?' The Stone's loudest occupants protested vehemently. Taking a slow blink of defeat, Edward's shoulders drooped. He didn't need more guilt in his life. Unfortunately, looking at his father's sorrowful face always brought it around somehow, and he knew it. Maybe it was Alphonse. He'd never stopped loving their father like Edward had. And Hohenheim was all there was left.

You have to let go, Brother.

Hohenheim had his eyes.

"...Fine. I'll hear out your plan. But," he pointed a finger at Hohenheim, golden eyes meeting firmly, angered and hurt, "let me make it very clear that I don't trust you. The Stone will be in my sight at all times. When this is done, I never want to see you again."

"Thank you, Ed," Hohenheim breathed a sigh of relief, a faint smile across his face. It brought Edward no warmth, but the guilt lightened a little. "Mr. Dumbledore, if you please, I would like to speak to Edward alone now." 

Albus pursed his lips in displeasure, but bowed his head. "Of course. You know where to find me." Smiling pleasantly once again, he turned and left.

"Muffliato." Edward shot his wand at the door and it swung closed behind the old man. 

"Why are you fraternizing with Albus Dumbledore?" Edward asked sharply.

"I told you," Irritatingly, Hohenheim held a glint of humor in his eye, "I’m here to help with the Stone."

"You’ve known him for two years."

"Ah, yes, that is a little long for just the Stone, isn’t it?" the man acknowledged.

"Quit playing games and give a straight answer! You’re supposed to be back in Germany offing yourself! What did you do? What does Albus know?!"

"I did not do anything, Ed." Honenheim placated, "Would it surprise you to know that Mr. Dumbledore approached me?"

"What? Why would he look for you?"

"It seems that you cannot aim to keep secrets from wizards forever before they go looking for more clues themselves."

"He was spying on me." Edward surmised with a dark frown.

"He’s curious about you." Hohenheim corrected, "Naturally, he did some digging and discovered that I am also an alchemist somehow very much like you. He came to me with many questions."

"And?" Edward asked tersely, fearing the worst.

"I told him nothing important." He admitted, "He does not know of our Stones. Although, I believe he has figured that something of alchemy has to be keeping us alive. He is a very clever man, that Dumbledore."

"Nosy, more like." Edward grumbled, displeased, "He will not learn to keep his brains where they belong."

"Aren’t we all a little guilty of that, now?" Hohenheim asked, "Have you not forgotten our own transgressions?" Edward clenched his right arm into a fist, looking down at the floor.

"…No. I haven’t."

"Cut Mr. Dumbledore some slack, Edward. He is merely human."

"So is Nicholas, old man. Curiosity like this is dangerous. It brings nothing but ambition and stupidity."

"Should humankind learn nothing, then?"

"You and I have both lived long enough to know that history repeats itself." Flesh hand shaking, Edward raised his chin in defiance, "Humankind never learns. Not truly. And something like this?" He placed a hand on his chest, "The price for curiosity bears too much of a cost. I will not let anyone suffer like this again"”

"Ah…" Hohenheim let out a small sigh, "you still wish to save them."

"I know there’s a way! Hell, Hohenheim! Truth told me! You know this!"

"Truth is a manipulator," he explained patiently, "It only exists to entertain itself."

"I know!" he suddenly felt very heavy, reminded of the terrible burden he carried. "But Truth also doesn’t lie. I don’t care how many stupid games of theirs I have to play, I can save them, and I will! And Alphonse, I-" His voice broke. Damn it, he didn't want to cry here. Not in front of him.

"Sometimes you can’t save everyone…" Hohenheim dropped another stone on his shoulders.

"Fuck you!" he spat, "You’ve never saved anyone, so you’re really one to talk! I’m not here to take your shitty cowardly advice! You can either help me keep Flamel’s Stone safe, or you can leave!” Hohenheim's shoulders fell.

"I apologize, Edward, I did not mean to infer-"

"You meant every goddamn word!" he seethed, "I'm not going to fall for your destructive reasonings. You can pretend to be the good, caring father," he spat out the word like it was foul, "all you want, but I see you. I won't play your games anymore, and I don't want your meaningless apologies. So stop trying to convert me to your selfish 'savior' dreams and get this over with before I defenestrate you so hard you end up back in Germany."

Hohenheim was silent for a long moment, gazing at Edward with miserable tear-filled eyes that betrayed his longtime suffering. Edward was too angered to care any further.  The man was playing games with him. This was why he had left in the first place. He glared right back with fire.

"...Edward," Hohenheim stated quietly, looking a hundred years older, "You know I care about you still. I'm not trying to hurt-"

"I don't want to hear it." he snapped coldly.

"...Very well." The elderly man bowed his head in defeat. He blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his eyes and gave a wavery attempt at a smile. "I suppose you're wondering what I brought with me."

"This?" Edward glanced away from the elderly man towards the tall object that stood next to them, covered neatly by a gray sheet.

"You might recognize it," Hohenheim explained, "I've been doing tests on it. It will be both a container and a shield for the Stone."

"What is it?" Curiosity took over some of Edward's fury.

"It's something that you left me a long time ago." Hohenheim grasped a corner of the sheet and tugged, letting the fabric plummet to the floor in huge gray waves. Edward's eyes widened in horror and his breath caught in his lungs.

A large mirror, held in a thick gilded frame of stone and bronze, shined dully in the room's light. At the top of the frame sat a sickeningly familiar inscription that Edward remembered carving into the stone himself in a moment of despair. 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.' A warning. He couldn't bear to look into the glass itself.

"I told you to destroy it." His voice was faint and trembling, "I couldn't do it. I thought you destroyed it."

"I know." Hohenheim agreed grimly.

Edward spun to face the man with wild, tear-filled eyes, and this time his metal fist hit flesh.

Chapter Text

[Year 1860]

He'd finally done it.

Edward stared at the massive stone and bronze frame before him, letting the last whispers of magic dissipate from his wand and the alchemy circle on the floor.

Once the crackling sparks disappeared, he was met with a deadly silence, the mirror's frame glistening faintly in the twilight bathing it from the window. 

With shaking hands, Edward watched as the view behind the mirror's surface swirled and ever-so-gently cleared away, like a thick tumultuous fog slowly burning away by the sun.

"Come on, come on…"

With bated breath, he peered to see something- anything- familiar. Gradually, he started to make out blurry rolling green hills, a house in the distance- one that he recognized to be Granny Pinako's. A giddiness he hadn't felt in many ages filled him, bursting forth from his lips in wild laughter.

"Alphonse, I'm coming home." He said breathlessly, reaching forward to press into the window he had created- tap. Cold glass met his fingertips.

"No…" Frantically, he knocked on the surface blocking him. He had to go through ! He was so close!

"Granny!" He shouted, wondering if the other side could hear him, the grass still coming into definition and the fog slowly rolling back, "Granny Pinako! Winry! I'm here! I'm right here!"

But nobody seemed to hear him, and the glass remained as solid as the stone surrounding it.

[Present]

A satisfying crack resounded throughout the room as Hohehneim was knocked to the ground. Edward ony regretted that he couldn't feel his father's nose smashing in with his metal hand.

"What the hell, Hohenheim?!" Edward spat, standing over the man on the ground. "You'd better have a damn good explanation this time!"

Van Hohenheim groaned as he sat up, blood dripping from the hand covering the lower half of his face. Wincing, the elderly man grasped his nose and twisted, another crack popping it back into place. "That was deserved." he spoke congestedly, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe up his slowly-healing face.

"It damn well was!" Edward raged.

"I suppose… I failed you again." Hohenheim gave a small smile that looked more like a grimace, eyes watering. He stood slowly, gazing at the mirror with something sorrowful in his eyes. "To give myself credit, I did want to try, at first. But I couldn't break it either. When you gave the mirror to me, you told me that I was heartless and could destroy anything without a moment's thought… well, perhaps you were wrong. To say that the past does not affect me… that would be incorrect."

Edward frowned darkly. "Then you have a real odd way of showing it, bastard." Hohenheim hummed in agreement.

"Perhaps I do."

"What are you planning on doing with it?" Edward asked with crossed arms, stoutly refusing to look into the glass.

Hohenheim turned away from the reflection to gaze at him. "Have you ever heard of the saying 'mirrors are portals to another world'?"

"Yeah." Edward said shortly, "And I proved it wrong. That's why that abomination exists in the first place."

"The theory is not entirely wrong," Hohenheim corrected. "While I've had the mirror in my possession, I decided to try to continue your work to some extent. Not in the way of going back to our world- you did already prove that wrong- but the idea of a portal itself. This mirror can be, as I have discovered, the link to the magical plane- a version of it, I should say."

"A version of it?" Edward cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes." Hohenheim placed his hand against the mirror's frame, leaning on it slightly as the bruise on his face faded away, "Like magic, the mirror has a pull for vanishing. However, unlike magic, that pull is interrupted."

"The alchemy." Edward assumed. 

"Two forces that reject each other, yet are forced to meet in the same plane. If you try to meet it with a magical force, the alchemy will reject it. If you meet it with an alchemic force, the magic will force it out. However, I found one thing that it will accept. What else, but a balance of the two forces?

"...It only accepts that which shouldn't exist.  Magical-alchemic abominations." Edward 's heart sank at the realization.  He'd sworn never to make such an abomination again. Nicholas alone had proven that alchemy and magic should never be mixed, and yet many, many years later, he had only done the same, simpy without the stakes of a soul. In his desperation, he had broken a rule that he'd stood on from the day he'd discovered the existence of magic, and it had caused more hurt. Instead of a way home, he'd only created a monster that thrived in his sins and laughed in the faces of those who dare laid eyes on it.

"Just as it portrays," Hohenheim agreed, "Your desires that cannot be achieved. The mirror seeks balance while existing in a form which bears a constant instability. Therefore, if my theory is correct, it can only accept things in equal tumult."

"Flamel's stone." The words were dropped like icy pins. "...If that is so, then what stops anyone removing it after it has been placed?" He frowned, uncomfortable at the thought, "Surely, the mirror is constantly fighting to spit it out and would be glad to see it go."

"Yes... I did consider that. However, I think that the answer in this case is incredibly simple," a small amount of pride crept into his voice, "Remember, the mirror is unable to provide that which it shows in itself. If one approaches it seeking the Stone, then they will very likely find themselves completely unable to attain it. The mirror itself is its own weakness. The only ones who would be able to retrieve Flamel's Stone are those who reach for it, but hold no real desire to attain it."

"I see." Shoulders sinking at the reality of Hohenheim's plan, Edward nervously glanced at the edges of the frame and then to Hohenheim's face. The elderly man was gazing into the mirror itself, a deep, sad longing in his eyes that felt unsettling. "If all of this is a theory," Edward started, dragging Hohenheim out of his reverie, "Then how do we make sure it works?"

"You want the stone, do you not?" Hohenheim's reply gave Edward a sinking feeling. The Stone's weight felt all too heavy in his pocket, its sickening aura slowly seeping through his clothes and into his skin and bones. Who in the hell would want its cursed self besides Nicholas? No, he didn't want it , but at the same time, he couldn't imagine leaving the souls inside for dead. Abandoning them, when he could save them as well as his own.  If someone else got ahold of it… well, he didn't want to imagine the carnage to both it as well as whatever the Stone was used for. Nicholas had proved that by himself.  It was broken, an imperfect form of philosopher's stone, but still dangerous. Too dangerous. For the souls' sakes as well as the world's, he couldn't imagine passing the Stone to anyone else. Only he could keep it safe. As much as it disgusted him, he had to possess it. In that way, he did desire it. He needed it. 

It was sickening.

"...Fine. I'll test it."

Taking a deep breath, he reached deep into his bottomless pocket, willing the brown envelope containing the Stone to his hand. It came willingly, meeting his fingers with a foreboding wave of nausea. With a trembling hand, he pulled the stained package out and tenderly peeled it open, pouring the contents into his right hand. For the first time since he had cast Nicholas away and burned the physical copies of his knowledge from the world, he laid eyes on the Stone.

It pulsated, capturing his gaze in its grisly beauty. No larger than a two pound coin, the Stone burned like crimson blood between his metal fingers, thin veins of gold threading through its jagged, uneven surface. It was enchanting . It was disgusting. It was… Edward almost dropped the cursed ruby as he felt the screams.

A roundtable of cries and wails, beings in the Stone reaching desperately for the power in his own chest in a dizzying putrid surge.  Faintly, he realized that the screaming was his own Stone, likely sensing it better than he and voicing their fear and sorrow, but he understood. Pulsing with its light was wave after unending wave of foreboding energy battling with itself and its surroundings. It wanted everything out but tried to suck everything in tumbling round and round in a tumultuous force he could only describe as agony .

Swallowing the urge to throw up, Edward tore his gaze from its horrifying beauty to meet eyes with Hohenheim, who seemed equally disturbed. He'd taken a few steps backward- whether to get away from the Stone or the mirror Edward didn't know- and was watching it glow with an unreadable expression.

Finally, he turned to face the mirror.

Oh.

He'd known what his eyes would see, had been expecting it- the very reason he'd been forced to give his abomination to Hohenheim to destroy because the figure it bore was the very person he couldn't bear to see harmed… but it didn't make the shock hit any less. Alphonse looked at him with soft, dull-golden, human eyes that shone with health, happiness, and strength. There was no emaciation, no missing limbs, no pain- just he , and behind him the rolling hills of Resembool untouched by the destruction of war. In the far distance, Edward coud spot the figures of everyone he loved- Winry, Granny Pinako, Izumi and Sig, even Mustang and his crew- all unharmed and whole, as if the damned Promised Day had never happened at all.

"Hello, Brother," Edward's breath nearly caught in his chest as Alphonse greeted him with a wide, kind smile. He hadn't heard his younger brother's voice in well over 100 years. "Are you going to give me something?"

Edward took a deep breath, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. This… was the reason he'd never wanted to see the mirror again.  Alphonse looked and felt all too real - he couldn't stand it, but he also couldn't look away. Heart in his throat, he nodded, holding up the despairing Stone in his automail hand. A hand which, reflected in the mirror, was whole.

"I'll keep it safe for you, Brother!" Still grinning, Alphonse held out his arm. Carefully, almost hesitantly, Edward placed his hand against where Alphonse's should have been, and pushed . The Stone sank into the mirror with resistance, its surface rippling like a shuddering wave. For a moment, Edward thought - almost wished- that he could push his fingers through as well, but the minute that the Stone was in Alphonse's hand, metal clacked hard against the mirror's surface. Without looking at the Stone given to him, Alphonse pocketed it.

"It's good to see you."

"Now," Edward said, voice unusually hoarse, "Give the Stone back."

"What stone?" His brother cocked his head in confusion, "Brother, you're not making any sense."

"The one I just gave you. It's in your pocket. Give it back."

"I don't understand." Alphonse made no move to dig in his pocket.

"Just try."

"I don't have a Stone for you!" The words came sharp like a hot knife. For an instant, darkness seeped into the corners of the mirror and Alphonse's face clouded with anger. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. The hills of Resembool rolled in a pleasant wind as if they had never been touched and his brother was smiling pleasantly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. What were you saying, Brother?"

"...Nothing." Edward shook his head and tore his eyes away from his reflection. It was hard to see from the water in his eyes. They leveled on Hohenheim, who was watching him intently. Anger burned through him at the sight of his father. It was a better emotion than the terrible melancholy Alphonse's face brought. He let it sink in, but it wasn't able to overtake the feeling. "I can't get it back." 

"Then it works." The elderly man seemed relieved.

"...Yeah." Edward bit back a sharp retort, too tired now to get into another argument that wouldn't go anywhere. Instead, he settled for glaring. The mirror had worked. There was nothing more to say.

"Edward…" Hohenheim's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What?"

"The mirror, does it speak to you?" The bastard seemed honestly curious.

Edward turned away from the bronze gilded frame, crossing his arms and refusing to look at his father. "Always has." He fiddled with his thin, patchy sleeve. A sudden curiosity overtook him,  despite his better judgement. "...What do you see, when you look in the mirror?"

"Well," Hohenheim's voice sounded surprised to even be asked at all. "...I suppose I see something likely similar to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

Hohenheim smiled sadly. "I think we both want something that we can never get back."

"You bastard," Edward grumbled hostilely, "Forget it. Don't test me any more. ...You've done what you came to do. Now please leave."

The older man bowed his head. "...Very well." There was a slight pause. "...Edward, for what it's worth, I still-" 

Edward shook his head. "I don't want to hear it. Don't let me see you again."

Were those tears in Hohenheim's eyes again?

"...So be it. I will let Dumbledore know we are done here." The old man stuffed his hands in his pockets, dithering between looking at him and turning for the door for several moments. Eventually, he sighed, opening his mouth to speak once more. "...Goodbye, Edward."

"Hohenheim." he acknowledged with finality.  As the elderly man closed the door, he looked back to give one more sorrowful smile. Edward refused to look him in the eyes.

The door of the disused room clanked shut with a condemning echo, and Edward sank to the floor next to his stone and bronzen atrocity with his head in his hands.

Chapter Text

[Year 1860]

"Brother?" a soft, painfully familiar voice echoed softly.

Edward's breath caught in the middle of a sob. Sowly, he looked up from where he knelt, hands plastered against the mirror's unforgiving surface showing the flowing grasses of Resembool as if he could still fall forward through the glass upon giving enough pressure. Hardly daring to believe it, his eyes roved higher and higher as they met legs, then a torso, then a... face.

"Al… phonse?" he couldn't breathe. There his brother's figure stood, impossibly human , with short cropped golden hair, bronze eyes, and a soft gentle smile he hadn't seen in hundreds of years. No traces of emaciation were left on his body, his forearms toned instead of skeletal and cheeks filled with a healthy glow rather than a sickly pallor. "How…"

"It's me, Brother." Alphonse extended an arm towards him with warm happiness in his eyes, willing for him to reach out and take it. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

Trembling, Edward raised his flesh palm and pressed it against Alphonse's outstretched fingers. 

The mirror was hard and cold.

~~~

[Present]

Edward didn't know how long he knelt on the cold stone floor, ignoring the concerned chatterings of the stone in his chest. It had been long enough that the chill of the unforgiving ground and the evening rain drizzling outside had seeped into his metal limbs, creating a consuming icy throb. He welcomed the pain, knowing that every thought of it hurting was one less about his father or the horrible creation looming beside him. 

So he knelt there, body propped heavily on his ankles and knees until his limbs and feelings were numb and he was certain that his father was gone, never to be seen again. Eventually, the Stone silenced as well, joining him in the stillness.

Finally, when not a soul had moved for many a moment, Edward slowly rose. Wincing, he braced his palm against the bronze frame as life tingled back into his leg in sharp jabs. He made the mistake of looking into the mirror, where Alphonse's haunting eyes stared back.

"Hi Brother, did you get hurt again?" In typical Alphonse concern, the ghost of his little brother tilted his head a little over-exaggeratedly with a small frown. Since the armor, Al's movements  had been forced to become over-the-top to portray emotion in his iron prison. It was scary, some of the nuances that the mirror knew.

"Not this time."  Edward exhaustedly answered it despite his better judgment, "...I'm just tired of this, Al."

"Tired of what?"

"Just… it's been a long time." he forced a tired smile upon his face even if he felt defeated. Even with an illusion, he couldn't help but try to be strong for his brother. "But it'll be okay. I'll make it home, just wait for me a little longer, okay?"

"Of course, Brother. I'm always here." Alphonse smiled, rocking back onto his heels.

"Yeah… I know." Frowning and pushing away from the mirror, Edward grasped for his wand, pointed it at the old sheet, and whipped it back up and over the top of the frame, hiding its contents from the world once again. He shook his head to rid his mind of that painful smile, and limped heavily for the door.

He shut it behind him without turning.

—

It had long since turned nighttime by the time he hobbled toward his room. The hallways echoed, empty in the dark. Edward was glad for the solitude. He didn't need any of the other teachers happening upon him and asking too many questions about his reasons for being up so late, or his obvious limp. If Winry were properly here, she'd kill him. 

'That's right, you know. You should take better care of those.'

The lecture from his Stone made him quietly chuff under his breath, but shook the feeling away again. The Alphonse in the mirror had dredged up far too many old memories and sentiments he'd rather not think about. It reminded him too much of his age.

Upon reaching his room, Ingus looked down at him from the painting.

"Password?" The giant asked mournfully, but if possible, seeming slightly cheerier than usual.

"Alphonse…" Edward replied with hesitation. After the events of the day, he regretted making that his password. Damn Hohenheim to hell. Ingus rumbled an affirmative and swung open. 

The first thing Edward did was draw himself a hot bath to ease the angry swelling in his ports. He sank into the soapy water with a sigh, sinking down to his chin and silently wishing that the bubbles around him could wash his sins away as well.

It was a silly desire.

After the bath, he took extra time tending to his automail. After the rainstorm at the house on the rock, all of his joints were feeling stiff and his knee was beginning to lock. On his palm where he'd grabbed Hagrid's umbrella, pieces of fabric, rubber, and smoke had fused to the metal and leather grips. He scowled. 

His automail was already rudimentary enough compared to Winry's original work. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he'd never be able to replicate the quality that she would craft. Especially not on his own person. Without a second hand to help, and since alchemy, even with his extensive experience, usually couldn't flawlessly replicate the tiny delicate wiring, almost every repair resulted in a slight sacrifice of quality.

Alfons had been able to help him for a time and had been able to greatly improve the state of his limbs with the help of Edward and the stones' souls drawing him up a shoddy form of blueprints… but the 1940s were long gone now. He didn't know if he could bear to go back to Germany.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts before they could turn any darker, he pulled his tool kit out of his pocket and set to work. 

~~~

Over the next month Edward settled into a reluctant routine; Wake up early, stretch, bundle himself in an extra layer of clothes if the rain was bad, bury his nose in the Daily Prophet over breakfast (He'd been out of touch with the wizarding world politics for a while and was being quickly reminded why), exercise, have an early lunch (he hated getting caught up in small talk), and then take a cup of hot tea with him to the classroom Albus had assigned to him. There, he would hole up in his office for the afternoon, scowling at books and papers.

Teaching alchemy . The knowledge haunted him spitefully from the stack of lesson plan notes he had drafted several times perched on the end of the desk. He'd half buried them under other notes concerning the Mirror of Erised, theories on alchemic and magical planes, and other half-forged ideas, but the knowledge taunted him all the same. After dinner, he would wander the castle, exploring the library or the grounds and patrolling the hallways around the Mirror bearing Flamel's stone. Some days, he couldn't bear to enter the room. Other days he did, if only to reassure himself that the Mirror remained untouched and hadn't rejected the Stone. He always left it under the sheet.

One morning as he made his way into the great hall for breakfast, the artificial sky barely beginning to peek rays of sun through the violently pink clouds, he found that the dining table was not empty. Edward scowled. Usually he tried to avoid talking to the wizards until dinnertime. He didn't care much for them, and they didn't know how what to think of him. He preferred it that way. The only one who didn't seem to notice his averseness to the rest of the staff was Albus Dumbledore, who always smiled knowingly at him over dinner when he thought Edward wasn't paying attention.

Edward always noticed.

So when he saw Professors Quirrell, Snape, and McGonagall sitting together at the breakfast table, he very nearly turned on his heel and marched back out of the room.  He didn't need McGonagall trying to compare his alchemy to transfiguration this early in the morning. Unfortunately, he was caught.

"Good morning, Professor Elric," McGonagall raised a thin eyebrow, "You're up early as well, I see."

"I'm up on time. You're the ones who seem to be up early." Edward countered, relenting to sit at the table in his usual chair next to Professor Snape. He'd spoken to the man a few times over dinner and decided he didn't hate him. Both of them seemed to have the same apathy about their jobs, valued critical thinking, and Snape had given him some insights on what to expect from students, their thinking skills, and the annoyance of textbook formula.

"Early indeed." the greasy-haired man drawled.

"G-Good morning, P-professor Elric," Quirrell smiled at him nervously.

Edward grunted acknowledgingly, stuffing a roll in his mouth and hoisting his newspaper closer to his face. Quirrell made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't truly place. There was still something off about him, and it wasn't good. He eyed the man from the corner of his eye for a minute while pretending to read, but Quirrell simply stuttered through small talk with McGonagall, seeming to not notice him.

The newspaper itself wasn't much of an escape, full of treacle tart recipes, superficial ministry publicity stunts, and a large obnoxious headline absolutely covering the front page. He'd saved it for last since lately, it always said the same thing.

YOU-KNOW-WHO RISEN AGAIN? WHERE HE COULD BE NOW

Edward didn't bother to read past the title, exasperatedly folding the paper up and placing it to the side to grab the rest of his breakfast. Beside him, Snape glanced at the newspaper, his lip curling slightly. 

"The ministry is still on about that?  They've been trying to spread that fearmongering for months."

"It's annoying." Edward agreed, serving himself a generous helping of scrambled eggs and bacon, "If you're going to spread mass panic, at least provide accurate information."

"Do you believe You-Know-Who is back?" Snape questioned with calculating eyes. 

"If he is, then he's not going to have a fun time with the entire wizarding world out for his head," Edward scoffed darkly, taking a bite of sausage, "But the Prophet seems to think he's behind literally everyone's door waiting for him to jump out and scream 'peek-a-boo.' You-Know-Who isn't a dumbass. If he wanted to play his cards right, he would take it slow, gaining a following and a leg to stand on before wildly jumping to mass hysteria and murder. When or if he comes back, we'll know."

"I see we hold similar sentiments." Snape leaned back in his chair, seeming satisfied.

"I'm glad to see you getting along with someone despite the morbid topic of conversation, Professor Elric." McGonagall stated as she placed the napkin from her lap back onto the table and stood, "I hope you do continue to settle in." Edward looked at her. He didn't hate the woman either; he found her blunt ways appealing compared to most wizards' wishy washy forms of speech. But her pushy nosiness got on his nerves. Still, he knew to never get on her bad side. "Our regular breakfast is at seven, if you would like to join us more often. For now, Quinirius and I have a meeting with Dumbledore. Please enjoy the rest of your breakfast."

Edward almost replied with 'you too,' but caught himself as he swallowed some eggs. "Yeah… thanks." He waved them off. Quirrell followed after McGonagall, looking more nervous than before. Edward watched his back while they left. Quirrell seemed to hunch just a bit more. Cold curled in his stomach and the souls in his chest whispered uncomfortably.

"You're staring quite intently." Snape commented beside him.

"Huh? Yeah," Edward said distractedly. His mouth curled into a frown of thought. "...About Quirrell. Why is he teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? He looks like a burst of wind would bowl him over in terror."

"I've been told he has more experience than others applying for the job," Snape sneered bitterly, "I suppose we'll have to observe him teaching before Dumbledore can decide if experience is equivalent to teaching prowess."

"I get the feeling you don't like him very much." Edward noted with a raised eyebrow.

"...Perhaps not." the dark-robed man admitted, "Unfortunately, it is not up to me to decide the staffing of Hogwarts." Snape's mouth curved in a grim line.

"Do you think there's something off about him? More than just the nervousness, I mean." Edward asked, tilting his head. If Severus wanted to probe information out of him, then he could do the same. He trusted his own instincts of course, but was curious to see if others were picking up on it as well. 

"...That is a question difficult to answer," Severus leveled narrowed eyes at him, a calculated slowness in his speech, "And one that I cannot say for sure."

"I see. Well, if you ever do…" Edward stood as well with a slight grin, taking his newspaper, "I would be interested to hear it."

"Why such a special interest in Quirrell?" 

"I have my reasons," he breezed with a vague shrug, "As, I'm sure, do you."

"I see," The greasy-haired man replied sourly. "Perhaps that request should go both ways, then. Why should you expect me to share my opinions without knowing yours? One might think you were audacious ."

Edward laughed. A hearty chuckle in his throat. "Severus Snape," he waggled a finger in the man's face, "One thing you must know about me is that I am audacious.  But I like the way you think. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. Equivalent exchange, shall we say." With a full smirk now, he spread his fingers into an outstretched hand. "Shake on it?"

Snape looked like he had swallowed a lemon, but Edward saw the spark of curiosity in his eyes and knew he'd caught his fish. After a long moment of hesitation, Severus took the offering, perhaps squeezing a little harder than he needed to. "Agreed. Provided you hold up your end of the bargain."

"I've already mentioned something's off with him, haven't I?" Satisfied, Edward turned toward the oversized doors of the great hall, waving his newspaper in farewell. "See you at dinner, Severus."

~~~

[September 1st, 1991]

Harry Potter stared at the mountain of sweets he had purchased from the trolley. He'd dumped them on the train seat next to him and invited Ron to join him on his eating adventure. Ron eagerly agreed, tossing his corned beef sandwiches to the side and eagerly rooting through the pile of candies. They were delicious.

Near the bottom, Harry pulled out a blue and gold box. "Chocolate frog?" he read off the top, "What are these? They're not really frogs, are they?"

"No," Ron said around a mouthful of licorice wand, "But check the trading card. I'm missing Agrippa and Ptolemy."

"Huh?" Interested, Harry opened the box and fished out the card while Ron explained how they worked. The card was decorated very much like the box, the golden designs framing a picture in the center that showcased an old-looking painting of a handsome man with short fair hair, golden eyes behind brown-framed glasses, and a no-nonsense expression. He scanned the name. "Elias P. Schmitt?"

"Oh, you got a rare one! You're lucky! It took me forever to get him! Can I have a frog? Maybe your golden fingers will get me Agrippa."

"Sure," Harry agreed, more interested in his card than the chocolates. Turning it over, he read the back:

ELIAS P. SCHMITT

A renowned alchemist from the 13th century, Elias P. Schmitt is said to have mentored Nicholas Flamel and assisted in the creation of the Philosopher's stone. He mysteriously disappeared in 1347 after a fire burned his and Nicholas' laboratory to the ground.

Harry frowned, turning the card back over and nearly jumped when the picture of Elias rolled his eyes.

"It moved !" he exclaimed in shock, "It rolled its eyes at me!"

"Yeah. They can do that. Some of those wizards seem like they were crabby blokes. Say, do you want Morgana? I've gotten her again." 

Thus they carried on, Harry explaining that muggle pictures don't ever move, and gathering a small pile of chocolate frog cards of his very own, still unable to get over the awe of watching them move around and disappear even. The wizarding world was still mind-boggling to him, but he hoped he would be able to fit in just a little bit with Ron's help.

Chapter Text

[Present]

With the beginning of school in sight, the castle became more and more busy. Ghosts fluttered about chatting in excitement about the arrival of the semester and gossiping about memorable students of years past. Edward had gotten dragged into a few of those conversations from ghosts that remembered him, and he'd asked them kindly not to go around advertising his age.  Especially with the Stone present in the castle, he didn't need more eyes on his business.

More and more teachers arrived as well. He was introduced to Aurora Sinistra, who ran the astronomy tower, Charity Burbage of muggle studies, Irma Pince the librarian (he decided to steer well clear of her after she'd rapped his knuckles with a ruler when she'd found him drooling on a book on a sleepy late afternoon), and a number of others who did not reside at the castle full time. Who he found most interesting of all was Bathsheda Babbling. Last time Edward had resided at Hogwarts, he'd been the one to teach Ancient Runes. Professor Babbling, although quite an odd person, seemed to fit the role quite a bit better than he had. Edward could never match the energy of wizards and their weird ways. …Nor did he want to.

On September first, the castle was a whirl of frantic teachers and cleaning. Suits of armor were shined, chandeliers dusted, candles lit, and floors waxed and wiped. By mid-afternoon, not a speck of dust remained. Edward paced his office nervously. He was glad that Albus had held the foresight to place his room so close to the room with the Mirror as well as the third floor corridor that they had electively decided to ban from the students while the Stone's safekeeping was being prepared. Edward had little involvement to the other teachers' idea of defense, his own contribution being the Mirror. 

Albus had been adamant that each teacher come up with their own idea in order to prevent each room from having too similar of a feel, and to prevent each teacher from knowing the whole solution to the puzzle lest they had a betrayal in their midst. However, Edward had snatched a peek of the list of ideas one evening while he'd been stalking Albus' office by himself (seriously, they trusted their passwords way too much and those egghead headmaster paintings were always asleep!).  He thought it was all stupid. Any wizard worth two salts and a penchant for risks and slightly out-of-the-box ideas would be able to blast their way through most of the solutions. That left the Mirror of Erised as the only sound barrier towards getting the Stone. The teachers' 'puzzles' may as well just be a party trick to stop wayward students from playing with his disgusting invention.

Which, he supposed, was better than nothing. As it was, leaving the mirror in the empty room nearby his classroom was giving him enough of an aneurysm. And the students weren't even here yet.  

That was soon to change.

Dinnertime came far too quickly for Edward's liking.  He sat at the high table at his usual spot next to Severus. On his left crammed Charity Burbage, the table being far more crowded with teachers than he was used to. Students slowly filed into the hall, all black robes and caps with tidbits of shiny gold and silver and house colors, looking like the world's worst pack of ravens. He huffed and smirked slightly at the sentiment, Snape shooting him a furrowed look. 

The hall filled with more and more chattering as students found their friends and they all settled down at their assorted tables, excited and waiting for the sorting to be announced. Edward inwardly groaned at the idea of that hat. He and Flamel weren't the only ones to have played with souls in this world.  The hat, at least, wasn't dangerous and his souls didn't react quite as disastrously to it as another philosopher's stone, but it was definitely more obnoxious than a painting. Some kind of neatly fractured soul bond. At least the four Founders had never tried to strike immortality… that he knew of, anyway.

Finally, the hall doors opened once more and in flooded a crowd of nervous first years, McGonagall in the lead. She silently placed the sorting hat in front of them, and Edward prepared to be bored. 

The hat wriggled a little, ripped its brim open, and sang. The eleven year olds faces paled. He caught Harry Potter's face in the crowd, standing next to some redhead looking only slightly less terrified and thought he might be about to faint. The most famous person of the modern wizarding world collapsing in front of everyone on the first day of school. That would have been a sight. Side-eyeing Albus he noticed that the man's eyes were trained on the black-haired student as well, with a strange glint in his eye.

The Potter kid managed to make it through the song without swooning, and McGonagall proceeded with the name calling, and most of the first years visibly relaxed when they realized what was going on.  Edward entertained himself by guessing the houses before the kids put on the hats. Though, inwardly, he rolled his eyes at the whole process. In his opinion, the kids didn't have to be segregated to learn at all- it only promoted bullying and feelings of superiority. But he figured he'd have a hell of a time trying to convince some stuffy traditional wizards to change their outdated ways. It wasn't worth the effort.

When all of the kids had been sorted, (Harry into Gryffindor, of course), Albus Dumbledore stood and gave the most insane start of school speech Edward had ever heard. He wasn't sure what 'nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak' was supposed to mean, but pursed his lips and chalked it up to being another wizard thing and decided to add those words to his mental list of likely headmaster room passwords. At any rate, the new students seemed just as confused. 

Albus, he noted after the man sat back down again, was subtly eyeing Harry even as the food from the kitchens appeared on their plates, and Edward was growing the suspicion that the elderly man knew something more about the boy than he was letting on. That, or he had plans . 

Edward despised Albus' plans.

Scowling at the reminder of the eccentric man's plans for him , he joined the rest of the staff in piling his plate high with hot, delicious (he did have to hand it to the house elves) food to drown his besetments. 

It was after the feast that Albus stood one more time with a small clearing of his throat.

"And now," the headmaster continued, "I have one final announcement to make. I am sure all of our returning students are wondering about the new face at our table tonight. Well, I can proudly say that we will be adding a new subject to Hogwarts this year."

At his words, a sudden flurry of whispers broke out from the students. 

"Please welcome Edward Elric, our new alchemy teacher." Albus made a grandiose gesture towards him, and Edward felt the curiously burning eyes of every single student stare at him all at once. Feeling dreadfully uncomfortable, Edward made sure his posture was straight, chin up, and gave a sharp, calculated nod instead of a wave. The last thing he wanted the students to think was that he was friendly and hog him with questions.

As it was, the excited chatter only grew louder and louder, excited students bursting with curiosity.

"Alchemy classes are available to every year, young and old. However, those who wish to take Professor Elric's class must be diligent in their studies. Know that it will likely not be an easy class to pass." Albus' eyes twinkled, and he winked at Edward. He scowled back.

At least it sounded like his class boundaries were being honored.

It took a long while before the chatterings began to calm down, Edward glaring at anyone who made eye contact for too long. Dumbledore finally called for dismissal, and everyone slowly filed out of the hall. Finally able to go back to his room, Edward collapsed into bed and gazed at the ceiling, the souls in his chest voicing paltry reassurances about the reality he would be facing come the morning. It didn't help, merely reminding him of the weight of why he was at Hogwarts at all, and how the source of his troubles stood in a room but a staircase and a few hallways away.

Exposed.

Throwing off his blankets, Edward threw on his trench coat to stave off the chilled midnight air, lit a torch, and stepped out into the cold stone hallways. He swiftly strode to the dusty room, pushing the heavy wooden door open with a soft creak. There stood the Mirror, still and covered with the musty gray sheet. The light from his torch cast an ominous flickering shadow across the cloth's surface. Edward rested a hand on the frame, fingers gently grasping the fabric whilst the Stone roiled in discomfort and warnings. He just had to make sure…

The sheet rippled to the floor.

"Hello, Brother." Alphonse smiled at him and voices burst in his head.

'It's there! It's still there. Save it! Leave it alone!'

"Al," Edward's voice wavered. He would never be used to the haunting image of his brother. Oh, how he missed him. How he missed home."...Am I doing the right thing?"

'LEAVE!'

Alphonse tilted his head. "What are you doing, Brother?"

"I don't know anymore, Al," Edward sighed, ignoring the sickened feeling in his gut, "I don't know."

"You always try to do the right thing, right? I trust you, Brother!" The figure in the mirror smiled brightly.

"Yeah… I know you do." What was he doing here? "How can I do this again when the last time my student created… that? " he gestured vaguely at the mirror.

"Me? What are you talking about? You created me, Brother."

The voices in his head grew louder, a soft and pulsing roar.

"I did. But, Al… sometimes I regret that too."

"Why?" The Alphonse cocked his head, "I love you, Brother. I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know…" Edward whispered, hands shaking, "I know."

The sound of a door closing echoed down the hallway. Edward gasped and glanced toward the hallway, broken out of his trance. He glanced back at the mirror and then the door. Faint footsteps trod down the hall.

"Goodnight," Edward whispered, throwing the sheet back over the Mirror of Erised and making a quick exit, shutting the door and locking it with magic. It wouldn't stop anyone worth two salts, but it was quieter than barring the door with alchemy and would potentially keep kids out.

The footsteps came closer, closer, and then Severus Snape rounded the corner. They both stopped and glared at each other.

"What are you doing here?" Edward began, at the same time Snape sneered-

"You. Why are you still awake?"

"I might ask you the same thing." Edward crossed his arms with a scowl. Snape met him with the same expression, glancing quickly up and down the hallway. Then, he grabbed Edward roughly by the arm and dragged him into a nearby room on the opposite side of the hall.

"Hey! What are you-"

"Quiet!" Snape hissed, pushing the door closed behind them and shoving Edward against the wall. 

"What the hell-"

"Did you see Quirrell? What are you doing? " Spittle landed on Edward's cheek.

"Nothing that concerns you!" Edward bit back, "Wait, did you see Quirrell? What's he doing?"

"You didn't-" Severus paled further than his already existent pallor.

"What is Quirrell doing?" Edward pushed back, grasping Snape's collar to pull him down closer to his height. 

"Nothing that concerns you!" Snape bit out.

"If it's near the third floor corridor, it has everything to do with me!" Edward hissed, wiping the flecks of spit off his cheek.

"I don't know!"

"What?"

"Quirrell." Severus' scowl lines grew even deeper, "I don't know what he was doing. I was trying to find out before I ran into you acting equally suspicious."

Edward let go of the man's collar. "Me? Don't kid yourself. My business is not your business."

"But mine is yours?" Snape sneered.

"Touché," Edward conceded slightly, "But anything to do with the Stone, and therefore the third floor and those sneaking nearby it at night, is my business. And so is Quirrell. We have an agreement, did you forget so soon?"

Somehow, Snape looked even more sour than before. But he let go of Edward and backed away from the wall. 

"...He was talking to himself and heading toward the room where we're preparing our tasks. It's midnight and he looked nervous so I thought I'd follow. But he heard me and went back toward his room."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Now, what are you doing out so late?"

"Nothing to do with you or Quirrell. Not your business."

"You're insufferable."

"Hey. I'm not asking why you were wandering around past midnight to catch Quirrell in the first place. Would you rather I pry-"

"No." Snape grumbled, "You've made your point." Each word was punctuated sharply, his irritation clear.

"So we're done here, then?"

"It seems so." 

"Good." Edward smiled agitatingly, dusting off his clothes, "Pleasant talk. Thank you for the information."

"Pleasant." Severus replied sourly, sounding more like he disagreed than agreed.

"I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast," Edward stepped toward the doorway, giving a cheery little wave. "Gute Nacht."

As he left, Edward shut the door while Snape still stood.

The smile quickly melted off his face as he strode back toward his quarters, rolling his sore shoulder where Severus had slammed him against the wall, refusing to feel bad about taking his irritation out on the man. Severus had been asking for it.

The door to the abandoned room opened and closed again behind him but the resulting footsteps did not follow his.

Edward limped back to his quarters, hands shoved deeply in his pockets and a deep scowl upon his face. His nighttime wander hadn't lessened the swirling thoughts in his head, but it had added more to the collection. He threw himself into bed. "What am I doing, Al?" He murmured to the hollow, soulless eyes of the boy in the mirror he imagined, haunting him. Taunting him with a home he hadn't seen in over six hundred years. "I don't know what the right thing is anymore."

Imaginary Alphonse didn't answer back.

With a defeated sigh, he shifted onto his back, resigning himself to a long and fitful night. Eventually, after hours of circling thoughts, he fell asleep to the quiet whispers of the souls harboring in his body.

~~~

[Year 1860]

"You should sleep, Brother." 

"Huh?" Edward tore his eyes from the swaying grasses of Resembool, hazy eyes meeting Alphonse's face, his brother's soft features gently melted into a pout of concern. 

"I'm fine, Al," Edward smiled at his brother from where he sat on the floor, waving a hand dismissively.

"You haven't slept in two days."

"You know me," he laughed awkwardly, gesturing to the messy stack of notes in his lap, "Always burying my head in books instead of sleeping!"

"Actually Brother, you usually sleep a lot . I've carried you around enough."

"Well, maybe this is a little more important than sleeping." Edward resisted, "I've got to find out a way to get through! I've got to! I have to!" He rifled madly through his notes with a sudden renewed fervor, accidentally tearing a page with his prosthetic hand in his haste. He paid it no mind, tossing the piece into the pile by his side. "I don't understand what went wrong! What did I do wrong? Are you even real?"

"Of course I'm real, Brother! I'm right here!" Alphonse's voice rose in a pitch of distress, pressing his hands to the figurative glass on his side of the mirror.

"I know, Al! But it doesn't make sense! It won't make sense! I can't make it make sense…! I…" An explosion of papers shot chalk dust up from the ground as Edward shoved the pages off his lap, one hand grasping his head and the other the middle of his chest, as if protecting it from some unseen danger. "Why won't…"

Why couldn't it

Just

Make

Sense?

Alphonse…

…Home…

The stone cried.

Chapter Text

[Present]

"A hat? A hat? I can't believe Fred let me believe that the sorting was going to be some sort of fight!" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry flopped onto their dorm room beds.

"At least you knew there was a sorting at all," Dean said from the other side of the room, "My mum's not magical. We almost missed the Hogwarts Express trying to find it in the station."

"I did too," Harry said, incredibly relieved he wasn't the only one in the room who didn't know anything, "I only found it because of Ron's mum. I don't know anything about magic either."

"Really? But you're Harry Potter!" Seamus exclaimed in confusion, "You should know more than us all!"

"Not really," Harry shrugged, embarrassed, "I was raised by my aunt and uncle. I didn't know anything until I got my letter. The only magic I've seen is when Hagrid and Professor Elric took me to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies."

"You've met Professor Elric already?" Neville asked, surprised.

"And Professor Quirrell, we ran into him there." Harry explained.

"What are they like?" Ron asked.

"Professor Elric seems like a pretty dodgy dude," Seamus muttered, "Kept glaring at everyone."

"He'a not so bad," Harry mulled, "He is kind of crabby," he agreed, "Sometimes nice? And… sad? He dealt my awful aunt and uncle a new one which was cool, but I'm not sure he likes me very much."

"I don't think he likes anyone," Seamus commented. Harry shrugged.

"What about Quirrell?" Ron asked.

"Um, nervous. Very nervous." Harry said, "I think he almost fainted when we met."

"Wow, some teachers we've got," Dean said.

"My brothers said we need to watch out for Snape, the potions teacher," Ron frowned, "they said he's mean and hangs students up by their ankles over boiling pots if they fail their tests." He wrinkled his nose. "It was Fred and George who told me that, though…"

"Seriously?" Dean's eyebrows rose higher. "What kind of a school is this?"

Harry shrugged. He was sure that it couldn't be worse than going to Stonewall High in a flabby, home-dyed gray uniform three times the size of him, even if the teachers were weird. Not even Uncle Vernon would dare chain him up by his ankles though. He hoped Fred and George were lying. 

"Say," Neville asked, looking terrified at the prospect of potions and wanting to change the subject, "What are muggle schools like?"

"Wild," Dean said, "At my last school they pitted the football team against the rest of us in dodgeball and we got creamed. Encouraged me to get into sports though," he added as an afterthought.

"My cousin's school gave him a beating stick," Harry supplied helpfully. "I'm sure he's knocking other students with his gang even now."

If anything, Neville paled even further. "Are all muggle schools that bad?"

"Nah, just the sports teams," Dean shrugged. "So long as you're not bullied, anyway. That's always bad."

Harry tried not to look embarrassed. He hoped he wouldn't be bullied here.

"Well I, for one, think magic school is better." Seamus announced. Ron gave him a scrunched incredulous stare that Harry interpreted as 'You just got here.'

"I hope so," Neville looked terribly nervous, "I don't think I'm any good at magic."

"That's what we're here for though, isn't it?" Seamus shrugged, "to learn."

"Yeah!" Ron agreed, "No more fake spells from my brothers." Ron nudged Harry's shoulder jovially, "We're gonna learn real magic. I wonder what'll happen if I really turn Scabbers yellow…"

Harry laughed, relieved to know that he wasn't alone.

~~~

[September 2nd, 1991] 

As expected, sleep didn't come easily. Edward tossed and turned for most of the night, finally achieving some sort of slumber in the wee hours of the morning.

Class time came too soon.

Edward dragged his feet into the classroom five minutes before the starting time, nerves eating his groggy state. There were already students in the room, speaking in hushed voices. Scanning his eyes over them, he noted red and blue trim announcing them as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. He glanced at the parchment schedule in his hands. Fifth years.

The students stared at him, quieting as they gaged his presence. Edward made the silent walk to his desk at the head of the class, boots clomping unevenly on the floor as he had the strangest sense of dejà vu, like he was walking up to his own guillotine. Eyes burned into him as he stopped at the desk, shuffling his papers and nervously stalling for a few more moments. The souls in his chest muttered anxiously.

For Flamel's stone.

The blade fell.

He cleared his throat.

"Right," he began, swallowing the knot in his throat and finally gazing the students down properly, "As you probably already know, I am Edward Elric, and I'm here to teach… alchemy."

The blade severed flesh.

Almost immediately, an explosion of questions erupted.

"Can you turn coal into gold?"

"What is alchemy?"

"Isn't it supposed to be a lost art?"

"Aren't you our age?"

"Isn't alchemy just transfiguration?"

"Why hasn't alchemy been taught at Hogwarts before?"

"Where did you learn alchemy?"

"Quiet!" Edward fought the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course he shouldn't have expected the students to just accept the new subject. Alchemy, in the wizarding world, was viewed as an outdated or forgotten art. Something lost to obscurity that was invented by clever muggle-borns who knew of their powers but were never trained how to use traditional magic, or procured as a means for outcasted wizards to be able to continue using magic. A rudimentary form of transfiguration. In the end, nobody had a consistent answer, rumors only growing wilder and wilder as the years passed until it was near unrecognizable even from that.

Edward wished it would stay that way.

Instead, here he was.

"One question at a time," he spoke above the students, "This is a classroom. Raise your hands."

Immediately, most of the student body quieted and raised their hands.

"Okay," Edward fought the urge to sigh. They sure weren't going to make this easy. "You first," he pointed randomly to a brown haired girl in the front of the class. "Name?"

"Penelope Clearwater," she stated sweetly, looking at a black haired girl behind her and giggling.

"And what's your question?"

"How old are you?" She leaned forward, her mascaraed eyes wide.

"Older than you." Edward scowled at the pointless question. Of course they wanted to know. He knew he looked only a year older than the students in front if him. Why did his body have to get stuck at seventeen? He supposed it was a little better than getting helplessly wrinkled and old. "Next name and question… you!" He said, pointedly ignoring the new burst of giggles between Penelope and her friend, pointing at a light-haired kid in the back of the class.

"Cooper Pelton. Um, where did you learn alchemy? I haven't heard of it as a class before."

Ah.

".. I had a personal teacher." He responded shortly.

"So lots of people know alchemy? Why haven't we heard of it more then?" The question erupted from a Gryffindor girl on the right side of the room.

"Name?" Edward demanded.

"Sorry, Sir," she had the decency to look a little sheepish, raising her hand pointlessly as she answered, "I'm Agnes Worthart."

"Then to answer your question, Agnes, no. There are not many of us. In fact, there are only a couple alchemists alive today, and one of them is me. If anyone else claims they are, they're lying." He stated flatly, clear it was the end of that conversation with a glare across the room. The last thing he wanted to do was have to think about his father. 

"Who was your teacher then?" A different student asked, clearly not getting the hint.

"I don't remember you raising your hand," Edward said, holding in a scowl. Truthfully, Izumi Curtis, like so many others he once knew, was probably lost; mind muddled and confused inside of the stone in his chest. He couldn't bear to think that anyone he knew from his past had been swallowed forever by the stone's use, but as confused and meshed as the souls were, it was impossible to confirm.

At this point, he didn't want to know.

"...She died." he said simply, in the same flat tone he had used to announce his class. Edward didn't bother to ask the student's name. "Any more hands in the air… yes, you!" He pointed at a redhead Gryffindor in the front, sitting next to Penelope.

"Percy Weasley, Professor. Why are you teaching alchemy when transfiguration exists? Isn't it the same thing?"

"Aha!" Edward grinned for the first time that day, bolstering himself with an artificial air of energy, "That's what I wanted to hear. The reason is because alchemy is not transfiguration. In fact, you could almost say it is the very opposite. Alchemy isn't even magic."

"How is it not magic?" The whole room looked confused. 

"Allow me to demonstrate." Edward said with a hint of satisfaction. If nothing else about this awful day, he could at least set some wizards straight. "You!" He pointed at Penelope's friend who had finally stopped giggling, "Name?"

"Rosalyn Lestrade," she said, with a gleeful glance at Penelope.

"Alright Rosalyn," Edward said, a smug smile growing on his face, "Attack me."

"What?" Her smug demeanor fell immediately.

"You heard me. Attack me."

"Um, okay…" she reached tentatively for her wand looking nervous.

"Ah, ah!" Edward clapped his hands together. "No wands. You will never be using your wands in this class."

"But you said to-" 

"Wizards." Edward hissed under his breath. Then louder, "You are a human being with limbs. You don't always have to rely on a stick."

"Oh…" hesitantly, Rosalyn started to stand while some of the class snickered. Edward gave the giggling kids a glare.

"Now," Edward smirked returning his attention and giving a cursory glance at the floor, "What if you were also stuck to your chair?"  His hands hit the floor, and with a rumble and blue sparks, two arms of stone rose and wrapped around Rosalyn's ankles, trapping her to the legs of her chair. The students startled away with shocked yelps and Rosalyn screamed in surprise. 

"What do you do now?" Edward asked, folding his hands neatly behind his back and strolling over, stopping just outside of her reach, "Can you attack me now? Can you free yourself?"

"No! Let me go!" Rosalyn struggled to free her legs whole every student watched the spectacle nervously.

"Certainly. Pay attention now," Lazily, Edward produced a piece of chalk, bending down to draw a neat, well-practiced circle. "This,” he narrated aloud, "is a transmutation circle. The focal point for all alchemy. Different transmutation circles will manipulate different things. In this case, the formula is for stone." He finished his piece. "And then, once you have finished your circle, you can activate it."

Edward touched the edge of the circle with a fingertip, blue lightning arching around Rosalyn's legs once more to pull the stone back down into the floor. Rosalyn gave a gasp of relief, inspecting her unharmed legs and the floor around them.

"Wandless magic?" Agnes wondered aloud.

"Wrong!" Edward declared disapprovingly, "Did you not hear what I first said? Alchemy is no magic. Magic, when used without a focal point, which in your case is wands, is incredibly unpredictable. But you can still do it. Alchemy is impossible to perform without a transmutation circle. Cannot do it. And when you do use it, with very few exceptions, it is always extremely calculated and predictable."

"Wait, does that mean you can use magic with things other than wands?"

"Yes," Edward said slowly, "And without as well. What has Professor Binns been teaching you?"

Blank faces stared up at him, while one daring kid in the back muttered, "not much…" while looking embarrassed.

"Aren't staves an option as well in some countries?" Percy Weasley asked.

"Correct!" Edward acknowledged, "Someone has been learning. Yes, staves used to be very popular before the wand was invented. Wands took over for being easier to point and carry, and are better at simple magic. But I daresay staves are much harder to break, and can direct more power, albeit a little less predictably. That makes them much more dangerous on a mass scale. Some countries, like Britain, have made staves illegal because of this.

"But putting that into perspective, almost anything, with varying degrees of success, can be a conduit for your magic provided it has the correct materials and is made in a conductive fashion. Swords, rings, umbrellas, pens, books, hell- I once knew a woman who used a frying pan! Said she liked the way it cooked her food too much. It was delicious… but the point I'm getting to here is that like magic, alchemy needs a focal point. But that is where any and all similarities end. You cannot ask a random wall, the ground, your desk, or your chair, to be a conduit for your magic. If you lose or break your wand, you're basically screwed. With alchemy, the only limit is your knowledge."

"And a writing utensil?" Percy challenged.

"In a sense." Edward acknowledged, unperturbed, "While alchemists usually always have a pack of chalk on them, you don't have to use a piece of chalk or a pen. Anything goes; carving a knife into a piece of wood, your finger in the dirt, a rock scraped against stone, a screw on a piece of metal, and in extreme cases, you can use your own blood. As long as you can make that circle, it doesn't matter."

"...Have you used your own blood, professor?" Rosalyn asked.

"Yes," Edward answered honestly, taking a small twinge of satisfaction as their faces paled. His voice grew very serious. "Which segways into my next point; alchemy can be very, very dangerous. It is a science, full of calculations and geometry and critical thinking. And with that science, one mistake can cost you your life. You do not play games with it. In fact, it’s so dangerous, that if I catch you using it outside of my direct supervision, I will personally see you expelled. Is that clear?"

Pale faces nodded silently.

"Good." He gave an extra hard glare for emphasis, "If you don't think you can handle and respect the responsibility and consequences of alchemy, then you may get out, now."   He gave every student a personal stare. Some gazed defiantly back, while others shrank in their seats. Not one stood up to leave.

"Now," giving them one more long moment of silence to digest, Edward swiped his foot through the chalk circle on the ground before turning on his heel and walking up to the chalkboard. He began to write. 

"Equivalent exchange. The first and most important law of alchemy. You cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. And until all of you fully understand this, we will learn nothing further." He spun around from the writing on the board, meeting each and every student in the eye, one by one. To Edward's satisfaction, a nervous air filled the room. Many broke away from his gaze. 

"Many of you are wondering what's so different about alchemy from transfiguration. I mentioned that they may as well be opposites. The first law is exactly why.

"Transfiguration allows you to change objects without consequence. Take this pencil, for instance." Truthfully, Edward wasn't sure if the wizards even knew what a pencil was, stuck in their traditionalist ways as they were. But he wasn't going to let a bunch of big-headed, artistically unenclined adolescents try creating any sort of circle without an eraser. He had a whole stash of them in his desk. If the class even made it that far.

"It's components are wood, graphite, paint, rubber, and a little bit of metal. Now, if you were going to transfigure this, what could you change it into?"

"A mouse?" Cooper Pelton asked.

"I would make it a mirror." Penelope said.

"Or a sock," another student snickered.

"The correct answer is anything, provided it is somewhat relative in size," Edward stated. "But what happens if you leave the object, particularly if it's a weak spell?"

"It turns back?" A Ravenclaw said.

"Yes. Although I'm sure that Professor McGonagall has already taught you, transfiguration spells are not permanent. The stronger they are, the longer they may last- up for years, even- but the spell will eventually weaken and wear off. Say you turned this pencil into a mouse, it is not truly alive. It may seem like it, but it is merely artificial.

"On the other hand, and why you must be aware, alchemy is permanent. Once your transmutation has been done, it cannot be undone by anything else but another direct transmutation. Had I chosen to walk away from Miss Rosalyn during my example earlier, she may as well have been bound to that chair forever." The girl in question paled, and everyone looked nervous all over again. 

"I do not say this lightly. This is not something you use as a joke." Edward glared everyone down again, "And also because alchemy is very very permanent, you should never, ever attempt to transmute yourself or another living being. And you should absolutely never try to bring anything to life, not even a mouse. Trust me when I say I have seen the results with my own eyes and it is something so horrible that you will never want to even imagine. It creates nothing but tragedy, and nothing- nobody, can fully pay the cost of another life. Am I very clear?"

Edward scowled and waited to continue until the entire student body nodded. He felt sick. "Take that as your next rule." He scrawled it onto the chalkboard, trusting his hand not to shake. Whispers from the Stone filled his ears so loud he could barely hear the chalk scraping across the board. 

"Now, let's return to the pencil." Edward returned to his desk, holding up the writing utensil. "Now we know what transfiguration could turn this into. But what can alchemy do? Let's revisit the first law. What is it?"

"Equivalent exchange," the class said.

"Correct. Any guesses on how it applies to this pencil?"

The class remained in nervous silence. Edward clicked his tongue.

"One cannot gain something without first giving something in return,” he recited casually, pacing to the front of his desk and leaning against it, “What did I do with the floor? I pulled stone up and molded it into a new shape- did you see the dent in the floor it made? But I did not create material out of nothing. It is the same with this. Anything I turn this pencil into must hold the same materials as the pencil. Now let's try again. What could I make with this pencil?"

Blank, nervous faces stared back at him.

"You," he selected a kid at random, landing on a scared Gryffindor. "What's your guess?"

"Um… a pen?" They asked hesitantly, as if he was going to snap their head off.

"Right range, but wrong concept." Edward said with a frown. “I could make it look like a pen, but I cannot turn graphite into ink. If I tried to make this a working pen, the transmutation would fail as it is not the correct materials. An ink pot though? That could easily become a glass pen. You. What do you think?" He selected another student.

"...A log?" They answered slightly more confidently than the first.

Edward nodded slowly, drawing a circle on the desk as he spoke. "Correct. I could separate the materials and turn the wood into a log. Though, I would call it more of a twig. Let's try it." He set the pencil inside and touched the edge of the circle. One spark of blue light later and the utensil sat in five neat pieces. "These are all the components of the pencil.” He held up the pieces one at a time, "Perhaps it is easier to visualize this way. Every object is made up of raw materials. When you look at transmuting an object, these are the materials you want to calculate. In fact, the first thing you should always ask before commencing a transmutation; what is the object made of?” Edward held up the five pieces to show them off, all small, neat cylinders of wood, graphite, metal, rubber, and dried paint.

“The next question: What can I do with these materials?” He drew three more quick circles, raising an eyebrow at the students for more suggestions, but the class was silent, watching him draw designs they could not see. Edward was painfully reminded that these kids were indeed wizards not prodigies. “Could it be a pin?” The first circle flashed and a gilded cloak pin was left behind. He showed it briefly. “How about a mirror?” Nodding at Penelope, he let another round of blue sparks fly, leaving behind a small, palm-sized mirror with a wooden backing. “Or perhaps, a decoration.” With the final circle, he left behind a small, beautifully detailed figure of a tree, golden strips of bark reaching up into green-tinted graphite leaves detailed down to the vein. The room full of teenagers stared at the display in some awe, and Edward was torn violently between hoping they were gaining a spark of understanding and hoping they were learning nothing at all.

"All of these things were created using only the materials of the pencil. No more, no less. Does that help your understanding?"

Many students nodded mutely, some seeming more sure than others.

"Good," Edward frowned disappointedly, "Now let's try again." He reached across his desk, selecting a jar out of a small pile of practice materials. He poured it out on the desk. "Sand." He announced, setting the jar aside, "Now who can tell me what can be made with this?"

~~~

Edward yawned tiredly as he limped his way down to dinner, voices rambling nervously in his chest. Truthfully, his nerves were so fried from the three lessons he'd held that day that he'd rather have skipped the crowds altogether and gone straight to bed, but the crawling in his stomach dragged him out of the quiet, guilt-ridden safety of his office and towards the great hall. Skirting the main doors, he elected to enter through the much smaller staff entrance placed by the head table, hoping to avoid attention.

Of course, Truth was never on his side.

"Professor Elric!" A no-nonsense, sharply polite voice called. Edward sighed.

"Professor Elric, why don't you come sit next to me?" Minerva McGonagall's tone, deceptively polite, left no room for suggestion.

Edward took a long look at the open seat next to her, the stone's anxious ramblings growing thicker and thicker. Then glanced at his usual seat by Severus, suddenly feeling as old as he was.

He didn't want to think anymore. The knowledge of where he was and what he was doing and the reminders at every turn were suffocating . He could hardly breathe.

"Not today, Professor McGonagall. Thank you," he forced a smile and waved his hand dismissively, pointedly ignoring the many stunned stares his way as he stopped at his usual seat just long enough to fill his plate with food, and backed away from the table altogether. "Evening, Severus." He thickly acknowledged the pale teacher when he opened his mouth to speak. Then, he promptly left the great hall, dinner in tow and the overwhelming weight of guilt choking his throat.

Chapter Text

[Present]

Edward never made it back to his room. Subconsciously, his feet carried him down a corridor, up two sets of stairs, around a corner, down a hallway… the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of that door. Its heavy, oaken frame loomed above his head. He stared at it for a few long moments, frozen in place while his dinner grew cold in his hands. 

'Don't' chanted faintly in his head against the tightness in his throat. Against his instincts, he entered and before he knew it, his fist was clutching gray fabric.

It hit the floor with a dull fwump.

"Hello, Brother."

"Al…" he choked out, the grassy waves of Resembool simultaneously like a breath of fresh air and being stabbed.

"You want me to tell you you're a terrible person," Alphonse noted matter of factly, bowing his head sadly.

"I am! What the hell am I doing, Al? I should just take that stone and run! This is a fool's errand. Albus and his plans be damned!"

"I can't let you do that," Alphonse folded his arms, a childish pout overtaking his face.

"Then you're the terrible person!" Edward raged agitatedly, smashing his flesh fist against the mirror's rim. Cursing loudly, he stepped back and shook his hand, the pain cooling his head a little. Closing his eyes tightly for a moment, he tried to cool the flame of frustration, sighing heavily. "Sorry, Al. I didn't mean that. It's those wizards… I can't do this. Alchemy should not exist in this world."

"But it does." 

"Only because I… and Hohenheim… it was a mistake . I never should have taught him."

"Would you like to see?" Alphonse asked in a strangely cold voice.

"What?" Edward asked, suddenly nervous.

"Right now you want, most of all, to never have taught Nicholas Flamel. Would you like to see that outcome?"

"I… Yes," Edward breathed, "I want to know if I did the right thing."

"Then I will show you." Alphonse said.

Behind him, the flowing grasses of Resembool began to fade.

~~~

It was that day.

The Promised Day.

Edward's breath caught in his throat.

Bodies littered the ground, Amestris still and silent. The sky was coated with red. Entranced by the vision in his eyes, Edward took a few hesitant steps closer to the silver-laid glass. Alphonse smiled sadly. The image of Amestris swirled away and a scene of a dark and dusty room replaced it. Wooden walls, lit by the dim glow of a flickering candlelit lantern, shrouded a lonely figure sat upon a creaky stool, a manic glint in his eyes.

"The answer… the final answer! It must be here somewhere!" Nicholas Flamel muttered, wildly flipping through the pages of an ancient book. In his fervor, he knocked a strangely familiar wand by his hand. It clattered onto the floor but Nicholas paid it no mind, gasping as he stopped his frantic paging, staring reverently at a page, brushing his fingers over and over the corner. "Is it?" Flamel hardly dared to breathe as he ripped the page out of the book, slamming it shut and shoving it away. A rock dropped in Edward's chest as he recognized the cover; Theorie Der Alchimie .

Nicholas held the page up to the light of the lantern, lifting a small pair of glasses to his nose for further inspection. Edward wished he could step forward and get a closer look, but the mirror did not allow him. Scowling, Nicholas slapped the paper onto the desk, fumbling for the wand and cursing under his breath as he had to crawl under the desk for it.

Re-situated, Nicholas pointed it at the paper. "Revealio," he whispered, giving a half-suppressed laugh in delight as golden words curled across the page. "It's here!" He whispered with reverence. He stroked the page tenderly, almost lovingly , bearing no sign of the frantic madness he had held before. 

The image swirled to a new room. A library. Nicholas stood before a number of pages arranged on the floor, each bearing words Edward could not read that glowed golden, gently illuminating the room in their light.

"The final formula," Nicholas murmured reverently as he stood before the paper circle. He held out a bottle of dark liquid, pouring it into the center. "Innocence," he placed the glass down, "And purity," Standing once more, he tapped his wand to his forehead, closing his eyes.

A wispy silver string trailed from the wand as he pulled it away from his head. Nicholas sighed as it disconnected and dangled freely from the wand. He held it over the papers and let the wisp float to the floor. 

"Combined." He touched the wand to the edge of the gold letters. In a deep voice, Nicholas started to chant.

His words were quickly lost to a violent thrumming. The golden letters turned red and the room began to tremble. The papers began to rise, the silver wisp and the liquid with it, the two swirling together until they, too, were lost from sight as the red glow overtook the mirror's vision. Edward's throat ran dry. "No…" he murmured in quiet defeat.

Behind Alphonse, the scene changed again. 

A stone; large, disfigured, and bearing a golden core was clutched in Nicholas' hand. His fingers were trembling, stood in a forest raked with dead trees and drying grass, dead birds littering the ground amongst the browned leaves. 

"Bleed for me," Nicholas demanded, letting out the chuckle of a madman as he pressed his wand into the translucent stone, drawing out the golden liquor.

The scene changed before the wizard could cup his hands and drink it.

"It's mine! Mine! I will not stop, Adeline!"

"How much price is enough? I know what it does, Nicholas! How many towns, how many cities and lands has it been? I can support this no longer. Please… let it go. Let's just live the rest of our lives in peace…" a woman begged Nicholas.

"This is our life!" The man snapped.

The images continued to come, getting shorter and faster- sick animals and people, dead forests, dried rivers and polluted waters, empty fields filled with bones and sand, rows and rows and rows of graves, all surrounding Flamel and his damned misshapen stone. Edward felt acid climbing up his throat.

"Stop," He choked out hoarsely, licking his lips and tasting salt, "I don't want to see this. Please stop."

Slowly, the final image was blessedly wiped away and replaced with the familiar vision of home , green grasses alive and swaying in the gentle breeze. Though now, Edward didn't find it so comforting.

"You asked to see," Alphonse shrugged. Exhausted and disheartened, Edward slowly sank to the floor in silence. Faintly in the distance, many pairs of footsteps and happy chatting echoed down the castle's halls as dinner finished up, stomachs full and warm. Carefree.

"...It's hopeless, isn't it? I'm an old fool." Edward murmured at long last, a bitter smile upon his lips. "Humans. We… will never stop trying to play god, will we?"

The mirror only offered a sad smile in return.

"But we're not," Edward sighed in a whisper, "and we never will be." He swallowed, looking up into his (not his) brother's eyes. "It's a little cruel, isn't it? We're always reaching for something we can never achieve." Metal fingers clacked against the glass, inches away from Alphonse's hand. "So why, then, do we keep trying?"

"Perhaps out of foolishness, or… because you have hope." Alphonse voiced his own thoughts for him.

"Right…" Edward still didn't feel convinced. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, Edward absently tracing meaningless lines into the thin layer of dust on the floor. The mirror watched.

"...Brother?"

"...Thanks, Al." Edward refused to meet his brother's figure in the eyes. Instead, he rolled creakily to his feet, pulling the gray sheet up with him. "I'm just tired. Goodnight."

The fabric draped unceremoniously over the mirror, Edward scooping up his forgotten dinner plate and making a face at it. He didn't feel like eating anymore. Quietly, he left the lonely room, welcoming the dim light of the hallway outside. 

Uncertain thoughts followed him all the way back to his room, simultaneously settling some of the guilt weighing down his shoulders and creating new unsettling revelations. If what Alphonse had shown him was right, then it didn't matter that he had taken Nicholas on as an apprentice. It didn't matter he had brought alchemy to this world. The wizards would have always tried to play god. No matter how he meddled, or if he had simply ceased to exist, pride would find a way to cause pain.

It didn't matter.

It was so laughably sickening, Edward wanted to scream. His punishment. His cross to bear. It all made sense now.

Edward had failed . Truth hadn't sent him here for atonement. Truth had sent him here to watch another world's sins. He was here to suffer like Amestris itself had suffered.

A life for a life. A world's grief for another's. But when would the pain be fulfilled?

He could almost hear Truth cackling in his ears.

'We are here,' his Stone whispered. 'We don't deserve this!' more voices wailed.

"No, you don't." The voices pulsing in his chest shattered his reverie. "You never should…" he murmured, "...Truth, what are you playing at, huh?!" his sudden outburst echoed down the hall louder than he intended. Grumbling, the giant that guarded his room peeked open an eye and shook his fist at him from the painting and Edward realized that he had reached his quarters.

"Sorry Ingus. Alphonse." He sighed. Not for the first time, he regretted making that name his password. The painting unlatched.

"Elric?" A familiar seedy voice approached. Edward stopped in his tracks. 

"Professor Snape," he greeted coolly, as if he hadn't just been having half of a meltdown.

"Was that you shouting just now?" the man asked suspiciously.

"What are you doing here?" he evaded with a defensive scowl. Severus matched his expression equally.

"You blew off Minerva at dinner. Nobody blows her off like that."

"Well I do." Edward huffed, inching toward his door. He didn't want to engage in a battle of wills right now.

"What's wrong with you?" the greasy man asked exasperatedly.

"Why do you care?" he shot back, crossing his arms. "Look, this has nothing to do with Quirrell, so you can turn your silly robes around and go back to your own business."

"Temperamental, as always." Snape rolled his eyes irritatedly. "What if I'm asking as colleagues? If we're going to be working together, we may as well make it less… unpleasant." The potions professor looked almost constipated getting out the last words. Edward composed himself through the thick tension. 

"You may have a point," he amended unhappily, "But don't expect me to get all heart to heart with you. I didn't feel like talking to McGonagall right then. End of story."

Nodding, the tension in Severus' shoulders dropped minutely, now stiff as a board rather than a slab of stone. "And the shouting?"

"Was me." Edward nodded toward and elbowed Ingus' painting and the giant threw hands. "I need sleep. Goodnight."

With that, he made a hasty retreat into his room. 

"Ugh…" he groaned, collapsing in the chair by the softly glowing fire after abandoning his dinner. First Truth and now this. The mournful irony of the whole situation was getting to him. Getting close to him was generally a bad idea. He made sure to be rude, annoying, and generally unlikeable to the common public. Hell, he may as well be carrying a large glowing sign that read 'STAY AWAY'. But despite his efforts, the teachers still weren't giving up. Albus had never given up either.

His methods usually worked on muggles, at least. Maybe wizards were just too stupid.

Grumbling to himself and the Stone, he toed off his dress shoes and grabbed his battered journal and a pen. Settling deep in the chair, he began to write. Crossing lines, adding notes, filling the journal with his new thoughts was always a smooth dance of ink, looking innocent to any onlookers. However, before two hours had passed, the pen clattered to the floor, Edward fast asleep in the armchair.

That night, his sleep was near dreamless, filled only with a distant, glaring white and a gleeful cackling echoing in his ears.

Chapter Text

[Present]

It was at breakfast that McGonagall managed to corner him.

Reluctantly starving, Edward blearily made his way down to the great hall at his usual early hour. After the events of last night, he wasn't too enthused about the risk of socializing, tempted to hole up in his room, sore and cold and exhausted, until he was forced to go to class and fulfill the demands of his damned contract with Albus. Unfortunately, his overactive metabolism said otherwise, and wizards, the social creatures that they were, had seemingly never heard of the concept of room service.

To add insult to injury, when he finally limped his way into the great hall, a couple small clusters of students looked up from their tables to stare at him, and eating patiently at the head table sat professors Quirrell and McGonagall, the latter watching him carefully with a single raised brow.

Edward cursed generously in his mind as he made his way up to the teacher's table, chin held high.

"Professor Elric," Minerva greeted coolly.

"Good m-morning, P-Professor Elric, Quirrell stuttered with a nervous smile and a small wave. 

Edward sat in a chair nearby, resigned to his fate as he reached for a plate stacked with toast.

"Perhaps you would like some tea in my office after breakfast?" McGonagall proposed. It wasn't a question.

"Sure," Waving his hand passively in acknowledgement, Edward spread butter on his bread a little too harshly, his automail giving what he hoped looked more like a nervous spasm than a mechanical failure. It was disappointing really, how much technology had progressed beyond what he remembered from Amestris, except in the realm of disability accommodations. As broken as his limbs were, they still far surpassed the best "modern" medicine had to offer. The wizards were faring better, bearing the ability to completely regrow limbs like a lizard under close supervision, but he wouldn't dare relive the pointless agony he'd experienced when it had once been attempted on him . He swore he'd heard Truth laughing in his ears as the magic had failed. The resulting panic and disturbing fizzing from the Stone hadn't helped.

It had been a stupid moment of selfishness. 

Chowing through his overly-hearty breakfast, Edward stole quiet glances at Minerva and Quirrell. Minerva seemed to be waiting for him, merely taking dainty sips of something that smelled like pumpkin spice. Quirrell kept his head down as he ate while reading out of some book, taking glances at students anytime they came through the doors, as if he was looking out for someone. Edward pretended to pay him no mind.

When his plate emptied, Minerva set down her cup.

"You mentioned tea?" Edward proffered politely before she could turn to him. 

"Come with me." 

Minerva led him through the long hallways, heels clapping ominously on the floor. Edward understood why some of the students were terrified of her; she had a flair for the dramatics just like he had when he'd been her age. He chuffed humorously under his breath and she gave him a wordless singularly raised eyebrow.

"Sit," she commanded when they reached her office, casually shooting sparks into the fireplace where a kettle hung waiting and procuring a tray of biscuits from nowhere that she set upon the desk. "Earl grey or breakfast?"

"Breakfast, please." Edward placed himself in the cushioned chair that sat opposite her desk. It was lumpy, but he was thankful for the squish that was more comfortable than the hard wood of the great hall's thrones. He watched Minerva putz around her office with an air of dramatized stiffness, gracefully accepting the drink that she offered him in a teacup gilded lightly with silver trim. 

They sat and sipped for a few moments in silence until McGonagall finally spoke.

"I hear you decided to teach your students using… unconventional methods." she pried.

" Everything about alchemy is unconventional to you wizards," Edward responded, humored. He continued to sip his tea. Minerva's face soured. 

"You attacked a student in your class."

"Ah, I see the issue. Correction!" Edward held up a finger, wagging it with an amused smirk, "I asked a student to attack me . I merely 'defended' myself as a demonstration. Besides, nobody was hurt. Is there a problem?" 

"You are intimidating and putting students in danger on their first day!" the witch emphasized unhappily.

"And?" Edward leaned forward, gently tapping his fingertips together, "Professor McGonagall, alchemy is dangerous. For the students to not understand their consequences may be fatal. I know I am not the only class that uses practical lessons. Hell, you even have a dueling club, do you not? On which lesson would you expect me to begin demonstrating the dangers? Two? Three? Ten? The only thing that changes is their awareness of what they are handling. If you actually asked me, I could say that they are in less 'danger' when told up front." Leaning back in his chair and sighing dramatically, he added, "Besides, that was a very controlled situation. I would hardly call it life threatening. I daresay that it was even very nice of me."

"Nice? And for the record, Elric, active dueling has not been practiced here for at least forty years due to student injury." Minerva seemed to have controlled her mask of calm, merely pointing an eyebrow at him and sipping from her teacup with a pinky lightly out. The picture of quaint.

"I see," Edward hmmed, "Well… my teacher taught me by throwing knives at my head. With that in consideration, I think you would have to rate my demonstration as on more fair grounds."  McGonagall's eyes narrowed, searching his forehead as if he had any scars to show for it. Unfortunately for her, any scars he'd had to show from Amestris had faded long, long ago. He didn't even remember if he'd ever gotten any on his face to begin with. The Stone wouldn't allow his skin to be anything but pristine.

"Who was your teacher?" Minerva kept her cool.

"No-one you need be concerned about." Edward kept his face painfully straight. In truth, and something he was loath to admit to even himself, for a time, he hadn't even remembered Izumi Curtis' name. It had simply been swallowed by time, and it wasn't the only name he had forgotten. The sick irony of it all was that the very people he was forgetting were all very likely still with him in his chest. The sharp price he had to pay. Unlike Hohenheim, he couldn't communicate with them individually. 

In a mad fervor, one night long ago, he had written down every single name he could remember on a piece of paper. But by then, to his mistake and deep chagrin, it had already been too late to remember some in full. Others he hadn't been able to recall at all. 

And then there was the faces.

He had screamed, when he'd realized- cried when he had been unable to recall the faces. What color were Winry's eyes? Did Fuery have a beard? Was Breda's hair black or brown? Winry's parents were… were…

Some of these things- precious, precious few- had been answered by Erised. Others were lost forever. Being a crack shot at drawing, Edward had furiously sworn to remember at least the names on the page. It was all he could do.

"All you need to know is that Albus Dumbledore trusts me, and that I am older than I seem. I know what I am doing."

"Yes… he does trust you, and because of that, I have no doubt of what you speak… but perhaps I shall speak more directly to the point. He has not answered me this; how old are you? Who are you? You do not strike me as just the simple alchemist both of you are playing it out to be." McGonagall, with well-practiced casualness, gracefully poured herself another cuppa, giving a tiny sniff as she leaned back with her steaming mug. Her piercing eyes never left Edward as she did so.

"Ahh…" Edward studied her. Was he detecting… concern? Confusion? Irritation? …Jealousy? "As nosey as he is, Albus is always very good at keeping secrets ," Edward replied with a grim, sardonic smile. "I'm afraid he may have picked up some of that from me."

"You've known him for a long while, then?"

"...Something like that. You could say. In truth, I believe he is more invested in me, than I am to him. If it eases your fears, you could call this situation as both of us simply… doing each other a final favor. I do not trust him with the stone, he does not trust me to stick around. My teaching contract is simply extra insurance. But hear me this," Edward leaned much closer, voice dropping an octave and finger prodding the table in emphasis, "I have no intention of harming any students in this facility. I am here to do what I can to protect them from the worst at least until the stone is safely secured elsewhere. You needn't fear my company nor presence."

"You will not throw knives at our students, then?" Minerva quipped, her shoulders relaxing a little, though the odd look never left her face. Edward laughed.

"No! No. I do not think the little fledgelings would be able to handle such a method! I am not my teacher. And while I hold similar values, I also bear no interest in trying to speed teach my art. Some things… need not be passed on." Perhaps the entire class, he thought to himself amidst the grumblings from his Stone.

"I appreciate your insights. In future, please try to keep any fighting out of your classroom, at least for the first and second years. What goes around, comes around, yes?"

"I hear." Edward placated patiently, "And thank you for the tea. But I will not cease to show students the potential dangers of what they are handling. They deserve to know what kind of power they are playing with, for the safety of themselves and others. Would you teach apparition or the art of animagi without due warning? However, you can do me a favor." Edward mentioned as he stood from his chair, preparing to end the conversation.

"And what is that?"

"If you see any student, I don't care what year, trying to perform alchemy without my presence, stop them and let me know, yeah? And whatever you do, don't try to counter the alchemy with magic while it is active. Actually, I should let all of the teachers know that." he mused. 

"What would that do?"

"Nothing good happens when you mix that kind of science with magic. Which is something the students will be learning very quickly, if they get that far."

"I see." McGonagall paused, speaking up again only when Edward had his hand on the door handle, "Why is Albus asking you to teach, if alchemy is so dangerous?"

"I expect," Edward replied with a soft, pursed-lip smile, "that it is simply the whims of a long-lost dream. Good day, Professor McGonagall."

~~~

Harry Potter didn't quite know what to expect with wizarding school. Between the ghosts, Peeves, the castle's confusing moving hallways and stairs, and the strange and unusual classes, he was still feeling overwhelmed on the second day. Fortunately, his new wizardly friend Ron wasn't too much better off.

"I swear," Ron groused as Harry helped him pull his leg out of the hidden collapsing stair for the second time that day, "did they not think about student safety when they made this place?" he frowned, mourning the new splinter in his ankle.

"Maybe it wasn't built for students? Like a reused building?" Harry guessed unhelpfully.

"Then why would it be a school now? Wouldn't they like, un-curse the place first?" Ron pointed out as they continued to their next class. 

"It makes sense that they would I guess," Harry shrugged, not knowing much about un-cursing, and glanced down at his paper schedule. Their next class was Alchemy, something Harry was looking forward to as he'd met Professor Elric before. It was one of the only things he had more knowledge of than the rest of the students. Not to mention that this was the first year that the class was being taught, meaning everyone in the whole school was on the same level.

Ron was not looking forward to alchemy. "I don't see why they are adding this class anyway. Percy said that the Professor attacked a student in the first class! What if we're told to duel the teacher or something? He looked real mean."

 "He's not so bad," Harry defended for the umpteenth time. "I think he's more… sickly?" he thought back, remembering that the professor had spent most of their time together limping and cursing and, he suspected after the bank, about to faint.

"Yeah, but, what if it's a ploy? Percy said he attacked -"

"Didn't your other brothers say that they had to fight a troll to get sorted?"

"Well, yeah, but Percy's not a liar like them. He's the family favorite."

"Oh." Said Harry, suddenly feeling a lot more nervous as they joined the growing collection of students nearing the alchemy classroom. If they had to fight , well… he supposed he had some experience with Dudley and his gang, but it always ended up with him on the ground and his glasses broken (again). No, he was not good at fighting, just running away.

The classroom itself looked unimposing, when they all entered. Nothing hung on the walls and the chalkboard at the head was wiped clean. Each desk had a stack of papers and a pencil laid neatly atop, to Harry's relief. He was still figuring out how to write with a quill. His (admittedly vague) notes from History of Magic had big ink splotches all over them already. He and Ron picked seats at the very back of class.

It was only after everyone had been seated that the Professor came out of the back room and planted himself in front of his desk, staring down the whole room. Harry was immediately intimidated by his narrowed golden eyes, much in a similar way as he had been for McGonagall's staredown in her transfiguration class the day before. Was this just a normal wizard thing?

"Right," Professor Elric glared at them, crossing his arms. "Is everyone here?" his sharply golden eyes scanned the entire room, seeming to linger longer than necessary on each student. The silence intensified. Upon no objection, he nodded. "Good. Then let's begin. Welcome to Intro to Alchemy. I am Professor Elric, and if you have any stupid questions, please point them out the window because I am about to explain everything from square one."

~~~

Harry and Ron left Professor Elric's class with relief, minds whirring at the information they had received. 

"And I thought Professor McGonagall was strict," Ron complained as they trudged to lunch, "Why is he even teaching if he just wants to kick everyone out of class? Professor Elric is crazy!"

"You could just leave the class, you know." a bushy-haired girl- Hermione, Harry remembered, spoke up. "He only wants to kick out those who don't want to learn. What else would you go to school for?"

Ron made a scrunched face. "That's none of your business, is it?" He shot back at her. She huffed, lifting her chin in the air and stalking away. "Oh, good. She left."

Harry was glad nobody broke out into a fight. He relaxed some. "It was a little crazy. None of the other teachers have threatened to kick us out. At least he didn't make us fight him." Professor Elric had seemed moody as usual, but in better spirits than he had been when they had visited Gringotts. He hadn't given Harry any weird looks or attention during class (the first teacher so far), which had made Harry feel much less uncomfortable in his class. He still wasn't used to the celebrity attention. Between that and the fact that his class seemed to be based more in science, which Harry was familiar with, left him with a strange hope about fitting in. It had at least left him able to help Ron by whispering facts in his ear rather than the other way around for once. 

"Yeah. But he taught us how to throw a punch. What's that supposed to mean?" Ron speculated, mimicking the motion that Professor Elric had suddenly drilled them into in the middle of explaining the danger of relying only on wands. Harry shrugged. "I guess it was memorable. And he didn't assign homework aside from that!"

"Unlike Professor Binns." Harry agreed mournfully. "If there was any class I wish I could get kicked out of…"

Ron snorted. "That would be the one. No contest. I'd rather eat my foot!"

~~~

On Friday, Edward found himself trumping down the stairs to the great hall in some relief; the rain had let up leaving his sore ports feeling better, and it was the last day of teaching before the weekend. Nobody had died yet, although he had received a daring letter of love from some fourth year student that he had effectively removed from class and subsequently threatened termination from his classroom over with every successive class, then displayed outside of his classroom with an obnoxious "NO. :)" written on it. 

This had caused many giggles from students when seen, but Edward's goal seemed to have been achieved as he hadn't received any more unwarranted love confessions for his new wall of shame.

Settling in his seat next to Severus, he unrolled his Daily Prophet prepared to read it over bacon and eggs with his usual disinterest as early bird students slowly filtered into the hall. Instead, today's headline caught his eye.

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

"Oh boy," Edward shook his head, "So much for their un-stealable claims. Hang on…" He frowned when the article mentioned the attempted thievery date. "This…"

"Edward?" Snape asked as he stood abruptly from his chair, the remains of his breakfast forgotten. The potions professor craned his neck to try and read the article but Edward, on a mission, rolled up the paper and immediately marched away out of the hall. 

He was so preoccupied he nearly crashed into a first year on his way out. "Oh my god, sorry, Professor!" she squeaked with wide eyes, almost dropping her stack of books. Edward waved her off, continuing on his way. 

Footsteps echoed behind him, and Edward would have rolled his eyes at Severus following him but the sudden panic choking his throat kept him preoccupied. Only checking to see if anyone else was following, Edward broke out into a run once he reached the first empty hallway, thankful not for the first time that not many were about this early in the morning. 

'Find it, it must be there!' his Stone was shouting. As fast as he could unseen by students, he reached the lonely room where Erised sat. Only mildly relieved by the still-locked door, Edward burst into the room and ripped the gray sheet off of the keeper of the Stone. 

"Alphonse?" Edward panicked at the briefly empty glass. One blink later, he gasped as the familiar figure of his brother appeared. Edward pressed his hand against the glass, searching for the tearing, raw feeling of the philosopher's stone still inside, breathing a sigh of relief as the horrifying feeling ripped through him. 

'Save it!' his chest still panicked and Edward struggled to catch his breath as his confused body's adrenaline tried to settle against the riot that was his Stone. He sighed and slumped his forehead against the mirror.

"Brother?" Alphonse's confused voice spoke out.

"Alphonse?" A nasally voice wheezed behind him. Shit. Swallowing a mouthful of expletives, Edward turned around to face Snape, mentally kicking himself for forgetting about him. "Who is that? What is this about?" The man had his hands on his knees, whipped from chasing him up three flights of stairs. Barely keeping himself from snapping none of your business!, Edward peeled himself off of the cold mirror and double checked the hallway outside before shutting the door and making sure the silencing spell was active.

"Why did you follow me?" Edward bit harshly.

"Am I not allowed to be concerned for a colleague when they burst off in a panic?" Snape growled back. Behind the annoyance, there was something strange in the look he gave Ed.

"Here." Edward tossed the Prophet to him. "A break-in to Gringotts , the day Hagrid and I were picking up Flamel's stone? A just-emptied emptied vault? You can't tell me it was a coincidence! That means someone knew where the Stone was being kept, and may know where it is now! It's not safe here!"

Severus read the article slowly, eyebrows furrowing. Finally, he looked up at Edward with a sigh of defeat. "You are likely right, and this should be brought to Dumbledore. I… also have some news that might be best to share under this revelation, that you may not like to hear."

"What?"

With a thick veil of calm, Severus hesitantly pushed up the sleeve of his right arm. Edward frowned deeply when he saw the dark snake and skull that lay there.

"A death eater…?" Edward's frown turned darker.

"During the war, I was a highly successful spy for Albus Dumbledore," Snape explained as Edward's hands creeped closer together. "Due to my immense skill in occlumency and pretentious nature, I was able to fool He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named whilst gathering intel from his ranks. Nobody suspected me. I thought I recognized Quirrell's voice from somewhere, and performed an… experiment. And I was right. Death eaters can always find out who each other are if they try." the man explained with a slightly sadistic grin. "I'll admit, it was fun to give him a scare."

"Why did you not tell me this earlier?" Edward seethed.

"Relax. I had my suspicions, but only confirmed so recently. It is also not every day one hands out such deep secrets." Snape sniffed, raising a thick eyebrow at him. "You must understand the weight of the trust I am placing in you right now."

"Yeah." Edward grumbled, still not relaxing but a little appeased.

"I have little doubt that Quirrell is working with You-Know-Who and trying to find the philosopher's stone, but while we can both guarantee that while he knows it is somewhere in this castle, I can assure you that he is unaware of precisely where . And something is certainly more off with him than just this. I have been tailing him at night when I can."

"You know… thank you." Edward thanked genuinely, surprised. Severus sniffed pretentiously. "I don't know why I didn't do that myself sooner."

'Because you were with Them.'

"...I suppose I should share something in return. Equivalent exchange." Edward chewed his lip nervously.

'No, no no no!'

"You probably already guessed, but that mirror has something to do with the stone. I will not tell you how it works, but try not to look at your reflection. It's quite addictive." Edward tried to cover up his shaky nerves by stalking over to cover the frame once more. "We must keep Quirrell away from this room at all costs."

"I see," Snape crossed his arms contemplatively. "I had wondered why I caught you in this hallway that one night."

"And you were following Quirrell." Edward shot back. "Which means he got close to this room. Damnit, Albus!" Edward stomped his foot in frustration, his prosthetic banging a little harder than it should have against the stone floor causing a dangerous creak. "Quirrell is also designing his own part for the protection. I bet he's going to try to sabotage. And we have an information leak. Who put Flamel's stone in the vault? How was the vault number leaked? Albus said it was only he and Nicholas… damnit! Nicholas is not known for his subtlety."

"Would that not mean the Stone is more secure now? Since it is out of his hands?"

"Not if Albus let him know. Ugh! Come if you want," Edward snatched the newspaper off the floor, "Professor Dumbledore and I are going to have a long chat."

Chapter Text

[Present]

Edward marched swiftly through Hogwarts with the aura of a fiery tempest, Severus trailing more discreetly behind. More students were awake now and beginning to fill the halls, skipping out of the way in surprise when they saw their angry alchemy professor heading their way.

Edward paid them no mind, his thoughts set on the single task of appeasing his and his Stone's panic.

'Protect, protectprotectSAVE THEM!'

"Bertie Bott's!" Edward snapped at the gargoyle outside of the headmaster's office, the stone beast lazily growling and scooting out of the way. Marching up the stairs, Edward did not bother to knock, instead kicking the door open with a strangely desperate vengeance. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" 

"Edmu-Edward, I will admit, I never expected to see you in my office this early, but I must insist that you please kno-" The Professor sat at his desk, eyebrows raised, and head still bearing a royal purple nightcap. Edward rudely interrupted, slapping the newspaper down atop his desk.

"Explain this! How did someone find out the vault number?"

Albus reached for the paper, grasping it in his bony fingers and adjusting his glasses accordingly. To Edward's satisfaction, he caught a brief flicker of shock cross the elderly man's face before it was quickly smoothed over by his cool countenance. The headmaster daintily placed the paper back down with a sigh.

"A successful break-in to Gringott's… It seems our adversary is more determined than we thought. Is the Stone currently safe?"

"You tell me." Crossing his arms, Edward frowned impatiently. "Does Nicholas know of the plan? What were you thinking? How was the information exchanged? And between you and Van Hohenheim too, at that! How much of a security breach do we have?!"

"...I understand your concerns all too well, Edward, and I will admit, I may have underestimated Voldemort's current influence."

"Really, now? 

Albus held up a finger and continued, "It seems that our methods of communication may have been being tracked. Between Mr. Flamel and I, it was merely by owl. As for Sir Hohenheim… he and I have been in contact for several years. I made a personal visit to his home."

"I do not trust that man as far as I can throw him," Edward seethed, beginning to pace, "But he would not have revealed the Stone by himself. Your mail must have been intercepted in communications with Nicholas. What about the teachers? Did you even know of Quirrell's standing? He's been wandering the halls trying to find the Stone for weeks! A fucking death eater! Seriously, Albus? Did I teach you nothing?"

"No, you did not," Albus replied with the slightest hint of haughtiness. "I will admit, I missed the early warning signs with Quirrell. We were in desperate need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. However, now that he is in position, would it not be more revealing of ourselves to raise the alarm? We do not know how Voldemort is communicating to him, or how many more he has reached, and if he were to suddenly disappear, it may invite more trouble than we wish in his stead. At least here, we know where he is and can track his movements. For I can say with some confidence that this," he held up the newspaper, "Was of Quirrell's or someone equally reached by his request or doing. Voldemort is not strong enough to be communicating much more than this, nor has Severus, known for being one of his most loyal followers, been alerted upon. He has no body, and but a remnant of his soul left. I can nigh guarantee whomever is working for him is only Quirrell, or working directly through Quirrell"

"Be that as it may, might it be best practice to cease using his name? We all know that during the war that was but a flag for instant death. And if he is slowly gaining power, or talking to Quirrell, then what be the risks of keeping him in the castle, breaking our cover aside? For all we know, You-Know-Who may be residing in this castle at this very moment!"

"I believe that is where I may come into play." Severus finally spoke up. "For one, while your concerns are valid," he nodded at Edward, "If the name ban were put back in place, I would know immediately. However, I do think it wise to exercise caution for the general public. But, everyone already knows that Albus Dumbledore resides in Hogwarts. Two, Quirrell knows I am a death eater. I am perfectly capable of, shall we say, warming him up to some information sharing."

"Three," Albus spoke, "We should all keep an extra close eye on Harry. But do not make him aware. He may be in just as much danger as the philosopher's stone."

Severus looked like he swallowed a lemon. "Yes… Let us hope that the boy has enough sense to keep his head down, unlike someone I knew."

"Well," Dumbledore clapped his hands together, "Does that answer your questions?"

"No." Stated Edward, "No, I'm not done yet. What are we doing to stop Quirrell finding more information? He is already dangerously close to the source, and he is even helping make one of the traps! I don't call that a good idea. By the time your lovely pieces have been set up, he's going to know exactly where the stone is!"

"For now, I will pretend to be on his side and feed him wrong leads. The man is timid; simply me being aware of his presence has put him on edge, and when on edge, he is extremely sloppy.  That stutter isn't completely from nowhere." Snape said with a self-satisfied tone. 

"As for the rest, as I said, we must continue letting him believe he has a chance, if we wish to continue keeping a close eye on him. He will be one of the last putting his trap in line, meaning one of the first to be encountered. He will not have much chance to see the rest."

"But, if he has had a chance to break into your office as I have," Walking his fingers across the desk, Edward let his pacing take him around it to open a drawer, "Then he will thusly know the basic ideas of each puzzle and the order." Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out the list of puzzle ideas that he had peeked at ages ago. He made a face at it. "I will destroy this. If there are any other physical copies, you must get rid of them as well. You must stop thinking that Hogwarts is safe. It is never safe especially while the enemy resides in it." He lectured sharply, tearing the parchment to scraps and clapping them in-between his palms. The pieces burst into flames, and he let them turn to soot in his right hand. "Not one room."

"Your observations hold weight." Albus agreed grimly, "It seems our judgment has lapsed under the comforts of home. Thank you for the reminder. Severus, it sounds like Quirrell is in good hands. Please find out exactly how much more the professor knows than he should. We will also raise security measures at night. More patrols, although we will have to do our best to keep it subtle. Now, I do believe it is close to classtime and I still need to get properly dressed. Shall we?" Albus gestured to the door. Edward nodded, not feeling at ease, but slightly better at the reassurance of higher precautions. He and Snape turned to leave.

"Oh, and Edward?" Dumbledore called out before he was fully out the door, "Have you ever met an auror named Alastor Moody? I do believe you two would get along quite well."

"Fuck off. Damn wizards." Edward muttered too quietly to hear and closed the door.

~~~

It was with great self-restraint that Edward managed to make it to his classroom office without kicking a wall. His leg was already creaking dangerously from when he'd stamped it on the floor. It was almost funny; after six hundred years he'd never quite learnt to be as nice to his prosthetics as he should. He almost missed the wrenches to his head. 

He had half a mind to send Nicholas a fucking howler, but with the possibility of mail being intercepted and the very nature of screaming letters it was an atrociously bad idea. Really, he should have just taken the stone and run the minute it crossed his fingertips, bargain with Albus be damned. But now that it was stuck in the mirror, he couldn't very well take off with it as much as he wanted to. Removing it was something he wasn't sure was even possible anymore.

"Hell to it all!" He muttered angrily towards himself. Stupid, stupid! It seemed like every turn he was taking was the wrong one, and now he had no choice but to eat the consequences once again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Edward shuffled through his office for a cane. He'd have to suffer with it for the time being until he had time to fix his automail, which would likely involve removing the piece entirely. The souls in his chest writhed in discomfort and discontent. "I'm trying…" he murmured to them, equally disappointed but trying vainly to comfort. 

Outside the room, he heard the quiet voices of students beginning to pour in and settle in the classroom seats. "One more round." He told himself. Grasping his cane firmly and taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the room, head held high. 

~~~

"I'm telling you, I was there, Ron!  I just know that the vault Professor Elric emptied was the one that got robbed!" Harry insisted as they walked back to the castle from Hagrid's hut, pockets filled kindly with unwanted rock cakes.

"I believe you," Ron affirmed for the second time, "But what was in that package? And who is desperate enough to try stealing it from Gringott's?"

"I don't know." Harry shrugged, "But when Professor Elric pulled it out of the vault, he got all pale and shaky and stuff. I thought he was going to be sick."

"That's gotta be some powerful dark magic artifact then," Ron said seriously, "My brother Bill's a curse breaker in Egypt. He's told me some terrible stories of evil stuff like that. It's not something you want to mess with."

"Then why would Hagrid and Professor Elric want it?" 

"Beats me," Ron shrugged, "But Professor Elric is kind of a stick, isn't he? Seems like the type to get into some sketchy business."

"Yeah…" Harry frowned, "But I don't know, he really didn't seem happy about the package. I don't think he wanted anything to do with it. And there's no way Hagrid would help him do something evil. Maybe… maybe he knew it was going to get stolen so he was getting it a new hiding place?"

Ron nodded slowly, pondering. "Maybe. I wonder where would be more secure than Gringott's though? Maybe in Egypt, you think?"

~~~

Come morning, Harry still didn't have an answer. It was a chilly and rainy Saturday, and the boys didn't have much better to do than explore (and get very lost in) the castle. At some point, Ron had leaned against a tapestry and nearly tumbled through, which had subsequently led to them being even more lost (the passage the tapestry had been too tempting not to go through, but all they had found was a dark hallway and some spiderwebs).

Ron had screamed when a web scraped his hair and they burst out the other side of the secret tunnel, the red-headed boy frantically batting at his hair. 

"There's nothing there!" Harry reassured lamely as his friend panicked.

"What's going on here?" In the middle of the panic, Harry and Ron had missed the tapping footsteps of Professor Elric rapidly approaching.

"Nothing!" Harry said, feeling guilty for he didn't know what. He eyed the silver Gothic cane that the professor wielded. Why did he have a cane?

"S-Spiders, professor!" Ron admitted, embarrassed and still smoothing down his hair with a shudder.

"Spiders?" Elric frowned, relaxing his shoulders a tad. Ron's ears turned red.

"I hate them…" he mumbled. 

"There was spiderwebs." Harry added unhelpfully.

Shaking his head, Professor Elric leaned into his cane, slightly incredulous. "Spiders… I hate to break it to you, kid, but you're in an ancient castle. There is going to be spiders everywhere."

Ron paled.

"But," he waggled a finger, voice turning a little more gentle with Ron's apparent state, "if you stick to the main halls they are regularly cleaned. Should be pretty spider-free there. Now, care to tell me why you are so close to the forbidden 3rd floor corridor?"

"We, um, we got lost…" Harry admitted. Had they really wandered that far? He looked around the hallway where they stood, noting the fine layer of dust on the nearby suits of armor. 

"We don't know where we are, I swear!" Ron added. "There was a secret passage…" 

Elric pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming exasperated. "Yes, I can see that." He waved his cane toward the rumpled tapestry behind them. It was caught on the corner of the passageway. The two boys shuffled their feet guiltily.

"Well. You really ought to be more careful, should you not? Potter and… Weasley, was it? Never know where there might be more spiders lurking. Come, I will escort you back to civilization. And I never want to see you two dalliancing near the forbidden corridor again, hear? That shit's dangerous."

"Yes sir," they glumly replied. Harry felt immense relief they hadn't lost any house points from their accident, even though they had been sworn at, and glanced at his friend, who was looking at him in the same way.

"We never actually entered the corridor though, sir!" Harry defended belatedly. Ron elbowed him in the side.

"Close enough for me to care." Professor Elric disdainfully said, nudging them both in the legs with his cane. Now come on, git."

The two boys reluctantly let the professor herd them down the hall away from the spiderwebbed corridor, but Harry couldn't help but wonder a new thought. 

"Professor… no-one ever actually said why the third floor corridor was forbidden… what's wrong with it?"

"Spiders. Giant hairy ones." The Professor said with such flat certainty that next to him, Ron nearly went white. "Don't think about it, you'll die a very painful death as your headmaster kindly explained during the beginning of semester speech. Here we are." 

The boys found themselves in the suddenly familiar hallway of the alchemy classroom. "You two should know your way from here, yes?" The Professor frowned, leaning on his cane with a strange creak. The two boys nodded. "Good! Now, unless you want some surprise tutoring I recommend you take your recreational exploring elsewhere. Perhaps down some stairs. Take a hike outside. Climb a wall. I don't care. But don't let me see you near that corridor again or you'll have more to think about than a couple of spiders and sore ankles!" He waggled his cane threateningly for emphasis. 

"Yes Professor!" Harry and Ron chirped nervously.

"C'mon, let's go." Ron murmured, plucking at Harry's sleeve when he didn't immediately part when Professor Elric turned away to unlock his classroom door. 

Harry swallowed nervously, about to make his Saturday a whole lot worse. Thanks, curiosity.

"Actually Professor… can I take the tutoring?" Immediately, Ron shot him a look of are you insane? Elric simply stopped and raised one eyebrow.

"You said you'd tutor…" Harry retaliated Ron's look by stomping on his foot (don't make this worse!), innocently clasping his hands together behind his back. 

Appraising him for a long moment, the Professor finally sighed. "Come inside." The door opened with a creak, and the blond man gestured for him to enter. 

Harry looked at his friend for support as he followed the invitation, but Ron had not moved to follow. Instead, the redhead simply pursed his lips and scratched his hair. Fine. Alone, Harry entered the classroom.

~~~

Professor Elric did not move to follow Harry inside until he watched Ron walk away and disappear around the corner towards civilization. Finally, he left the doorway and closed the door with a quiet thunk that echoed forebodingly against the stone walls.

Harry was suddenly and distinctly reminded of one-one-one visits with the school principal he'd get regularly in public school for skipping classes. It hadn't been his fault that Dudley and his gang would force him to hide and miss lessons, but it had happened frequently. But the look in Professor Elric's eyes wasn't the exasperated and you're-going-to-be-suspended look that he expected from the principal. Instead, it was a strange glare that made Harry feel like the Professor could see right through him. He shifted uncomfortably. 

"What questions did you have, Mr. Potter?" Elric shuffled over to his desk which was filled with a myriad of neatly organized jars and stationary and sat down, leaning his gaudy cane against the side of it.

"Oh. Um…" In his haste, Harry realized belatedly, he hadn't made a cover story for his surprise interrogation at all. "...I was wondering… could alchemy be used to create anything?" 

"Were you listening in class?" Elric leaned his elbows on the desk, hand leaning against his cheek. "What kind of anything are you thinking about?"

"Well," Harry thought quickly, "you said alchemy is similar to transfiguration, right? Is there anything that alchemy can make that transfiguration can't?"

The Professor frowned. "...Yes. Alchemy makes its way with permanence. Transfiguration does not. In effect, everything alchemy makes is something that transfiguration cannot achieve and vice versa."

"But what about other things? …Bigger things?"

"Bigger?"

"More dangerous… things." Wilting under Elric's progressively sterner glare, Harry tried to hold his ground.

"What, exactly, are you getting at, Potter? Tell me honestly." Extremely displeased, Professor Elric laced his hands together, gazing sharply at Harry.

"The package from Gringotts," Harry blurted nervously, "It's an alchemy thing, isn't it? I think someone tried to steal it!"

For a moment, Elric looked stunned, then a litany of more unreadable emotions crossed his face. Finally, he sighed. "I suppose you read the newspaper today. Isn't that supposed to be too boring for you young folks?"

"I saw it at Hagrid's…" Harry admitted. Elric didn't look like he was about to hit him. Maybe he wasn't in trouble?

"For your information, it was not stolen. Nor should you need to worry about it any longer." the blond Professor told him smoothly. 

"It's something bad, isn't it," Harry prodded, "Something dangerous."

"It is certainly something that is none of your, nor any students' business." He said firmly. "Now, if you don't have any questions about your actual homework, I suggest that you go off and do whatever you school kids do on a normal Saturday." Despite all of Elric's typical spice, Harry had never heard a tone so firm before. The conversation was obviously over. 

"Yes, Sir," Harry acquiesced quickly, sensing danger, and booked it out of the room as casually as possible.

~~~

Ron was not far when Harry broke into a sprint after shutting the door behind him. In fact, he was just at the end of the long hallway.

"You're alive!" he said, "Are you mental?"

"It wasn't that bad, actually," Harry told him. Ron studied him dubiously.

"Wasn't that bad," he mocked, "So you run down the hallway like a ghost was chasing you?"

"Okay, okay, maybe I made him a little upset. I think. I asked about the package and he said it wasn't stolen."

"The newspaper told us that already." Ron moaned, "All that, and we didn't learn anything at all!"

"Maybe not anything new," Harry agreed, "But I think we can say for sure that that vault was the one broken into, and that Professor Elric knows who it is and is trying to keep it away from them."

"But then who tried to do the stealing?" Ron wondered. Harry shrugged.

"I have no idea."

Chapter Text

Edward heaved a deep, heavy breath as Harry left the classroom.

Fucking hell.

He had been expecting- anticipating, even- kids asking dangerous questions sometime or another. But he hadn't foreseen them beginning to ask so soon. Frankly, he didn't know how he hadn't taken all of his remaining sense and slapped that kid into next year with it. 

Harry Potter was seeming more and more like he was going to be more trouble than he wanted. And he was probably off to report to his little red-haired friend too.

Shit.

Sourly, Edward stalked into the classroom's back office, dragging his sore limbs into a softer armchair than the plain wooden stool out front and crashing his head against the back cushion. Something dangerous, alright. To make things worse, that boy still carried around that nasty aura Edward didn't understand. It definitely didn't help that he'd caught Albus' special boy and company scrounging around near forbidden hallways, either. Albus had been nice enough to ban an entire corridor rather than just the room they would be using, but perhaps just the corridor instead of the entire wing was a little too easy to root through. Add insult to injury, the Stone would still be relatively underguarded for the immediate future. The voices in his chest roiled in discomfort and agitation.

Fuck.

A thousand more expletives in at least three different languages found their way through his head before he couldn't stand it anymore. Standing with a groan and swiping his cane from where it had been abandoned at the desk, Edward hobbled out of the classroom and down the hall, taking care to look out for any more wayward students. Thankfully, it seemed that just special boys felt the need to poke their heads where they didn't belong today and he hurriedly made it to the mirror's room relatively unseen.

The building panic eased only a little as he checked the lock on the door and found it to be still sealed with alchemy. Despite it, he still had to see. He had to know- Alphonse still had to be there, hadn't he? Stars shot through his eyes as he clipped his automail foot on the frame of the door, swears turning external as he slammed the door and locked it behind him. 

The gray, no-longer-dusty sheet rippled to the ground as Edward scrambled trembling fingers up to the glass, his breath falling out of him in a whoosh of relief relief relief as Al's familiar bronzen eyes gazed back at him.

"Al!" He gasped, feeling suddenly like he could breathe again.

"Hello, Brother." The boy smiled back at him, radiating happiness and calm.

"You're still here…" Edward couldn't quite fully catch his breath for some reason, slowly sinking to the floor in relief and rested his forehead against the glass. If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine the warmth of Alphonse's hand meeting his skin. 

"It's okay, Brother," Al's reassurance echoed comfortingly close.

"You still have it?" Edward whispered breathlessly. 

"Have what, Brother?"

"Ah, yeah. Good, good." Why was he suddenly exhausted? Edward fought his eyes trying to close, instead pulling back to gaze at the vision so close yet so, so very far and wishing more than ever to be able to feel the breeze of Resembool once more. 

"I've got to get out of this school, Al," he murmured finally, wistfully, shaking his head sadly when nothing reached him through the glass. 

" Where would you go?"

"Anywhere. I don't know. Back to Germany, maybe? Find somewhere quiet again. Where we could just… I don't know. But…"

"You can't leave me." Alphonse nodded understandingly. "It's okay, Brother. I love you."

"I know." Edward smiled bitterly. "And I, you. I'll get you back. I'll get everyone back. Just you wait."

Wait.

Ha.

That's all he'd been doing for centuries. 

The joke wasn't funny anymore. Never was, really.

Truth was probably laughing his limbs off somewhere.

Stay positive. For Al. For Them.

He forced a wider smile. "Hey Al, think Winry's got any cool advice for fixing this 'ol battered thing up?" He knocked his knee, extending the joint until the automail was flat on the floor and ignoring the singe of pain from the port. While his other loved ones could be seen in the mirror sometimes, they were always distant in the background. He had never been able to contact them. Not like Alphonse. Not like his brother.

"I think she'd rather throw a wrench at your head for letting it get into that state." Al joked, tittering a little and looking behind him as if the proverbial wrench was really coming.

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe it's best she doesn't find out." Ed shook his head. "But check it- it's lasted five years this time! And the arm's still okay… ish." It definitely needed a good reconditioning. Frankly, these days, he hadn't much needed to do more than desk work and the occasional heavy-laden shopping trip. The lack of necessary physical combat left his metal limbs only at the mercy of normal daily labor and his own rigorous exercise regimen. The calmer lifestyle had left him in mercifully better shape than he had dared to wish after the 1940s. 

"Ish? It looks awful!"

"Yeah, yeah," Edward grumbled good-naturedly, his false positivity easing into something more genuine at the familiar banter. "Look, I just care that it's practical. It's never gonna be as streamlined as Winry's, so…" 

The conversation continued to flow, Edward falling into a semblance of security as he produced his automail kit from his pocket and began to disconnect and work on his limbs, basking in the long-lost familiarity.

And if he stayed there all day, who was going to tell him no?

~~~

[Year 1860]

"…You're not real."

"What do you mean, Brother? We talked about this. We…"

"You're not real. You can stop now." Ed replied dully, the only light in his eyes that of a flickering candle. Exhaustion and acceptance pulled sickeningly at his thin frame.

"What are you talking about?" The confusion in Al's voice slowly turned to anger. "You… you're lying. You're lying!!"

Edward smiled wanly though there was no joy, pale face gaunt in the candlelight. He held up his notes. Inky, scribbled gibberish near impossible to decipher.

"No, Al. I figured it out. I made it make sense. Sense! And I checked it again and again!" The blond man let out a strangled laugh, a fresh burst of adrenaline rocking his body. "You were never real. You cannot be. Alchemy cannot create life, magic cannot create life, and only one holds the door between worlds. If you were real, really, truly real, I may as well call myself a god!" He spread his arms wide, manic grin flashing teeth. "Of course! The answer had been clear all this time!" He heaved some breaths, finding it hard to breathe, "And oh, Al. Oh, Al…"

"Brother…? You're scaring me…"

"Could you imagine if it were?" He continued, voice suddenly soft around the knot in his throat, "The freedom I would bear… If I were Truth, well, this could be real! And you would be here and we could all go back home and everyone would be okay! But no… no… that would just be too easy, wouldn't it?"

His chest throbbed so.

"But Brother, I'm right here!" The fake Alphonse protested.

"Shh." Edward stood, swaying slightly, and sauntered over to the mirror. "If you were you, you would understand. You'd get it. You're smart. But…"

"But what, Brother?"

"You're forgetting one very important thing. We both did." Edward trembled, holding up his automail hand and slowly curling it into a fist. For once, he couldn't meet his brother's eyes. 

"I am no god." 

He should never have forgotten in the first place. 

A fresh wave of misery rolled through his Stone. Licking his lips, Edward continued. "I put all of my desperation into this spell, Al. I wanted so badly and I thought…" he wavered, "And then I made the same mistake we did with mom. I thought I was better. I thought I could do the impossible. But alchemy and magic never were supposed to go together, were they?"

Here he was, making the same mistake as his apprentice once did. Like a damn fool. Arrogant, pitiful, and unforgivably human.

"I should have learned from Nicholas. You are but a product of human arrogance, and you crave nothing but what you were born to be." Finally, he met the figure in the mirror's eyes, his own vision blurring as the knot in his throat threatened to choke him again.

"You're wrong! You're going to make me cry, Brother! Don't leave me! I am… I'm…"

A soft clack. Metal fingers gently caressed down what would be his brother's face. His vision watered too much to see and he closed his lids over them.

"A wish." The human finished for it, "Nothing more, and nothing less. But a wish can't exist without a wisher, can it? You need me."

Edward waited in the sudden silence with closed eyes, waiting for an apparition to speak when it had no voice. A tear, hot and burning, traced his cheek. Slowly, so slowly, he opened his eyes again to face the sobbing figure in front of him, another false, watery smile gracing his features. "I'm sorry, Al. I've failed you again, haven't I?"

"You want me to say yes." The apparition croaked. Oh, how he hated hearing Alphonse cry.

"Perhaps. Maybe I'm feeling self-depreciative. Or maybe I really want to hear that I'm wrong, but I know too well that I'm not. Not this time." 

Pulling his wand out, Edward contemplated it for a moment. In the candlelight, the dark, gothic motifs looked just as mournful as he felt. He raised his hands into a gentle clap. 

"What are you doing?" For the first time, Alphonse's apparition took a step back, fists balled in uncertainty and face flashing to anger. Afraid.

"Making a reminder." He murmured. Then Edward pressed his wand into the frame, sparks of magic and alchemy together arching across in a sinister purple light. A piercing scream stabbed through his brain and his ears, chest on fire.

Head ringing, he let the reaction dissipate and stepped back, swaying. The sudden panic from the philosopher's stone slowly boiled down as together they saw Alphonse still standing in the mirror, unharmed.

"Lest anyone dare to forget."  Edward murmured, admiring his handiwork.

Above them, on the stone and bronzen frame, now lay words carved elegantly in swooping letters.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.

I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Edward smiled faintly, bitterly. "Desire is what you are, and what you will only ever be. It is what you crave and what you fool others to seek. Desire... Erised. It is only appropriate that you mirror your own warning."

Thereupon, the (terribly, terribly small) human took a step back, cradling his sternum as he struggled to keep his balance. Still, the man's gaze managed to meet gold once more. 

"I'm sorry, Al, I really am."

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the floor.

~~~

[Present]

Monday came too soon. If he wasn't exercising, eating, or doing upkeep for his class, he was with Alphonse and babysitting Flamel's stone. Edward found he took comfort in the ancient familiarity of his brother, fake or not- and it had given him the time to fix up his neglected limbs. Despite it all, the Stone in his chest whispered uncomfortable warnings and misgivings about the mirror. 

'Not real!' they murmured.

"I know. But Flamel's stone… it needs to be watched right now." he fought back stubbornly. He'd been keeping his eyes on Harry and the redheaded Weasley kid when out and about, and thankfully hadn't seen them anywhere near the corridor since, but he still wasn't able to unwind his thick feeling of unease. And, he silently admitted, fake or not, Alphonse's company was a welcome respite from the foolish wizards.

So come breakfast, if he was a little extra crabby having to go back to teaching, then what of it?

Edward sat next to Severus, burying his face in beans and toast when he heard the lanky man next to him let out a soft huff, which usually signaled a sneer. Sure enough, when he glanced up, Severus looked like he had bit into something sour.

"Potter's arrived early today," the man shook his head at Edward's questioning brow. Indeed, the black haired boy and Weasley had tromped into the breakfast hall at- he checked his watch- 7:00 AM. They both took suspicious glances at the teacher's table before ducking down and trying to hide in the early morning crowd. They weren't the only ones up unusually early.

"Class anxiety, I bet." Edward huffed, amused. And then, taking advantage of the noisy chatter, "Say, what is your gripe with the Potter kid? You've been giving him the stink face at every meal since the semester started." Snape's face immediately soured.

"He just looks like someone I used to know." the man grumbled. 

"Harry looks a lot like his father," Professor McGonagall, on Edward's other side, interrupted. "But so far he seems more down to earth than James ever was. …Perhaps more timid would be the correct word. I hope he will grow in confidence with time, though perhaps faster than James learned responsibility. Lily's in there somewhere too. We are lucky to have him. Very lucky indeed." There was a hint of pride in her voice.

"Yes…" Severus reluctantly agreed.

"You knew his parents?" Edward pried them both. Severus snorted.

"Of course I did."

"I taught them all." McGonagall raised an eyebrow, "And I remember well. I have been teaching here for thirty-five years. James was… rambunctious and rebellious at times but quite clever. Lily was one of my best students."

"I don't know what she saw in him." Severus groused, seeming to extremely dislike the turn of conversation.

"Perhaps his cleverness, his bravery. He was a very compelling man, when he tried. Lily did do her best to curb his more… obtuse behavior and taught him some kindness over the years. He was quite a fine man when he graduated. I am just sorry it took him so long to get over his teenage ire."

That last comment was definitely projected at the potions teacher. Severus, on the other hand, was done with the conversation. Without finishing his food, the man stood and skulked out of the hall like a massive dark bat. 

"Sensitive topic, I see," Edward shrugged and returned to his beans and toast.

"Yes… you should know, since the rest of the staff is already aware. James was a bully to him in school, but Lily was his best friend. He didn't take it well when she started dating James. And especially not when they died. Please do try to be courteous with the subject around him, until he has time to process. It was hard on us all, but he took it the hardest. Harry's presence here is a shock to all of us who knew them. He does look uncannily like James… except for his eyes. He has Lily's eyes."

Edward nodded thoughtfully. He understood loss and grief all too well. And hell- even he had his own Alphonse double currently in the castle (though only because Hohenheim had neglected to be rid of it). To see the dead alive again in some way shape or form… he wasn't going to say that it was easy. But Harry was at least alive and real…

(600 years and Alphonse still wasn't. None of them were.)

His chest burned in discomfort.

"I see. Thank you for letting me know." he smiled at Minerva, and she smiled solemnly back. 

"Even I was shaken when I had my first class with him. I think it will take a few weeks to get used to. But I have no doubt that he will be able to make both of his parents very proud."

"Speaking of which…" Edward pondered, "Is there a reason he was left with his aunt and uncle instead of some other relatives? They didn't seem very keen on having him."

At this, it was Minerva's turn to sour. "Albus has his ways…" she said carefully, and Edward nearly rolled his eyes at the mention of the headmaster. How many pies did he really have his fingers in? "I cannot say I quite agree with his every decision, but he always has a good reason. And since Harry's godfather was sentenced to Azkaban… the Dursleys are the next of kin. Muggle though they are."

He did not miss her head do a tiny shake of incredulity.

"Can't say its one I agree with either," Edward said with a sigh, remembering the way the Dursleys had reacted to him and Hagrid. How many lives was Albus really playing with? And, he thought grumpily to himself, how in the hell had he let himself get put under his thumb too?

Verdammt.

Losing his appetite as well, Edward let the rest of the teachers' table talk wash over him as he glared thoughtfully at the students coming and going below. 

Albus obviously wanted him here. He wouldn't have bargained otherwise to let him stay. Possibly not have let Nicholas send that letter. Much less demand to have him interact with the students. But ever since Edward had joined the staff, Albus hadn't made a huge effort to try and get close to him again, which threw out his first guess. …so what was Albus' real end goal here?

By the time his first class of the day started, he still hadn't come up with an answer.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday, Edward nearly groaned aloud when he looked at his schedule. Of course he had extra surprise half classes with the first year students to make way for some extracurricular (Quidditch, was it?) during their normal Thursday time. After the weekend, he was a little loathe to get cozy with Potter and his Weasley friend so fast. But, he hoped, that the classroom setting was enough for the nosy ankle-nippers to keep their mouths shut.

At least it was in the afternoon.

"So, what did we learn last week? Edward asked the nervous Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students after they settled into their seats. He spied Harry and Ron hiding somewhere in the third row by the window. 

Immediately, a bushy-haired girl in the front row raised her hand.

"Miss Granger." He acknowledged, having gotten well-acquainted to this particularly eager student last week. 

"Alchemy is a science that uses transmutation circles to transform one object into another. It uses the law of equivalent exchange and those who do it need a strong mind and body." She blurted, like she was reading out of a textbook.

"Correct…" Edward nodded slowly and Granger blushed a little. He hoped he'd get another to tack onto his wall of shame. "And what does the law of equivalent exchange mean exactly? Someone else."

There was a moment of silence and shuffling papers before a few tentative hands were raised. "You. Name?" Edward pointed at the most scared looking one. Another Gryffindor.

"N-Neville Longbottom, Sir." The boy stammered. Then he checked his notes. "Um, you can't gain anything without giving something first."

"Very close," he nodded, and the boy looked terribly relieved. "More accurately, it would be 'giving something in return.' 'First' implies the possibility of an imbalanced trade. But there is none of that kind of sacrificing in alchemy, only what?" He cupped his ear dramatically.

"Equivalent exchange." Most of the class doefully chanted.

"That's right!" Forcing a smile (it probably looked more pained), he stood from his chair and clapped his hands. "Everyone please stand!"

Groaning, probably remembering their sore limbs from last week, everyone stood. Edward placed his hands on the desk and let the residual energy flow into the stone floor through his feet. Students yelped and jumped as their chairs and desks were suddenly swept to the sides of the room in a short wave of stone, leaving a large empty space in the middle.

This part of class, he hated to admit, he would enjoy.

"Last week I had you all doing basic exercises. But I think this week we're going to take it up a notch." He swiped an obnoxiously gaudy, red and black orange-tipped gun from under his desk and cocked it. He wondered if McGonagall thought even this would be too violent.

"To train the mind, you must train the body. Like last week, I'm going to run you through some thinking drills. However this time, since you complained so much about the monotony, I thought I'd make it a bit more fun. Today you're going to have to avoid my aim. You!"

He shot a stream of water at a random student close by, who squeaked in surprise. "Too slow. What is something you would be able to make out of a chunk of solid lead?"

"Um… a pipe?"

"Correct! And you!" He shot some Ravenclaw this time who jolted back. "Obsidian, coal, scoria. Which one can be used to make diamond?"

"Uh," The shocked student dithered, eyeing him nervously, "...Obsidian?"

"Wrong!" Edward blasted the student again like a disobedient cat. "To make diamonds you need carbon. Obsidian does not have any, but coal contains lots. Therefore, coal is the optimal choice. Technically you could use scoria if you had enough of it as it contains traces of carbon dioxide, but the process would be much more complicated and use more material, as you would have to separate the carbon and oxygen. Why aren't any of you running?"

The student body was staring at him almost disbelievingly (and a bit blankly. Did he have to introduce the whole periodic table? Sheesh…). Some were slouching slightly as if that would protect them somehow. Edward bared his teeth in a manic grin and brandished the water gun. "This thing's range only goes so far! Run, duck, dodge! You're learning to think and learn on your feet!"

Within minutes, he was chasing the whole class around the room, children screaming every time they got hit by a sharp stream of water (admittedly, he had made the thing a bit fiercer than typical, but it didn't sting that much). After their designated half hour, no-one was dry and Edward felt much better despite forcing young wizards through the basic idea of elements. He had also effectively prevented Potter and his pal from asking anymore prying questions.

"Next week I want you all to tell me about the first five elements. You're all going to also properly learn how to fall. I know copies of the periodic table must be in your library somewhere, but if you are confused, come to me. Dismissed!" He waved off the students, pleased that after the exercise his automail was still running much more smoothly than it had in years. He took the time to run it through a few more complicated movements. Thanks to the company of Alphonse, he'd bothered to invest more into the repairs than he usually ever did these days.

Alphonse…

Even though the middle of the school day was the worst time for kids (or Quirrell) to go snooping, he couldn't help the twinge of fear and worry from the stray thought. He checked his watch only to see he had the Hufflepuff and Slytherin's half class in five minutes… it wouldn't be enough time to go check. For just a moment, he entertained the idea of canceling class just to be sure. Then he firmly shook himself clear of the thought. What was he doing? That would only make the situation more suspicious than it already was. He knew that Hagrid was already installing his part of the stone security rooms today which would be obnoxious enough. Edward didn't know how a giant dog was supposed to dissuade a fully trained wizard, but it would probably at least keep away wayward students.

Rubbing his sternum absently, he decidedly settled at his desk to wait for the next students to start trickling in and listening passively for any signs of oversized animals.

The discomforting feeling never fully went away.

It was only after dark during his nighttime patrol that he was reasonably able to go and check on the Stone. It was indeed still there, Alphonse greeting him cheerfully as he stopped to chat for a few minutes. But why was he still feeling so antsy? Stepping back out into the hallway, he continued his patrol, shaking his head. 

He had barely turned down the hallway near the third floor corridor when he ran into Quirinus Quirrell. Literally, as their shoulders bumped into each other and Edward narrowly avoided his foot getting stepped on. Edward gasped aloud as the anxiety bubbling in his chest nearly burst into stars with the cold wave of dread that washed over him.

"Oh my goodness- so sorry!" Quirrell stuttered, pressing his hands into Edward's shoulders to steady both of them and hurriedly brushing their coats straight. Edward pushed the man off, hard enough to send him stumbling, gasping and fighting the useless urge to clutch at his chest where his stone had burst into all-conclusive screams.

'Anomaly! Unnatural! Abhorrent!'

"I-I didn't mean to scare you so- are you alr-right? You're q-quite pale," The turbaned professor hesitated as Edward held out a placating hand, leaning his shoulder against the wall despite everything in his body crying to get away. 

"I'm alright," he struggled to school his expression into something pleasant, not knowing if he quite succeeded. "Um, just a bit startled. Don't usually expect to run into anyone so late at night." Edward wrangled his lips into something of a grin, sure it was more of a grimace.

"Of c-course, likewise." Quirrell's shoulders relaxed and he stepped back, a hand clutching his shoulder where Edward had pushed him and giving an equally uneasy smile. "I-I-I couldn't sleep, and thought a little stroll could do some good. Obviously n-not, huh?" He added, wringing his hands together. 

"Well. Apologies for running into you. I can't say I was sleeping well myself tonight. Perhaps a little adrenaline rush will do us both some good?" A nervous laugh.

"Of course!" The other professor agreed quickly, "Must be a sign to go back to bed."

"Yes, I would agree. Perhaps, I think, with a stop in the kitchens for a nice hot cuppa. Don't need any more frights tonight." He said, fiddling with the lapel of his trench coat to hide his shaky hands.

"Then I bid you a g-good night." Quirrell smiled wanly and began to hurry on his way past.

"And a good night to you. But Quirinus," Edward called, "Isn't your room the other way?"

Quirrell paused, wavering slightly and looking up and down the hallway. The man paled further. "Oh," he laughed awkwardly, "S-so it is. Thank you." Then he turned around in the direction of the teachers' quarters and plodded away. 

The further away the professor got, the lighter the dreadful feeling faded. Edward waited until the man was well out of sight before he sank to the floor for a moment and swallowed down his nausea. "What," he muttered, massaging his chest, "was that? "

He was quite used to the uncomfortable aura Quirinius carried around like a dark shadow by now. It was the same feeling that hovered about the Potter boy like a sick invisible wet blanket, although Potter's was much more dampened. But he had never actually touched the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor before, and he was currently regretting every second of it. The feeling had amplified tenfold, sinking through his flesh so thoroughly he could almost smell it. Even now, his companion souls continued to writhe and complain, spitting warnings and fear. Saliva built up in his mouth.

"We're okay." He soothed aloud, not sure exactly who the words were for. "We're okay." For now. 

Then he cringed and spat sick onto the floor.

"I'm not dying," he reassured at the somehow possible rise in panic. Even though it didn't help his stomach, he could never really blame them. The echochamber was all they had. "Ugh…" when he felt well enough that he wouldn't be sick again, he vanished the vomit from the floor (okay, maybe magic was useful for some things) and stood. For a long moment, he considered checking the mirror one more time and heading to bed. But in the end, Quirrell had been heading toward the 3rd floor corridor, not the real stone room, so that was the direction he reluctantly went. 

There was little reason to be checking on the puzzle room as nothing valuable was truly in it yet and all the teachers knew it, but if Quirrell was already trying to figure out how to break in… his priorities might have to change. Hagrid's dog whatever had just been installed today.  

Edward hated dogs.

Extra reluctant with that thought, he approached the door and lifted the latch to peek his head tentatively inside. 

Oh. 

Oh.

A resounding growl and a snap so close he felt the rush of air whisk his hair had Edward hastily snapping the door shut and backing up as the wood rattled thunderously from the massive, three-headed rabid animal slamming into it. Without an ounce of hesitation, alarm bells ringing in his head, the alchemist turned and ran. That was certainly enough for tonight.

So far done as he was, Edward didn't even make it fully into Alphonse's room. Instead, with shaking hands, he only stopped long enough to check his alchemical lock on the door was still safely in place and no wayward footsteps were to be heard before heading to his quarters, unable to keep from checking behind himself every few feet. Unease swallowed him like a thick blanket, making it hard to breathe even as he collapsed into the lumpy chair by his fireplace. His whole body was sore and his head pounded right along with the heartbeat in his chest, yet he found he was unable to release the stress from his muscles. Trying to breathe through the tension and the panic, the blond tucked his head towards his knees, grasping his hair as if he could silence the voices sharing his body for but a moment. Fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting a soft warmth across the back of his hand.

Breathe.

He focused on the feeling, the flickering light slowly spreading into his bones and loosening the vice in his lungs until he could take a breath without hitching and his hands stopped trembling so. Suddenly exhausted, he finally lifted his head. Flexed his fingers. Felt the throbbing in his body slow with his heartbeat. Still shaky and more sore than before, Edward swore softly, his Stone murmuring in agreement. He pawed at his face, checking the time on his pocket watch and inwardly cringing. It was almost 3 AM. (And, throat tightening at the stray reminder, he still had to teach tomorrow.)

He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. …Maybe that cup of tea was a good idea after all. 

(Come dawn, the troupe of early-rising professors would notice a conspicuously empty chair over breakfast time. Although, only one would notice the swift glances toward it and the quiet "Oh, dear," Professor Quirell would utter.

Yes, Severus Snape considered, Perhaps it was time he and the turbaned professor had a heart-to-heart. )

~~~

It was Wednesday evening when Severus cornered Edward in an empty classroom just before dinner.

"I spoke to Quirrell." The greasy-haired man prodded, "He thinks you might be onto him."

"I thought he might, after the hallway encounter." Edward sighed, pawing a hand down his face. "But it doesn't make much of a difference really, does it? He's trying to keep his secrets from the entire staff."

"Not much, but it still does," the corner of Snape's mouth ticked upwards, "because while he does not wish to divest his plans even to me, he has requested that I keep my eye on you . Keep you out of his way."

"Well," Edward swallowed down a laugh,"That does change things, doesn't it? Sure you can play double agent up to standard?"

Here, Snape met him with the first full grin Edward had ever seen on his face. With his pale gaunt face and greasy hair, it was a bit garish, even though his eyes glinted with some hidden humor. "Oh yes. I am quite talented at that."

"Perhaps you can gain his complete trust?" Edward said anticipatingly. His hopes were dashed when Severus shook his head.

"I doubt it. While the man has accepted my 'death eater' status, he remains terrified of me. Why, I am not quite sure."

Edward could certainly think of a few reasons why, but chose not to voice them. "Unfortunate… but progress is progress," he sighed, running a hand through his golden bangs. "Keep trying to dig it out of him, regardless. Also… There's something more he's hiding. I know it. More than just planning to get his hands on the philosopher's stone." He thought back to last night, pursing his lips at the memory of the horrid feeling he'd gotten when he'd touched the man. It certainly wasn't a dark mark thing, or he'd have had the same reaction anytime he touched Snape. No, Quirrell was playing games with something terrible, and Edward wasn't entirely sure he wanted to find out what it was. He also wasn't sure he'd have the option not to find out. "I don't know what it is. But it's bad. Really bad."

"Worse than getting his hands on the stone?" Severus stared at him with a singular pointed eyebrow.

Edward gave him a dirty look. "Shut up. Nothing is worse than anyone getting their hands on that thing, which is why only Albus and I are supposed to know where it is right now." 

'And Hohenheim,' his own Stone helpfully reminded, which made his mood sour even further.

"Just… keep an eye out. Ear out. Whatever. He's doing something, and it's more than what we know."

"I see... What, exactly, has you so convinced?"

"It's… look, you're just going to have to trust me on this one, alright? It is something I cannot explain." There was no way in hell he would infer anything about his own situation. He'd kept that secret uncomfortably close to his heart since the day that had led to this whole disaster in the first place, and he was going to keep it that way. And whatever was going on with Quirrell and the Potter kid… well, the souls he bore probably knew more of what was going on there than even he did. 

Across from him, Severus' countenance had soured almost as much as his own. "You're hiding something."

"And if I am it has nothing to do with you." Edward shot back. "Look, I've dealt with these kinds of people before, and I have a bad feeling and I trust my gut. That's all. I'm not trying to hinder you, I'm trying to help you, and you can either take it or leave it. If you will now excuse me, we have dinner to attend." Exasperatedly, and with perhaps a little more dramatic flair than necessary, Edward spun to the door, trench coat flaring behind him, and strode out of the room without bothering to see if Severus followed him. 

His nerves were too fried for this. What he also didn't notice was the girl with bushy brown hair who jumped in fright as the tails of his coat whisked by her.

~~~

On Thursday night, Edward found his usual patrolling interrupted very abruptly by Argus Filch's cat.

"Hello there," Edward frowned at the cat. He'd never been much of an animal person, but he had grown a mild fondness for felines as the years passed. This cat however, always had an uncanny vibe. Her green eyes glowed a little too brightly, her fur always just a little too white, and her gaze just a little bit too piercing. Despite it all, he just knew that Alphonse would have adored her anyway. 

Edward had never bothered to remember her name. Maisy? Maurice?

The cat let out a long meow. 

"I'm not going to pet you." Edward stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"What have you found, my sweet?" The gravelly croon of the school caretaker appeared. Two seconds later, he was standing over his cat. Filch picked her up, stroking her fur lovingly as he met Edward's gaze. "A teacher, I see. How lovely."

"Good evening, Argus," Edward greeted, "You're not oft to be out this late at night."

"A little bird told me that there were students out of bed, sneaking around the corridors tonight. And they were right." Filch smiled (seriously, why had Albus hired this man again?), "They ran, and I'm trying to find them. They went this way from the trophy room, you see."

"Well, I suppose I can keep an eye out while I-" Edward was interrupted by caterwauling several hallways away. 

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

"That's Peeves. Shit!" Suddenly incentivised, Edward raced with Filch, their footsteps echoing loudly down the hallway. The charms classroom was far too close to the forbidden corridor for Edward's liking. 

"PEEVES!" Argus roared when they saw the poltergeist, "Where did they go?!" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Peeves giggled, floating upside down near the ceiling and wagging his finger back and forth like they were the ones who had done something naughty. "Silly ickle little firsties out looking for trouble~"

"Just tell us where they went," Edward demanded, exasperated. 

"Oh!" Peeves flipped right side up "Eddie Eddie Edmund! Or is it Ed ward? It is so very confusing to poor old Peevsies!" The poltergeist thumbed his chin "He would really like it if he kept his name the same!"

"Students, Peeves. Now."

"Oh fine, fine! You really are no fun!" The ghost pouted, unnaturally and literally rolling his eyes as he threw his hands up in exasperation. He pointed down the hall. "They went that way!"

Filch spared exactly one second to look at Edward with something between admiration and amazement before he set his cat down and tottered down the hall after her.

Meanwhile, Edward frowned, ignoring Peeves' loud disgusted raspberry as he bounced away entirely as he realized exactly which hallway he had pointed down. Then he palmed his face with a groan. The third floor corridor, of course.

Filch was already almost at the bend, not having stopped as he sook out any obvious movement from the empty hallway, jiggling locked doorknobs at random and snickering quietly to himself.

Edward was frozen to his spot. With a sinking feeling, he slowly realized that in his sheer panic two nights ago, he had neglected to lock the damn door.

And there was a three-headed monster behind it.

Feeling suddenly cold, Edward forced his feet to move. "Filch!" He hissed, rushing for the door that the man had skipped. Shaking hands reached the doorknob and twisted.

Click.

"Oof!" Came the muffled voice from the other side of the door as the wood hit something with mild resistance.

"He found us!" A female voice squeaked. 

Shit shit shit shit

Adrenaline roared in Edward's ears as he forced the door open.

"Uh, Hermione… what about behind us!" A boy tittered, obviously frightened.

He remembered the dogs, tearing, ripping into his flesh-

"GET OUT!" Edward roared, thrusting the door wide open and thrusting his prosthetic hand inside, roughly catching someone's collar and pulling. Four voices screamed as they tumbled almost collectively out the door away from the suddenly sharp growl and snap that echoed behind them. The wood slammed shut as Edward gasped, throwing the lock into place.

He stood there for a moment, hands against the door as he recovered from the fright. There was no noise and nothing slammed against the door as he waited, insecurely checking the lock again and again to make sure it was truly stuck shut. When he felt safer, he whipped around to the pile of students on the floor. Potter, Weasley, that Granger girl, and- Longbottom, was it?

"You lot are in so much trouble," Argus wheezed from where he'd caught up after Edward's call. For some reason, he sounded positively gleeful.

"Is anyone hurt?" He asked, sharper than necessary.

"N-no!" Longbottom squeaked, as the others meekly shook their heads, all still tangled together on the floor.

Edward took a few more deep breaths to calm himself as he glared the children down, searching for any blood or bruises. But they all seemed to be (miraculously) okay. 

"What," he finally bit out, rage seething into place over fear, "did you all think you were doing?"

"It was Malfoy's fault, Professor!" Potter blurted audaciously, "Well I-I mean, he threatened us to a midnight duel in the trophy room…!" His voice petered out at the end, as if realizing just how stupid that sounded.

"Just me and Harry! Ron added hastily, "It wasn't Hermione or Neville's fault!" All four of them nodded together, looking like a sad puddle of frightened rabbits. 

"I didn't ask whose fault it was," Edward seethed while Argus looked on with glee, "Why are the four of you here right now? Only two of you apparently went to a duel."

"I-I forgot the password to the dorm and got locked out… I didn't want to be alone." Longbottom mumbled with blush on his cheeks.

"We… um, dragged Hermione with us because she saw us. It wasn't her fault, honest." Potter tried to defend Granger, looking equally as meek as Longbottom.

Granger, for her case, looked at the boys with surprise but didn't deny them.

"And then you chose to run from Filch into the third floor corridor?" 

All four of them winced at that.

"We didn't realize-"

"Didn't realize." he seethed, "You shouldn't have been out of bed in the first place! Honestly. All of you, but especially you two," he aimed his pointer and middle fingers at Potter and Weasley, "should know better. I've warned you before. This corridor is forbidden for a reason and your true and utter stupidity almost got you killed tonight! I hope you realize that!" 

"Yessir." Potter squeaked, the others pale and nodding along. Edward sighed heavily, helping each of them back to their feet (perhaps a bit roughly, still feeling jitters of adrenaline).

"Listen," he said a bit calmer but voice still thick with anger, "if you want to keep your heads, you will keep yourselves inside your dormitories at night, and you will stay away from that damn door. You hear?"

The quartet muttered a string of glum 'Yes sir's' and 'Yes Professor's' as they looked down at the floor.

"Now," he straightened, trying to speak more calmly, "It's late. I am going to escort you back to your dormitory, you are going to go to bed, and I will speak with your head of house about what to do with you in the morning. You are not off the hook. Understand?"

It was a very quiet troupe of students that were led back to the Fat Lady's portrait. Edward silently seethed the whole way there, trying vainly to calm both his Stone and himself.

'They found it! They know where it is! They're out to steal it! They'll tell everyone!' The voices panicked. 

They think it's the dog, not the philosopher's stone, he tried to comfort himself, they almost got killed, curiosity satisfied… right? Everyone knows that corridor is forbidden… 

'It's too close! They're too close!'

Edward found that he couldn't at all disagree.

~~~

Back in the dorm, after Neville went straight to bed after looking like he was going to pass out, three kids stood awkwardly by the fire in the common room.

"Um… thanks… for defending me?" Hermione said awkwardly.

"Well… it was our fault." Harry shrugged equally awkwardly.

"Besides, you'd probably hex us for life if we hadn't," Ron added with an uncomfortable shrug. Hermione huffed, throwing her hands into her hips.

"Yes I would." She snapped, irritation back. I agree with Professor Elric. It was very stupid of you. For all we know, we're all going to be expelled tomorrow! Or… at least, you will." She said, a little bashfulness coming back.

"You were the one who picked the dog door!" Ron defended whinily. "Why are they keeping a thing like that around anyway? That thing shouldn't be kept around in a school. Or anywhere, for that matter."

"Are you blind?" Hermione insulted, "didn't you see what it was standing on? It's not a pet, it's guarding a trapdoor."

Harry's eyes widened and he exchanged looks Ron.

"What?" She demanded.

"The package," Harry explained, "I mean- the Gringotts vault that got robbed all over the news- Hagrid emptied it with me and Professor Elric the same day. …I think we now know where it went."

"But what was it?"

"I don't know. It was just a grubby little envelope-sized package. But it's obviously something dangerous, and big enough that someone broke into Gringotts for it. Professor Elric and Hagrid won't say a word about it." 

Hermione pursed her lips, growing quiet.

"What is it?" It was Ron's turn to ask.

"I think… I need to go to the library." Hermione said, "And if you or we all get expelled tomorrow, I will kill you."