Chapter One: The Arrival

Three Years Ago

He fell to his knees.

"No . . ." Ed murmured. "No, no, no, NO!" he screamed, his voice rough and naked with emotion.

He was back. Ed couldn't believe it. One moment he was in a strange, unfamiliar city in a burning thing that was falling from the sky like a shot bird, sure he was going to die, again when there was a flash, the feeling of being sucked into a vacuum, the Gate –

And then he was back here in Amestris and Al wasn't.

Rose moved as if to touch Ed's shoulder in a comforting gesture, but he shied away. He didn't want comfort; he wanted to kick and scream and cry until he was empty. But it wasn't likely. Ed was so full of rage and despair he felt if he started crying he wouldn't be able to stop until he drowned himself in his tears. He hadn't felt this horrible since the day he committed the Taboo.

Al was gone, and for what? Stupid, stupid Al - of course he just had to sacrifice himself for his stupid, stupid brother. Al was gone, and so was Edward's basic raison d'être, and he couldn't even speak, hell he couldn't even think coherently without wanting to scream or fly into a rage.

It broke Rose's heart to see Ed this way when he was usually smiling or laughing. He was so utterly, completely destroyed. Like everything he treasured had been dangled in front of his eyes and then swept away. Ironically, that was probably the best analogy to describe the state Ed was in now.

In the midst of Ed's inner turmoil, an idea crept into his brain and waved meekly. Abruptly, his head snapped up, and Rose saw that his eyes held a maniacal glint that was only found when he was about to do something exceptionally stupid. A hundred calculations ran through his head, and the idea that had initially awkwardly slithered into his head began jumping up and down while crowing, "Come on, you have to try me out! I'm the best idea ever!"

Metaphorically, of course.

"Rose," he said, grinning like a lunatic, "tell Al I'm sorry, but if he could than so can I."

Rose stared. "Tell Al? Wait, what do you mean - how? Ed! What are you doing?"

He laughed without mirth. "Something so idiotic and so risky that I just have to do it." Ed finished drawing the transmutation circles with his blood and clapped his hands together The resonating echo that followed had the ring of a final, conclusive note that made Rose's hair stand on her neck.

"Wait, Ed, think this over – stop!"

A pale blue glow, the light that always accompanied successful alchemy, began to flicker against the circle drawn on Ed's chest and arms. The blue light that emanated from him grew brighter and brighter until there were miniature lightning bolts cackling and leaping around the alchemical runes. It grew brighter and brighter and there was a flash of red, and then there was a blinding flash. When it receded, the space where Ed had just stood was empty.

Ed tumbled out of a grime-covered brick wall and landed in a pile of dirt (and other unsavory things, thrown out by irritable tenants in the morning). Groaning, he staggered up and dusted the trash off him violently. "Where the hell . . .?" he muttered. Turning around, he jumped and realized that he had been tossed into this alley through a brick wall. He eyed the bricks warily. Funny. They looked pretty solid from here.

Hogsmeade shoppers that morning saw a disheveled young blonde man stroll out of an alley with a bewildered expression. Most likely they assumed he was a bum (or a drunk bum) and continued on with their shopping, albeit they did give him a wide berth.

Where am I? This doesn't look anything like the place I landed in last time, he thought, Granted, I was dying and burning last time, not exactly the right time to gaze at the scenery, but this place is too different. Plus, everybody is wearing dresses.

He spotted a newspaper stand, and hurried over. Ed reached down and shook open the pages, but when he read the front page he felt like fainting. In a manly way.

August 17th 1995

Vol. 23 Issue 56 The Daily Prophet

I'm in the wrong time, he thought, also in the wrong place in the wrong universe.

Someone named Cornelly Chocolate waved at him from the black-and-white newspaper photo. This was too much for Ed. Dying, he could take; dying twice was okay; switching universes was fine; having his brother sacrifice himself for him he could believe; travelling to the unknown alternate universe (this time willingly and to bring back his brother) again wasn't too big; but when he was subjected to this shock, along with all the other stress he had taken today (dying! Twice!), his body just sort of shut down and he crumpled. He fainted, though if he were questioned about it he would vehemently deny that he fainted, it was a manly swoon, he would protest.

What kind of a name was Fudge anyway?!

A sandaled foot nudged Ed.

"Hey. Hey. Hey."

"Da, d'you think he's dead?"

"Na."

"Then why're you kicking him? You shouldn't kick people. Tha' only cumma – comma – common cents. Sense."

" 'M not kicking him. Trying ter see if he still 'live. Hey, kid, you okay?"

Ed's hand shot out and grabbed his assailant's ankle.

"'M not . . . short. As a grasshopper. Squashed. Say that 'gain," he mumbled, still not completely in the land of consciousness yet.

"Wossat? Can't hear you, kid."

Ed leaped to his feet, nostrils flaring and fists shaking. He opened his mouth to yell something like "Who is so short that ants look down him?!" and found himself staring at a portly old man and his granddaughter.

Who looked exactly liked Nina of his former world.

He gaped. The girl's inquisitive eyes, her sandy blonde hair, the pink dress – they matched exactly. She could be Nina's twin, but Ed guessed alter egos were supposed to look like that.

Ed's brain wasn't working very well before – the shock had affected him, despite what he would say – but now it just puttered to a stop. Nu-uh, it said, I am going on vacation, and then maybe shit would stop happening to me. What were the odds of this?

"I tol' you he wossant dead," said the daughter in an accusing tone, "Why d'you hafta go kick him then?"

Ed's eye twitched. While he had fainted – been unfortunately unconscious - some old guy had started kicking him. He was about to demand an explanation when the old man interrupted him.

"Ellie, I wossant kickin' 'im, I was trying ter see if he was dead. An' now we know he's not. So. Sorry bout that, Mr . . . . Who're you anyway? You look like some sort of foreigner."

Ed was taken aback. Who was this guy to call him standing-out when all the other people around him were wearing dresses? And funny pointy hats?

"I am Edward Elric. And I don't look weird. You people look weird!" he said defensively.

The old man and his granddaughter stared at the crazy short blonde. They had only planned a short trip to the apothecary to replenish their stock of poppy leaves since the dog had gotten into it (and now he was floating and turning an odd purple color). It had been a relatively normal day, and they just had to bump into this odd kid because Lady Fate had a queer sense of humor.

"D'you have an apartment?" he asked.

Ed gave him a blank look. His brain was currently laughing like it was high of morphine; he was in the kind of shock that happened when subjugated to too much surprise and the brain just broke down and took a vacation.

"I'll take 'at as a no. Follow me, mebbe we can help yeh." He really didn't know why he had decided to help the kid. He guessed it was because nobody likes to see pathetic and helpless creatures being sentenced to death. Or at least, that of all the hobos on the street (though there weren't many in the wizarding world, the only ones were usually insane or smelly or drunk. Usually a combination of the three, or all.) he looked the most harmless. And, Ellie was staring at the kid like he was one of those cats that she always brought home, albeit he was taller. But not by much. The old man sniggered inwardly. The kid was even shorter than him.

Ed glared at him as if he subconsciously reacted to unspoken jibes about his height. "Alright. I'll go with you. But don't try anything funny! Oh yeah, what's your name anyway?"

The man goggled at his nerve. This crazy kid pops out of nowhere looking like someone who had an inebriated night and still might be and demands that he not cause any trouble?

"Name's Max. Follow me, maybe we can fix yeh somethin' to eat. You hungry?"

Ed's stomach growled. Oh, right, he hadn't probably eaten in a day. Or so. And he still had that gaping hole in his chest from Envy. His arms flew to his jacket and unclasped his jacket and -

Nothing. Not even a blood stain. Maybe the Gate had something to do with this. But why would it take the wound away? What was to sacrifice?

His head hurt. Ed decided that he would puzzle this out after he ate. Food sounded very good now, and he let Ellie drag him up.

Max led them along the street, occasionally grunting and nodding salutations to any acquaintances, but generally trying to avoid contact. Ed bristled. The old man didn't have to act like he had some sort of horribly disfiguring and embarrassing disease, or he was a crazy (short) man that was not allowed to talk with the poor innocent locals or he would go spare and try to bite. Ellie skipped in front of him, dragging Ed by the tips of his glove with a childish glee. He just managed not to trip on any rocks or cans or feet and fall on his face. He was still rather shocked. Forget shocked; Ed still wasn't sure if this wasn't all just a joke of the Colonel's and he had slipped some funny mushroom powder in Ed's drink.

"Alright Bastard Colonel, ha ha, this all very funny. Can I have my brain back now?" Ed asked the sky.

Max slapped a hand over Ed's mouth. "Shut up!" he whispered furiously, "Don't say things like that in front of Ellie!" The other shoppers were giving him appalled looks too. Beside him, Ellie giggled and said,

"Hey Da, wossa bas –

In the next moment a feat of incredible dexterity occurred. While Max's other arm shot out to prevent Ellie from uttering an expletive, Ed spat on Max's palm and, when Max had retrieved his hand from Ed's face and began wiping it on his shirt (all the while giving Ed an extremely dirty and wary look, as if he wasn't sure if Ed had gotten his rabies shot), he spat into the trashcan and gagged a little to get the taste of old man out. Just when Max was turning to berate Ed, Ellie bit him.

One bandaged hand (and the other heavily sanitized) later, Max was still leading them, and Ed now had a smug smile and a vestige of his sanity had been restored. Against his will, Ellie had stubbornly grabbed Ed's hand in an almost painful grip. Ed pretended not to notice, but his hand had infinitesimally tightened, as if to make sure she didn't stumble.

One Year Later

A wand was pointed at his neck. The pressure was subtle and light, but it had the same meaning as someone saying, "Hello, how are you this fine day make one move and I shoot your living daylight out."

Ed froze and tensed his shoulders, reading to turn and –

"Don't even think about it, or the only thing left of you will be a red mist and a pile of paperwork."

"What," Ed growled, resuming his walk, although his movements were stiff, "do you want?" Inwardly, he berated himself for getting caught off-guard. Nobody noticed Ed and his attacker. Some walked right by him without sparing him a passing glance, and Ed felt if he tried to yell for help they would say, "Oh hello there off to kill another of the youth of today? Well I must be off, nice meeting you, bye!" Either that or they would just ignore him. The bastard must have cast a notice-me-not. He walked casually, or as casually as one can when their life is threatened, down the lane, staring straight ahead, and furiously struggling to come up with an escape plan. Preferably one that including kicking the man behind him in the unmentionables.

"Turn into this alley here."

Turn into this shady little back alley here so he can effectively mug me? I think not.

Ed twisted out of the stranger's grasp, turned, and aimed a fierce kick where he thought the man's face might be. He dropped like a stone in water, and Ed kicked him a few more times for good measure, dispelled the Notice-Me-Not, and stalked off.

Or at least, that was his plan. But before his food had even made contact with the man's chest (Or any other body part; Ed wasn't picky) he found his arms and legs snapping together. Unable to move or attack, he glared at the man. He was wearing a black cloak (which looked more like a dress, Ed thought spitefully) and a silver mask. Long blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail. He was, Ed realized with disappointment, taller than Ed.

That tied the knot. He truly hated this man now.

"I warned you not to try anything," the man said softly, sounding somehow more dangerous than yelling would, "Now, will you behave? Or do I have to chop an arm or leg off to, ah, convince you?

Ed would have sneered if he could, but all his facial muscles had frozen. He could still move his head, though; he reluctantly nodded his acquiescence.

Although the man's face was covered by his mask, Ed could just hear him smirk.

"Good. Now, the alley?"

The man grabbed Ed's shoulder, and then there was a squeezing motion, like being stretched and stretched and Ed panicked and yanked himself forward, trying to break free –

And they collapsed

Once they had turned the man grabbed Ed's shoulder and twirled his stick, and then there was a squeezing sensation, and Ed was being stretched and stretched and he panicked and tried to break free –

And they collapsed simultaneously in an ungraceful heap on the cold stone floor, with high, jeering, malicious as their welcome.

"You stupid foolish boy," hissed the man, yanking Ed with a painful jerk. "Crucio –

"Enough, Lucius"

Ed turned lazily, and faced the general direction where the voice was coming from. He glanced up and down the room, observing all the details, or at least, all the details that could be seen in the murky half-light. The room resembled the archetypical Evil Lair, Dungeon version – dark, dank, and drippy. Shifting slightly, he searched for escape routes and potential weapons. There was a door shrouded in darkness to his left, Ed saw, and he estimated about fifteen or twenty people in the room. Done scouting, Ed stared at the man sitting on a decrepit throne – if it could be called that – unimpressed.

He really needed a nose job, Ed concluded, and a face-job, and a wig, and a new wardrobe, and perhaps he should be locked in a windowless room with the key thrown away. And he should invest in a tan too, Ed decided. Right now he just looked like a hairless pedophile without a nose and funny red glow-in-the-dark contacts.

Vaguely, Ed wondered how he was able to breathe without a nose.

"Hi. Any reason for suddenly kidnapping me? No? Well then, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way. Nice digs," he added. "But not really."

Behind Ed, he could feel his abductor dig his nails into his shoulder. He smirked. It was Ed's automail arm. Ed hoped that he broke a few nails trying to hurt him.

"Idiot boy, do you know who I am?" murmured the man on the throne, half amused, half irritated.

"No, and frankly, I don't care. You look like some freak that just mobbed a Halloween Costume Store, with those stupid red contacts and that mask," Ed said, feigning nonchalance, and when they were digesting his comment – most of them with gob smacked expressions, he jabbed his automail elbow into the blonde's – Lucius, or something ridiculous and Latin like that – kidneys with no small amount of satisfaction.

And then chaos erupted.

Society viewed Lucius Malfoy with intense irritation – and that was putting it lightly, but plastered a fake smile in his presence, and treated him with polite deference. He was an old family, part of a noble bloodline, and most importantly, he was rich, and those that turned a blind eye to some of his less severe crimes tended to end up with a generous amount of galleons in their pockets.

Lucius Malfoy was cruel, and sly, and ambitious, and a terribly good actor.

To the Dark Lord he was the awed servant, always wanting to please, and he had just the right amount of reverence, maliciousness, and ruthlessness to become one of his valued servants.

To his wife, he was the distant husband. Their marriage was a loveless one, strategically paired to procreate the desired heir. They would have separated long ago if it wasn't for their son.

To his son, he was the disapproving father. It wasn't that Lucius didn't love him – for once, the emotion was genuine – but he was a Malfoy, and it was how Malfoys always showed their affection: they didn't. It was a terrible kind of love, with Draco determined to please his father and always failing, and Lucius afraid and unable to show warmth. Draco was an heir, and an heir first before his son.

To the public, he was distrusted. Half of them knew he was a Death Eater, but couldn't prove it. They detested him for his crimes and the crimes he didn't commit. He was their scapegoat for all of the Death Eaters – they saw him as an icon, and generalized him, blurred out his features, until he became all the Death Eaters, all the crimes, the murders, the loss and pain.

The other half felt the same way, but they were either too afraid to admit it, or didn't care enough to let morals get in the way of money.

Lucius Malfoy was not troubled. They were all underneath him; too stupid to realize he was on the winning side, and besides, they would all die anyway.

It was humiliating. An important man like him one of his Lord's most trusted servants, had been sent to find and drag back a common muggle to his Master.

They should have sent Peter to do this, Lucius felt.

The moment he set eyes on the boy all his disdain doubled. He was short, blond, and with a simple Notice-Me-Not a third-year would have been able to dispel – although Lucius was beginning to wonder if he was a third-year; he was so short – Lucius had caught him unaware and overwhelmed him. His doubt of the boy's worth sunk further when the brat tried to kick him, with no avail, like some sort of barbarian. The boy didn't even reach for his wand. Behind his mask, Lucius sneered. The boy was disgustingly muggle.

His master probably just wanted to torture another of the worthless mudbloods that were becoming nauseatingly ubiquitous. But still, he pondered why the Dark Lord had been so specific in the brat's description and dire in his threats. He hadn't dared voice his concern though – saying that his Lord did not appreciate doubts about his plans was like saying Dumbledore was perfectly sane and had wonderful fashion sense – in other words, a horrible understatement.

This Edward Elric probably just had the misfortune of resembling someone that had annoyed his Master, and the Dark Lord had wanted to vent his frustration and anger on his look-alike. Lucius would have pitied the brat, if he was capable of it; but once the little plebian had attempted a foolish attack on him, all potential pity evaporated in a flash, and Lucius would laugh when the brat broke.

When he had brought the boy back, the idiot had tried to make a break for it. There was no way he could have got away, but the brat had made a laughingstock out of Lucius when they had fallen into an ungraceful heap.

After that, Lucius made sure to tighten his grip on his arm when he yanked the brat up.

Then the brat went and buried his elbow in his kidneys.

His organs had never suffered so much abuse.

And why did it feel like he had just been prodded with a metal pole?

Seething, Lucius straightened up, ignoring the hurt for now, and reached for his wand with fury in his eyes, retribution on his mind, and the promise of pain on his lips.

Ed dodged another red beam of light and clapped his hands together, swiftly transmuting his automail into a blade, all the while cursing under his breath.

Things were going downhill fast. He had taken out the funny pudgy guy that flinched a lot with a firm kick to the back of his head, but the rest . . .

They were all just too damn fast.

Ed swiped with his blade, nearly – nearly! – slashing his enemy's stomach, who merely hopped back a few steps and shot another spell at him. Frustratingly enough, the only damage Ed had been able to do was knock his assailant's mask off.

This was unnatural. Ed had been in a few fights with wizards before (granted, they were usually drunk out of their minds, and a few was more like a whole lot), and he knew that wizards generally had a nine-foot pole stuck of their arses. He also knew that they were uncomfortable and untrained in close combat – however, in the last minutes he was beginning to doubt that. But the whole situation had certain wrongness to it. How were these wizards so – so – so good?

Usually, Ed's confrontation with wizards went something like this:

Wizard is cocky. Wizard states foolishly that he could whip Ed's ass blindfolded. Wizard comments (even more foolishly) on Ed's height – or lack thereof.

Ed flies into a rage, transmuting random building into random weapons, cuts wand into tanbark, lands a couple of good hits, and generally totally beats the other guy up.

However, these wizards –

Ed was interrupted from his musing from his confused musing by a green – green, wasn't that the one that killed instantly? – jet of light, and he dodged it by a margin too small for comfort.

Hell with this.

He leaped forward toward the man in front of him, clapping his hands, deconstructing, moving cells around, rearranging proteins. The man fell, clawing at his face.

Or at least, what was left of it.

Ed had transmuted a flat veneer of smooth skin over his features; it resembled a crude mask with no eyeholes and a whole lot more gruesome. Any trace of his eyes, nose and mouth were gone. It was a disgusting and unsettling sight, even for the sadistic torture-hardened Death Eaters. The whole room was suddenly void of motion, all eyes (including a reluctantly impressed Voldemort) riveted on the fallen man. Ed felt a pang of satisfaction, followed by the scolding voice of his conscience, which eerily resembled Al's.

'Don't you think you've gone a little too far? That's unnecessarily cruel . . . '

'He deserved it,' he snapped back, but with an undertone of guilt leaking into his words. 'Besides, it's a tear-off mask. It won't hurt. Much. He's still a bastard,' he added.

Pseudo-Alphonse beamed at him, if imaginary consciences that talked back could.

"Shut up," Ed said aloud.

At the sound of Ed's voice, the rest of the Death Eaters snapped back into action.

It was so very irritating. These wizards were just too cautious. Ed knew this from experience; they were pompous, full-of-themselves, and self-assured that their opponents were incompetent fools. Ed hated them for that, but also, he realized belatedly, relied on their misconceptions. He always had a technique – slip under overconfident wizard's guard and overpower him with an ass-kicking that would make Izumi proud. It was still pretty damn annoying, the way they looked down on Ed.

However, Ed never knew how much he relied on wizards' stereotyping I'm-so-better-than-you-because-you're-short! attitude, though, until he saw how his opponents hesitated before their actions and were always careful to stay a safe three meters away.

Ironic how that the only reason Ed was losing – or at least not winning, was because the other guys thought he was better than this.

But the question still remained: How did they know?

Ed pressed his palms against the floor, and suddenly the floor was missing a couple pounds of concrete and then some poor guy got speared with a giant spike. His wand clattered out of his slack hand. Scurrying over, and taking care to avoid the spells flying at him, Ed grabbed the wand and discreetly slid it under his shirt and tucked it into his pants.

That feels so gross, he thought, grimacing.

That was when his cloak caught on fire.

Ed whipped around, eyes widening comically, and stamped out the flames.

"You – you – you bastards!" Ed fumed. I will kill them DEAD.

He stomped forward, bringing his arms up in a swift, angry motion, and was hit by the most terrible pain ever. Ohshitohshtohshitohshit, it felt like he was on fire – no, not merely on fire; as if he had been doused in highly flammable gasoline and then tossed into a roaring bonfire to be served well-done to a tribe of hungry cannibals.

Worst than that.

His nerves were screaming, or maybe that was him, and it felt like there were hundreds of red-hot pokers, stabbing him in every inch of his body.

Ed knew that everything broke eventually – everyone had a breaking point – so he was glad he finally passed out before he did.

Author's Note: Awwwwwight! So I finally updated! As you can tell, this thing is currently being rewritten. Please expect the next chapter to come in one or two weeks.

Thank you, eternally lovely reviewers! I had originally decided to abandon this, but some of you guys are just so awesome (Special thanks to Starburstia and Eriisu-April for the PMs telling me to get off my lazy ass and do something) I had to continue. I still love both of these fandoms, after all.

So. Is this any better? Are my attempts at humor totally lame and unfunny? Does anyone want to propose to me for finally - finally! - updating?

Much Love,

Phantom