Disclaimer: Neither do I own Harry Potter, or Fullmetal Alchemist. And even though I would much rather own the latter, I suppose it wouldn't be too bad to own HP. I mean, if I couldn't have Ed, I could at least have Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint.

A/N: Okay, so here's the deal. I was all like, "No Maya! You are NOT allowed to post a chapter of this story until you finish at least one of your other stories!" Since I have, you know, so freaking many and all. However, I tend to hardly ever listen to myself often – er, well, ever.

Anywho, this story came to life when I went through a strange two weeks in which I read just about every Harry Potter and Fullmetal Alchemist crossover that exists, and discovered that even though MOST of them are not very well written and all seem to be the same (which they really can't be blamed for that, I mean, if everyone seems to have the same general idea on how Edward would react to magical London, then the idea must hold some merit) there are a few very good ones. Which I will mention later on, I suppose, but not now, because I choose to put effort into only certain things. And that's not presently something I want to occupy myself with.

So, in the beginning I thought, "Well Maya, this'll be easy, cuz you'll just use this to write when you don't feel like working on the others." because I foolishly thought that it would be an easy, drabbly thing to go on about. But then as I was planning it, I realized that I was, in fact, planning it, and it was taking days to do so. I also realized that nothing, really, is easy with me. I spent forever and a day trying to find some way in which Edward could actually, logically find himself in the Harry Potter world without using an idea that has been used before. Be it some of the seriously unique ones, or the more generic, or the "Amestris is a country on Earth" ones, (though I haven't heard of Amestris, have you? ;) ) I finally decided on something, after making pages of notes on why this crossover WOULDN'T work, and I think it's relatively alright. I got the idea when I decided that I definitely wanted to use manga Ed, because I'm not very partial to the first anime (though I still love it, don't get me wrong, I just love the manga/brotherhood more) and what's freaking cooler than Ed in the manga? Nothing, that's what. So, to end this decidedly long Author's Note, I guess I'm gonna post the first chapter. Oh, woe is me, I said I wouldn't do this... Oh well :P Might as well jump right into things.

(For the record though, I was writing the last chapter of Invective when I decided I was going to post this. So, I was almost finished with one story.)

Rue

One

Incunabula

"Bloody hell..."Ron Weasley looked out through the steady rain at the limp form that lay on the entrance to Number Twelve Grimwauld Place.

"We've found someone Mum!" Fred – or George – had called out only minute before, apparating with a loud crack into the room.

"What do you mean you've found someone?" Sirius had questioned, looking at the two with curious dark eyes.

"Outside," one had began.

"On the doorstep," the other had continued, but had said nothing else. Ron and Hermione had simply looked to to the doorway as the twins pointed shakily in that very direction. Then, suddenly, everyone was moving.

Somehow, Ron had managed to make it to the door first, pulling the heavy wood aside and stepping hesitantly out into the night. He hardly remembered leaving his seat in the first place. He was pulling the heavy wood aside and stepping hesitantly out into the night without a second though, and there was a whispered "Lumos" from behind him and he could see what had been awaiting them...

"Bloody Hell..." Ron Weasley had said as he looked out through the steady rain at the limp form that lay on the entrance to Number Twelve Grimwauld Place.

"What do we do?" That was Tonks, the joyous, the care-free, confusion clear in her voice.

"I say we move him across the street," Moody, the paranoid and brave. Who held no reserve for care for some bleeding stranger on his doorstep. There was only stony resole in his tone.

"Don't be ridiculous Alastar!" Molly Weasley now, the motherly, the caring, who only saw the child in the form below them. She thought of her boys, "We can't leave him out here, he hardly looks any older than my boys."

There were so many boys, no one knew which age she was referring to.

"Remus, tell her its not a good idea," Moody was commanding, not asking. Lupin was the voice of reason, and most listened for him to make the consensus between them.

"I don't know Alastar... What if – ?"

"Blimey! Is that blood?" it was one of the twins who noticed, and it was ultimately all that was needed to make up Mrs Weasley's mind.

"Molly, I don't know if – "

"Oh shut it and help me get this poor lad into the house." there was no more argument, although not all were willing to assist, let alone be anywhere near the scene. Moody limped stubbornly inside and away from the hallway, slamming a door. As they all carried the young man into the old, decrepit house, rain pelted across the windows, and Mrs. Black began to scream.

The mysterious boy was rushed into the kitchen, while Sirius ran up the stairs to scream profanities at his howling mother. Her hatred echoing through the halls. Objects in the way crashed to the floor and were promptly forgotten about, silverware, plates, napkins, all joined the ranks as Molly swept a spot on the table clear in mere seconds, "Get his clothes off, find out where he's hurt. Ron, go get him something dry to wear, something warm! Fred, George, Hermione, Ginny, go upstairs!"

"But Mum –"

"Shit, there's blood all over the place Molly." Lupin's voice was a quiet utterance of concern, as the sickly looking man pulled on the black jacket that was damp and sticking to the young man's form.

He looked very young, maybe Fred and George's age, with a soft, handsome face and long blonde hair. It was darkened with water and pasted across his countenance as his strong features suddenly scrunched together in a pained grimace. Mrs. Weasley's hand was pushing it aside quickly, her palm taking its place.

"Fever. He's burning up," she mumbled, she could do something to help that. Her knowledge of medicinal magic was close to nonexistent compared to those trained in the matter, but with so many children to raise, one learns a few things. Her wand was out immediately, and she muttered a few spells to cool his body down while the others worked on his wet clothes. Ron came down only minutes later, and after handing off the clothes, was quickly rushed out of the room.

"Molly... Look." there were a few loud gasps.

"Hold on a second," she replied impatiently, mumbling the same spells again before feeling his head. "It's not working?" she whispered incredulously, "What?"

"Molly!" it was Moody now, tone demanding and harsh, she wondered when he decided to return to the situation, "Look."

Mrs. Weasley looked down at the boy on the table and all the air escaped her lungs in her shock. He was in only a pair of light blue boxers, and where his right arm and left leg should be, there were machines instead.

"Are those Muggle-made?" Arthur mused, prodding one with a finger, always the connoisseur of all things Muggle, "I've never seen anything like it before. At least not on a person."

"Is he a Muggle then?" Lupin asked, looking him over for wounds. Discovering that they weren't hard to find.

"It wouldn't make sense that he showed up on our doorstep if that were the case," Tonks reminded him, "he wouldn't have been able to see the house. Actually, he shouldn't have been able to anyway."

"He could be bad news," Moody said, voice firm, "a spy sent by him."

"If he knew we were here he would be sending much more than a spy, Alastar." Lupin said, banishing the theory with a shake of his head.

Some of the blood seemed to be coming from the area where the boy's flesh met the metal of his false arm. There were what looked like deep gauges there, and Lupin immediately set off to find something to wrap his shoulder in. His other arm had many puncture wounds, starting at one end and looking almost as if something had forced its way though his flesh, going in one side and emerging from the other, until finally nearing his heart, where the holes stopped. The last one, which was horribly near that very organ, was quite a bit wider, as if something had been ripped from the wound. There were various other lesser gashes all across his body, and some particularly deep ones around his abdominal area. It wasn't before she slipped in it that Molly realized there was too much blood.

"Tergeo," she whispered, pointing her wand at the blood that streaked across the boy's body.

It remained.

"Arthur," she called, slightly panicked, "Arthur, try to clean the blood off the floor."

"Tergeo... Scourgify... Evanesco!" his wand moved effortlessly through the air and his silent, simple spells soon escalated into frustrated commands, "Scourgify!"

Sirius came into the room then, took one look at the boy and said a calm, "Vulnera Sanentur," when nothing happened, his brows pulled together in confusion.

Moody was the first one to break the silence that had settled over them, "Magic doesn't work on him."

"You don't think Edward will sacrifice himself, do you...?" Riza asked Roy, who was clutching onto her arm, eyes looking unseeingly upon the scene before them.

"No. He knows the fear and despair of being left alone." Roy replied, eyes narrowed, sounding only slightly unsure, "He wouldn't put Alphonse through that."

Edward's eyes widened, unshed tears burning behind his eyes. He turned his head up, looking at the people that surrounded him.

"He wouldn't be alone," he muttered, not seeing the eyes of his friends widen in horror, "he would have all of you. His friends," he reasoned, searching desperately for vindication for the only thing he could think to do. With one final look at his brother's empty, ruined armor – one look that set his heart ablaze with sorrow and regret – he let out a horrible, grief-stricken scream, clapped his hands together, ad placed them on the hard stone ground.

"Edward, no!"

"Have you come for your brother?" a million voices asked at once, the sound echoing in the vast expanse of white that surrounded him. Nothing but a huge stone gate lay in this place, where everything was empty, "But how will you pull a whole person out? What is the payment? Will you offer up your own body?"

Edward grit his teeth in hard determination, tasting the blood on his tongue as he swallowed the last of his qualms and prepared for the end, "Yes, anything. Take me."

There was a long moment of silence, before the Truth, the one, the universe, God... He began to laugh. A toothy, feral grin stretched wide across his faceless being and he laughed. A man's hard, throaty rumble, a little girl's chirpy giggle. Edward thought that surely, his own laugh must be in there somewhere. This was the only sound that resonated for a long time, before it finally looked up at him and spoke once more.

"Wrong answer, Mister Al-che-mist," it sang out.

"What?" Ed asked, dismayed.

It sighed an exaggerated sigh, "It is truth that gives you proper despair," it said, "I had to tell another that earlier, I didn't think I would have to tell you the same. You are my favorite of those who have visited me."

"I should have known I wouldn't be worth enough," Ed hissed, "I'm not even a whole person. Fuck," his hands covered his face, and he screamed out in frustration.

"I will give you another kind of despair. What you fear worst, but still something you can overcome. Another chance, alchemist."

"Another chance?"

"What will you give to preserve your brother's soul? You have but only one more chance to find the correct answer, something worth everything that makes Alphonse Elric. Equivalent to body, mind, and soul, but your brother has no chances left."

"My arm, again," Edward answered immediately, "the equivalent for his soul twice before, it should be enough again."

"You are correct."

Edward watched as his right arm transmuted slowly apart, deconstruction, the middle phase of alchemy. But he was most shocked when the reconstruction began, and the automail that had been destroyed during his fight with Father was once more in place of his arm.

"Why?" he mumbled, flexing his metal digits, and was just as surprised to find a black jacket around him, its long sleeves effectively covering the limb from view, "I don't understand."

"You're selflessness has at the very least inspired me to give you these gifts, give you this chance to redeem yourself," it explained, "in the face of those more selfish who have stood before me this day. "Take me." was a relief."

"...Thank you." Edward finally whispered, the words hardly even sounding in this world of white.

"Say goodbye to your brother Edward Elric. You don't have long, find your answer."

"Brother!" Al's voice came from behind, and Edward turned toward it with hope shining in his golden eyes. He was ever conscious of the gate opening its vicious maw behind him, but focused instead on the sight of his brother's body before him. The sight he had wanted to see for so very long.

"Begin again, alchemist, you'll find your answer in the end... I hope," the voice came from all around him, but he kept his eyes trained on Alphonse.

"Begin again?" he thought aloud.

"You're so amusing," it laughed, a cacophony of noises, joyous alike, "you're brother will be waiting. Get going."

Edward felt the strong pull of some otherworldly force on all his limbs, his torso, his shoulders, his head. He knew what lay behind him, a great eye of despair and truth, millions of black arms, figures, pulling him in. He did not look.

"Alphonse Elric," he said, determination and diligence hard in his voice, "I will be back, I promise, no matter what."

"I believe you," Alphonse cried softly, a frail hand reaching out.

"Don't worry Al, I love you. I promise I'll get you back." and then, everything was black.

"Someone get a hold of Dumbledore."

The voices that came up to Fred and George were in hushed tones, and Fred began pulling the string of the extendable ear he had lowered down the stairway up. Just in time too, for the door downstairs slammed open, the loud noise causing Walburga Black to start screaming from her portrait once more.

"FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOME! OF ALL THE LOW-RATE, UNRESPECTABLE – "

"Shut the hell up!" Sirius' voice tore through the house, and after many insults, and quite a bit of effort, Sirius and Lupin had managed to shut the curtains on the blasted woman for the second time that night.

The twins and Ron immediately fled back to their respective rooms, in case their mother came upstairs to check to see where they were. Hermione was waiting for Ron in his room, "What did you guys hear?"

"Nothing really, it was hard to tell what was going on. They seemed a bit riled up 'bout somethin' though." Ron said, sitting on his bed and watching the old mattress sink down beneath his weight, "said somethin' 'bout getting' Dumbledore and everythin'."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, "So, do you think he's really hurt?"

"I don't know," Ron answered honestly, "all I could see when I tried to look at 'im was a lot o' blood. Everyone was crowdin' round 'im."

"Blood?" Hermione paled, and Ron nodded gravely.

"Yeah, how do you figure 'e found the place anyway?"

"I don't know either..."

Edward Elric listened with closed lids. He wasn't wearing clothes, and it seemed as if he was on a table of some sort, made of solid oak, in the middle of a large room. There were people all around him, mumbling and conversing in hushed tones. He could feel the chill of his automail against his flesh, so there was no hope of hiding that. He might have been kidnapped? Detained? But there were no restraints of any sort tying him to the table that he had been placed upon. It felt like his shoulder... His arm... and a good part of his torso seemed to be wrapped in bandages. His wounds screamed angrily at him but he ignored them all the same. After a few minutes it seemed as if the people had emptied out of the room; so, slowly, he chanced an opportunity to open his eyes.

He found himself in a large, dimly lit kitchen, with dark wood cupboard and antique looking appliances. They looked mostly unused, but old all the same. He threw his legs over the side of the table, his head filling with a rush of vertigo as he stood up. He fought the urge to fall, his right hand gripping the table hard as his stomach did flips in every direction. Where was he?

There was a newspaper lying on one end of the table, and he stumbled his way over to that side of the room. His right hand found the paper and clutched onto it tight, as he leaned both of his elbows against the table for support. His breath heavy.

The date was the first thing he noticed.

July 28th, 1995.

Then it was everything else.

The way the pictures moved, over and over again, upon the page. The impossible words mixed throughout, words like "MAGIC" and "SPELLS" and "FLYING" and "APPARITION" and "BEWITCHED". Along with the location of the newspaper. LONDON, it read, and for some reason, this actually all made sense to Edward.

"A different world?" he whispered in disbelief, "A different time?" it sounded just as incredulous when he spoke the thought out loud as it had in his own mind, but for some reason, he knew it to be true. He both cursed the Truth and thanked him at the same time. Thanks for making me so decisive, for the strange knowledge he possessed, for he had seen the Truth.

Twice now, actually.

So, this is my ultimate despair? Edward thought. It took everything and everyone away from me.

He felt a sense of dread suddenly weighing him down, and brought his hands to his head and let out a strangled yell of frustration. This always happened. He would be stripped of everything, everything he cared for. Kicked in the teeth every single time he got close and told to start all over again. He felt defeated. Sad. Angry. Overwhelmed.

"You left him in there alone?" a voice called from outside, in a language that Ed did not recognize but found himself understanding all the same. Each syllable sounded foreign and strange, but his tongue itched to speak it, try out this new knowledge that came from nowhere. Instead he bit hard on is lower lip, until it drew blood. Pulling himself away, before he got caught up in his mind, in the things he knew, present but locked away; waiting for his searching subconscious to free them.

A woman with red hair rushed into the room, looking with a shocked expression toward the spot on the table he had recently vacated. Edward noticed off hand that the table was soaked with is blood, and wondered if it would stain much. Her kind eyes found there way to the end of the room, where he now half-sat, half-leaned over the edge of the table, breath coming in short pants. His cheek pressed against the warm wood, and his golden eyes watching her calmly.

"You're awake..." she breathed, and Ed felt as if the statement was hardly directed toward him at all, "He's awake!" she called out a moment later, "He's awake!" her eyes never left his gaze. She looked nervous, slightly scared, anxious maybe? Edward wondered if he was the cause of all these emotions.

Within the next minute a large group of people had crowded into the room. An odd looking bunch, Ed mused, coolly leveling his gaze upon each newcomer in turn. He felt slightly exposed, and quite cold, even with the warm heat of the fire burning in its hearth beside him. All of these people gave him a wide berth, as if they were unsure as to whether or not he was going to up and attack them.

He sighed a deep, heavy breath of air, and held up his hands. He thought, with a strangled laugh, I come in peace.

A/N: See, I'm playing with the concept that when Edward looked around at all his friends at the end, he found a different answer then the one he came up with in the manga. Because our very-rash Ed is quite impulsive, especially when prompted with despair, and I don't find it all that unlikely that he might sacrifice himself instead. Thanks for reading. I'm not too proud of myself to be you guys to click that button down there are leave review. Please? :)