I am so so sorry for the impossibly lengthy wait. My heartfelt gratitude to Hasenpfeffer for beta-reading and being an absolute star, and also to Lightning rain for her help. You both are amazing. This chapter wouldn't be here without you.

I hope the small flashbacks don't get confusing; basically, if the writing is in italics then it's either a memory, or someone thinking (most likely Ed). Also. Man. I'm really losing steam here. Mixing two complicated worlds together is a lot harder than I previously thought. When I started this, honestly, I just wanted to throw Edward for a loop by sticking him somewhere he would absolutely hate. Also, I find the idea of two contradicting worlds, and how the different characters would deal with it if they ever collided, absolutely fascinating. So I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me the inaccuracies; it's hard enough keeping all of them in character and the direction of the story interesting. In the words of Bernard Black, "I'm not wonder woman!" I have one more chapter planned out. But don't hold out. We'll see how it goes.

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 7: Healing, Cleansing and Ranting.

…

…

Ed was drifting. His mind was a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts and dark slinking images. He thought he saw the sun catching on the helmet of an old suit of armour, the heavy clunk of a metal boot on a wooden floor.

"Alphonse?" he mumbled, automail hand reaching out to catch his little brother's arm.

Because it looked like he was moving away; Ed could just make out his retreating back through the strange drifting fog. Where… where was he going? Alphonse? Why wasn't he by his side like he always was? Ed must have done something wrong. Did Al hate him?

"Al – wait up! Hey! Wait for me!"

Damn it, his legs had always been shorter than Alphonse's. And he was so tired. He couldn't catch up.

"Alphonse!" His hand touched something metal, with a small chink. His automail fingers were uncertain and fumbling, "Al – that you?"

Something grasped his hand, and it was then that Ed blinked groggily, and a wooden bedside table abruptly came into focus with a small silver goblet resting on top of it. The light from a candle was catching on its rim, making it glint. It was wobbling slightly.

Huh, thought Ed, confusedly, that must have been what I touched… then… It wasn't Al...

He realised with a small sinking feeling that he had in fact been asleep and dreaming; Alphonse wasn't here, because here was somewhere that no one he had ever known could get to. He remembered now, and he almost wished he hadn't woken up at all.

He was alone.

Well, alone except for that hand that had grasped his. He looked at his appendage blearily, and then snatched it back.

"Hey, get offa me…" his voice was still gritty with sleep, but the fever dreams weren't clouding his vision anymore. An old woman frowned back at him, with steely blue eyes and curling grey hair hidden under a white cloth hat. She looked like a nurse; one of those snappy no-nonsense nurses that they have at the hospital in Central that poke you full of needles and don't let your armoured brother sit vigilantly at your bedside at night, so you have to sneak him in through the window.

Which is a pretty mean feat when your brother's metal body clangs loud enough to wake up the entire ward and your stitches nearly tear open while you try and haul him into your room.

"Damn it, Al - why do you have to be so heavy? Ack, I think I pulled one of my stitches out!"

"Brother, you're so mean - it's not my fault I'm so big! Put me down! I'll just stay outside for tonight!"

"No!"

"Brother, I don't mind. I'll come back to see you when visitors are allowed in the morning. This is ridiculous. Are you – are you bleeding again?"

"Nah, it's just one stitch. I'm fine Al, I swear."

"Brother! That's it, I'm staying in the gardens. Just go to sleep, I'll be fine outside."

"But Al…"

"It's only one night, brother."

"Yeah, but… What if that nurse tries to come back in and kill me?"

A sigh that echoed in that metal shell. "I'll find another way in, okay? Now close the window before you catch a cold!"

"All right… but you better be up here in ten minutes Al, or I'm coming out to look for you, you got that?"

"I got it, close the window already!"

" - And try not to use alchemy, the flash lights up the whole floor and that nurse has got eagle-eyes, she'll probably force me to drink milk again if she thinks I'm overexerting myself - hey, Alphonse? Al?"

"Shh – brother, you're making enough of a racket as it is! I said I'd come inside, and I will. I promise."

Ed blinked away the memory and sure enough that old bat was still there, a small frown on her brow just visible underneath that ridiculous white cloth hat. Damn, maybe he wasn't as awake as he first thought if he was slipping in and out of awareness like this. He hated feeling vulnerable.

"Who the hell are you?" he grouched at her. The thought of Al had made him miserable. And waking up in strange beds, a common occurrence with the travelling life he and Al led, always started him off in a bad mood.

"Keep your voice down," the old lady said in an authoritative undertone, and Ed, despite himself, immediately snapped his mouth shut at the reprimand; there was something of Teacher in the harsh profile of this woman's face that instantly made him obey. She nodded at him approvingly, "My name is Madam Pomfrey, matron and nurse at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you, dear boy, are to remain in this bed until I see fit. You've had a high fever."

"Wha?" Ed said dumbly, and then when the words sank in he wasted no time in bristling in annoyance, "Hey! You can't tell me what to do! And where the hell am I anyway?"

Last he remembered, he and that freckle-faced and absurdly tall teenager called Fred had escaped from the evil prison place, in a mind-bogglingly stupid way that failed to make any sense at all, and they had somehow ended up in a musty dark old room in what Fred had majestically called the Headquarters of some crazy cult Order. Then after a frosty welcome from the aforementioned Order of crazy cultists, Edward had promptly fainted, either from exhaustion or, more likely, in a last-ditch effort to save his mind from melting at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Fan-freakin'-tastic. Ed groaned loudly.

He halted his angry musings for a moment to take in his surroundings, golden eyes blinking the rest of the fog away.

It was a small room, with two beds shoved haphazardly inside it. The ceiling was tall with a dusty chandelier which spoke of grandeur, but the peeling yellowed wallpaper made him think this place had been neglected. It looked like a shabby room in a haunted house, if he believed in such things. Which he didn't…

In his own world.

He shivered, bringing the blankets up around his shoulders and looking thoroughly affronted. He was cold, but his forehead was beading sweat, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was only clad in his boxers. His cheeks reddened immediately.

"Where - where are my clothes?!"

"I'll answer your questions, if you quiet down. You are inside the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix." Madam Pomfrey explained, "And you couldn't very well sleep comfortably in those rags you were wearing, so I removed them for you. Now, no more talking. I need to examine you, and I can't do so with your mouth flapping."

Edward didn't know what on earth she was talking about, but he did know that he was rather uncomfortable being half naked in front of a strange old lady. "Order of what?" he spluttered, "Give me back my clothes, damn it! I'm getting outta here."

"I said no more talking. And leaving is quite out of the question. You need to rest!"

Ed felt his mouth snap shut without his say so, and his fingers went up to his lips in alarm, face turning red. "Mffghh!" he would have yelled, if he could. As it was he balled his hands into fists under the now very restrictive bed sheets and tried to get out of bed completely.

Madam Pomfrey was having none of it. "Hush, it's only temporary. I can't have you shouting about all over the place, there are other people here trying to sleep. You woke up in the middle of my examination, and I would like to see it through to the end. Now if you could just act civilly, I'll give you back your ability to speak."

One of Ed's golden eyes twitched as he considered his options. He could take this old bat, but he'd probably fall over afterwards and then they'd end up at square one, so he'd give her the benefit of the doubt for now. He nodded begrudgingly.

Madam Pomfrey waved her stick and Ed let out a large breath as his lips were no longer fused together.

"You old bat!" he shouted. "What the hell did you do to me?"

A long suffering sigh. "I said to be quiet, or would you prefer me to knock you unconscious so that I may continue unimpeded?"

Ed grimaced, not doubting for one minute that that's what this woman would do. He settled for a death glare in her direction and lay back against the many pillows on the bed. She waved her stick in his face and he had to fight the urge not to shrink away from her ministrations. She seemed fairly harmless and definitely not about to torture him, but still his muscles tensed up at her proximity, his breath coming a little quicker. He knew it was stupid. He lowered his eyes to the bedcovers where his fists were grasping the sheets in a death grip.

Madam Pomfrey stopped and gave him a look of quiet understanding.

"It must come as no surprise for me to say that you are malnourished and dehydrated… you've been suffering from a high fever, which caused some delirium that thankfully seems to have died down. You also had a few broken ribs, which I've taken care of…"

Ed didn't need this old hag to tell him about his own body; he felt as if he'd just been sat on by Gluttony for a week. He winced. Ugh, maybe even Envy as well. He zoned out as she listed his grievances with the detached air of a seasoned doctor, but was snapped back into reality when she tapped his metal arm with the tip of her stick.

"Your limbs," her soft blue eyes had lit up with curiosity, "I've never seen the like – are these muggle made?"

Ed didn't even know what 'muggle' meant, but he'd had many an interest taken in his automail over the years, so that was nothing new. "My mechanic, Winry, made them for me," he said. Not willing to disclose the incident of human transmutation to this nosy old bat, thank you very much. He suffered through the rest of her prodding with a vein throbbing in his temple and a piercing headache to go with it.

"A mechanic?" the woman said, as though she had never heard the word before.

She set her wand over his automail at the ports with her lips puckered in a frown. Her stick-waving seemed to tell her something because she shook her head solemnly, "Cursed off with dark magic, were they?" She said, without expecting a reply. Ed was tight lipped as he wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. Dark magic, huh, he thought with a grimace, more like my own stupidity. "It's all right, I've heard my fair share of horror stories… My duty is to heal, I know better than to ask."

Ed grimaced as his thoughts strayed to all of the gross things this unnatural magic could do to someone. It was a wonder, after all of her stick-waving, that he hadn't sprouted three heads and a pair of bat wings or something. This place was so wrong.

Ed grumbled, doing his best to scoot away from the woman, through a mound of pillows. He shifted up to the headboard where he firmly pressed his back and curled inwards on himself, bringing his knees up and cradling his metal arm to his chest.

"Alright, are you finished now?" he snapped. If he wasn't so tired, fed up, and poorly clad, he might have felt a little guiltier that he was threatening an old lady. As it was, he didn't give a damn. "Give me back my clothes and I won't have to rearrange your face with my fist!"

She ignored his words completely, tutting under her breath as she stood. "There's no need to look so affronted, Mr. Edward. Now, there's not much I can do for you except prescribe plenty of bed rest and plenty of food when you feel up to it. I've left a Dreamless Sleep draught on the bedside table, I suggest you take it. Sleep, rest and recuperation is almost always the best medicine."

She nodded curtly, as if expecting him to follow her instructions to the letter.

Ed eyed the odd goblet on the bedside table with more than a little apprehension in his golden eyes. The goblet was smoking. And, on closer inspection, as he narrowed his eyes at it with growing suspicion, it was freakin' glowing as well. There was no way in Truth's Gate, that he was going to go anywhere near that thing, much less swallow its contents.

… He wished his dream had been right when he'd mistaken the metal for Alphonse's armour. It sure was weird waking up without his brother looming by his bedside.

Madam Pomfrey made to leave the room, and Ed noticed for the first time, that Molly Weasley was standing by the door, with a tray of something that smelled divine and a look of deep concern on her face.

"Oh, Edward dear! You're awake, thank goodness," said Molly, coming inside and putting the tray on the bedside table, unfortunately not knocking over the nearby goblet as she did so.

"I was afraid that whatever horrors they put you through would have addled your brains," said Madam Pomfrey from the doorway. Her eyes were sad. She lifted her chin and said to Molly. "But he's full of spit and vinegar! Make sure he stays in bed. I must get back to the school. No doubt Mr. Potter has already gotten himself into some mischief in my absence, I'm sure to find the hospital wing brimming with casualties! I'll be back to check on you later, Mr. Edward."

Ed suddenly felt the need to say something to this annoying old woman, who'd bundled him up in a warm bed for the first time in Truth knows how long, and pretty much been verbally abused for her trouble. He pushed himself up on weak elbows, "It's Ed," he said, something that could have been a smile, but was much too disgruntled to be a true one, pulling at his lips.

"Of course it is. Now rest." She said, closing the door with a snap.

Molly Weasley took no time at all in plonking the steaming tray on Ed's lap as soon as he was settled. "Eat up now, you're looking positively starved! It's not good for anyone to be so skinny. Poppy said you should leave eating solids until tomorrow, but a few dumplings never did anyone any harm." Sure enough the tray had a large bowl of hot broth stew with fluffy dumplings floating on its surface, and a large crust of buttered bread on the side. Ed practically inhaled it, the warm liquid burning his tongue, as he ate as though he hadn't in months. Which was probably the truth. He didn't really know how long he'd been captured for. He left the bread and a few dumplings though, not wanting to chance it too much invade his stomach rebelled.

Molly eyed him approvingly, and when he'd finished, she took the tray and left it floating in midair while she fluffed his pillows. If Ed hadn't been so warm and fuzzy from being so full, he would have sprung backwards at the sight of the tray floating eerily suspended on thin air beside him, but he just glared groggily at it. He was hopelessly exhausted. He hoped she hadn't used magic to make that stew, because it had been almost as good as his mother's.

Edward was so sleepy, he almost didn't realise he was falling under. The world blurred and his eyelids were much too heavy to keep open. Someone's fingers brushed his hair back, soothingly. Warm blankets were gently pulled up to his chin. "Thank you, Edward." There was a soft press of lips to his forehead, and then he couldn't hold onto the waking world any longer, not even with the inhuman strength of his automail fingers.

…

Ed cracked his eyes open and closed them almost immediately. He let out a pained groan, snippets of last night, or this morning, floating languidly in his cranium. He was in a bed, a goddamn bed. It was the first time he'd woken up feeling safe and warm in Truth knows how long; he ached from too many cold nights chained to a wall and his muscles cried out for him to just lie there. Lie there forever and never get back up.

That sounded like pure freakin' bliss. Except, he really needed to use the bathroom.

Stupid bladder. He growled at himself, shoving his head into the pillow and trying to suffocate himself with its softness. At least in this old house there was probably going to be a decent toilet. He breathed in the smell of clean cotton for a moment before his bladder made it quite clear that he really had to get up. He rolled over begrudgingly, shoving off the warm sheets with a scowl and planting his bare mismatched feet on the wooden floor. He nearly recoiled at the feel of the cool wood under his right foot.

Damn it! That felt colder than Al's armour in the winter, when he used to sit outside to watch the sunrise since he couldn't sleep anymore, nor feel the cold, and he would come to wake Ed up afterwards, covered in snaking silvery frost.

"AAAAAHHH! Al! Get the hell away from me!"

"Sorry brother, I forgot I got so cold! I just wanted to wake you up for breakfast."

"Pfft, yeah right Al! You know damn well – no! No, don't touch me!"

"Well maybe you should get out of bed then, you sloth!"

"But I'm cosy – Ack! AL!"

"Were you dreaming of Winry? Is that why you -"

"WHA? Was not! Shut the hell up, Al!"

"Then get up, brother!"

"AHH! DAMN IT THAT'S COLD! You traitor!"

"Hehe!"

Edward stood, wobbled, fell over. Whoops. His hands were splayed on the chilly wood of the floor now, cheek pressed against it. At least the cold against his face was doing wonders in waking him up. He stood up again, this time bracing himself with an automail hand clenched on the side of the bed he'd been in. He waited for the world to stop rotating sickeningly around him.

While he was waiting for the merry-go-round to stop so he could get the hell off it, Mrs Weasley entered the room. He spied her through a crack in his eyelids, as she spun around the room like an old deranged red-headed ballerina.

He blinked, and then suddenly she was in front of him, with such concern pinching her brow, that he almost looked behind himself to see if Fred was standing there. But her concern seemed reserved for him as she placed a soft hand on his forehead and pursed her lips.

"Edward dear, you really shouldn't be up. You're still a little warm."

Ed let go of the bed, and managed to stay upright. He was oddly proud of the fact. "I er, just needed to use the bathroom." He said, unsure why he was feeling guilty at that unconditional look of open worry on her face. Maybe because he didn't deserve it.

She seated him back on the bed before he even knew what was happening and with a cup of his cheek and a "I won't be a minute, dear," she was out of the room once again.

Damn it, it had taken enough effort the first time he'd gotten up from this stupid beautifully soft bed, he didn't think he could take leaving its soft caress for a second time. He tightened his jaw and sat rigidly, willing himself not to curl up on his side in the soft downy pillow, wrapped in a white cocoon of blankets like a golden moth.

No, no, no. You need to the toilet, remember? His eyelids drooped, and he flicked them back open with a renewed scowl adorning his lips. Don't you dare even think about going back to sleep, you jerk!

Luckily for Edward, he did not have to punch himself in the face with his automail fist like he had been gearing himself up to do, nor wrench himself from the grip of sleep on his own, as Mrs Weasley soon returned, her arms holding a small bundle and her face wearing a warm smile. She somehow managed to heave Ed up from the bed and steer him out of the room without much difficulty. It was like she couldn't hear the bed calling out his name and sucking him into its duvet abyss - she was like a super woman or something. Must have magical powers, Ed thought dryly, er… he nearly slapped his own head at the thought.

"I thought you might like a shower while you're in there, dear," said Mrs Weasley kindly, "the bathroom's just down the hall." She lay a towel in his arms, on top of which were folded a smart knitted red jumper, soft brown slacks, boxers and socks. The material felt soft and warm against his flesh arm. "Just leave your pyjamas outside, and I'll take care of them for you."

"Uh, thanks." Ed said quietly, and more than a little awkwardly, not quite knowing how to feel about this foreign woman mothering him so much. For once he found himself welcoming it and didn't even mind when she bent forward and kissed his forehead, a hand on his cheek.

Ed blushed a bright pink, a little shocked at the action. He was glad no one from home was here to see. Especially that bastard Mustang, he'd never live it down. He was a Major, for Truth's sake. He had stared down Homunculi without flinching, been stabbed straight through the stomach with a steel pipe and carried on fighting, he had faced the terrible whiteness of the Gate arguably too many times. And yet at the first sign of affection Ed found himself bumbling, embarrassed. Fighting he could handle, warmth from strangers he could not, especially one who reminded him so much of his own mother. They had the same kind eyes.

"Oh it's no problem at all. Now, I'll just be cooking breakfast downstairs, come down if you feel up to it. Or I can bring up a plate to you later, you must still be exhausted." She straightened and smiled, "Call if you need anything else, Edward dear."

Ed stood there for a few moments collecting his bearings, and trying to wipe the sheepish smile off of his face, before he marched – okay, hobbled - down the end of the landing to the bathroom.

…

The remaining Order members, namely the Twins, Mr. Weasley, Remus, and Sirius, were seated at the table in the basement kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place eagerly tucking into breakfast, while Mrs Weasley stood by the cooker finishing frying up enough provisions to feed a small army.

"So," said Fred through a mouthful of sausage and beans, "is Ed up and about yet?"

"It's Edward, Fred," said Mrs Weasley, dishing out the piles of crispy bacon onto the many waiting plates from a sizzling frying pan, "and don't talk with your mouth full," she admonished without the usual bite. She had let Fred get away with nearly everything these past few days, not caring in the least whether he blew up half the house with George, so long as he was home and safe. She continued with troubled eyes, "He's just popped into the shower. I'm not sure he's well enough to come down yet, but at least he's awake. Poppy said there's nothing more she could do, didn't want the magic to interfere with those limbs of his. And if he really is… well, there's no telling what our magic will do to him. The poor dear."

Fred snorted, "Mum, I'm pretty sure he'd wallop you one if he heard you calling him that."

"Yes, he did have quite the temper." Mused Mrs Weasley with a smile, turning back to fry some eggs.

"Heard from Dumbles yet?"

Lupin shook his head, worry creasing his pale face. "Not a peep. I'm sure he'll contact us when he's ready, though I must admit; I am getting a little anxious."

"Mad-eye's out looking for him. No doubt he'll tell him that we're harbouring a dangerous fugitive at Headquarters and demand we kill the kid, or something even more ridiculous," Sirius snorted, "at least that'll get Dumbledore's attention. We could all use some answers. Especially Ed." He scratched at his head absently, "Kid's been locked up with Voldemort. If he is this 'Weapon', he probably doesn't even know where the hell he is, what the hell magic is, who the hell the good guys are…"

"And we can't tell him much without Dumbledore's say so." Lupin said, raising a slender eyebrow.

"Yeah," growled Sirius, "but I don't know how long we can keep that kid in the dark. He's a sharp one."

Molly cleared her throat. "Actually," she said, a little cautiously, "a letter arrived from Dumbledore this morning."

"Mum! Where is it?"

"What's it say?"

She shook her head, "I don't know. It's addressed to Edward."

…

Ed closed the door behind him and locked it. He answered the call of nature and then found that his legs were trembling so badly that he had to sit on the now closed toilet seat in order to keep from falling over. He rested his head on the bundle of clothes and towel that he had on his knees.

He just needed a moment to compose himself, that was all. Even the Fullmetal Alchemist needed a bit of time to take all this new shit in; he felt like he was going mad.

Okay, he closed his golden eyes, a headache drumming in his temples, so let's get things clear, brain. I made a deal with Truth to get Al's body back, but he was being an asshole and wouldn't take my alchemy as payment. Ed's metal hand gripped the towel on top of the pile, scrunching it as he remembered that lost look on Alphonse's face when he had tried to explain that he wasn't going to be able to go back with his little brother. That bastard made me break my promise. And instead of everything being finally over, I end up being sent to a freakin' other world that's full of freakin' magic and stuff that doesn't – can't - make any freakin' sense, where I'm promptly kidnapped by a freakin' megalomaniac bastard and freakin' tortured – and – and damn it! -

He took a deep breath and got up shakily; trying to figure out what the hell had been going on was giving him a damn migraine. He rubbed his eyes with his flesh hand and then buried his nose in the crook of his arm. Stupid world. He breathed heavily into the warm skin there. I want to go home. He thought, miserably, and let his arm fall back to his side as he realised that the only way he was going to get home was if he completed his mission from Truth, and he couldn't very well do that standing half-naked in a bathroom, moping at himself.

Get a grip, he growled, look at yourself, you're being pathetic! Teacher would slap you into next week for even thinking you couldn't handle this stupid place. You're out of there now, you just have to regroup and get stronger and clever enough to beat the shit out of that evil bastard. He looked up, and the clothes still clutched in his metal hand fell to the floor in a whisper of fabric when he caught his reflection in the large mirror above the sink.

Two dull orbs stared back at him in a face that was gaunt and emotionless – could that really be me? - ragged bronze hair stuck to his forehead with dried sweat and lay limp around his shoulders, long since having fallen out of its braid. His automail looked much larger in comparison to his slightly shrunken muscle structure – he had tried to keep up the exercises that Winry had told him to do to keep the port functioning, but there was only so much stretching and bending he could do whilst clapped in irons and starving. It was a wonder the damn things hadn't shown some signs of rejection. He flexed his metal arm wonderingly; at least it still seemed to be working all right, even if it was a little dusty from exploding that cell wall. Just needed a bit of maintenance, a bit of oiling and a good clean. His eyes moved from his automail to the rest of his body.

Truth, he was filthy, all dirty pale skin and bones. Damn it, he looked freakin' awful – he wasn't usually one to take pride in his appearance all that much, but he remembered what he had looked like before all of this shit, remembered Alphonse telling him once that he'd heard some young female officers whispering about him at Central command, Hawkeye had once told him that when he was older he would be a heartbreaker, and Havoc had snickered at his plait and made him blush. He had been all gold and fire. The Fullmetal Alchemist.

He wasn't that stranger in the mirror. It was time to clean himself up.

…

The door to the office opened and in swept a tall dark figure, the very one that Lieutenant Hawkeye had been searching all around the military command base for the past five hours for.

And here he was now, casually sauntering into the outer office, just moments after she had been giving serious consideration to the idea that she should just give up on this wild goose chase and go home for the night, leaving her blind, overconfident Colonel to fend for himself. Not that he couldn't take care of himself; it was just that Hawkeye was on edge, everyone was, since it happened. She would feel much better knowing that The Colonel was within shooting range.

"Sir – where have you been? I -" the words were mislaid on her tongue as she looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since he'd swaggered through the door. She gasped at the sight of his face, and that small smug grin that lit up his features.

His eyes firmly held hers and they were dark and burning. He could see, The Colonel, Roy, could see.

"Colonel…" she whispered.

"Lieutenant. I'm sure you've been wondering where I've been these past few hours."

"How - how is this possible, Colonel?" her eyes were wide, her tone painfully filled with hope. "You managed to get your sight back?"

"I'm sorry I didn't include you in the process Lieutenant, but I wanted nobody else to pay for any mistakes that could have been made." He said, voice rumbling, "I used the philosopher's stone. Restored Havoc's mobility as well, all thanks to Doctor Marcoh. He's got no excuse anymore to not help me get to the top." And with that, Mustang took his victorious stance, fist punching into the air with a grin. "The miniskirt revolution will finally be realised!"

She couldn't believe it, he was just like his old self. And Havoc too, it was almost too good to be true.

"Of course, sir." Hawkeye said dryly, but the honest smile on her face and her suspiciously shining eyes betrayed her happiness. "Permission to act out of turn, sir."

"Granted."

Hawkeye wiped her eyes, walked over to Mustang and buried her face in his chest. He was startled for a moment before taking her by the shoulders gently. "Riza," he said softly.

"I'm sorry, sir." She whispered, and then just as quickly as it had been shown, the vulnerability she so rarely displayed was snapped back behind large brown eyes as she stepped back from her superior officer. Her eyes still shone, but there was resolve now, steel within the sadness. "With everything that's happened, I'm just so glad that you're back to your old self again. Everyone seems to be lost…"

"Lieutenant," Mustang sighed, "We are not lost, we won against the Homunculi and that is no small victory. We just need to regroup. Although I sense you're not just talking about the men. You mean Fullmetal. And I'm afraid to say that, for the moment, he is lost. Very lost."

Hawkeye's face betrayed no tears now, she stood tall. "He can't be gone, sir, I wouldn't believe that Edward would do that to Alphonse, not when they worked so hard to come out of this together. It doesn't make sense."

The Colonel was silent for a moment or two, a contemplative look muddling in his eyebrows. His dark eyes flicked up to her brown ones, "Lieutenant, what do you know of Truth?"

Her eyes widened a little at the seemingly out of place question, before sharpening slightly. "Truth? I believe I've heard Edward talk of it briefly, something to do with the Gate of alchemy?"

A slight nod. A curve of his lip. Hawkeye knew that look, it was the one reserved for when her attentiveness surprised him. "That's correct, Lieutenant. To become one of the sacrifices, I passed through the Gate of alchemy and ended up giving up my sight for the privilege. I saw the Truth." He sighed, "In order to get my eyesight back, I had to return there and offer the stone as payment. Equivalent Exchange."

Hawkeye pursed her lips in puzzlement. "What are you telling me, sir?"

"I went back to the Gate. I know that Fullmetal isn't dead, but his return isn't guaranteed, and the brat is in grave danger. I need to talk to Alphonse as soon as possible."

Hawkeye nodded, although she didn't understand at the moment, she knew that look on the Colonel's face all too well. It was one of grim determination, and she was one of the only people, other than the late Maes Hughes, to realise what flicker in his dark eyes was.

Fear.

He would reveal all in due time, but if it was enough to scare the great Flame Alchemist then it was bad news indeed.

"Yes sir."

They sped down the corridor, she one respectful step behind.

"Oh, and Lieutenant," said Mustang. He hadn't turned around, still walking briskly ahead of her. She eyed the back of his head thoughtfully. "Thank you for being my eyes when I lost my own. I hope I can still depend on you to do the same in the future, if my vision ever becomes clouded."

Hawkeye nodded with a small smile. She knew what he was trying to say, and the thought that he trusted her more than he trusted himself made something inside of her warm.

"Always, sir." She said.

…

Winry nudged open the door with her boot, impossibly hopeful blue eyes peering into the room.

Alphonse had never been more glad to see anyone. "Winry!"

"AL!" She cried upon seeing him awake and upright, and she bolted into the room, flinging the door open the rest of the way in her haste and making it slam into the wall next to it. Just like Brother would have. There were bright tears in her eyes; Al just caught a glimpse of them before she had flung herself at him, nearly knocking him over as her arms hugged around his neck, "Oh Al! You're you – I knew you both could do it." Her voice dissolved into sobs. "He's an idiot Al, a huge idiot… Oh, Alphonse…"

"Winry," Al had to try and stop his own tears from spilling out under his eyelids, he hadn't learned to control his emotions yet, everything just seemed to overwhelm him. "Brother's not gone forever, he promised."

There was the sound of throat being cleared. Al looked up in surprise to see the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye standing stiffly in the doorway. They obviously hadn't wanted to interrupt the reunion, but their faces were grim enough that he knew instantly that whatever they had come to see him for was important. Al nodded at them with a slightly wet smile, beckoning them inside.

"Colonel, Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Hawkeye smiled immediately at the sight of Alphonse, and came over to him with swift and sure footsteps, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. She smelled like clean gun oil and oranges, and the scent of it tingled his nose. It suited her. It was so odd how Alphonse had never really knew that about her before, to him, the Colonel and his officers had only ever been faces and voices. Now they were fleshed out, living, breathing, smelling, feeling, humans.

"It's so good to finally see you Alphonse." Hawkeye said warmly, and she moved her hand up to cup his face in a rare display of affection. He always knew that's what the Lieutenant would feel like; she had the same touch as his mother. Though, admittedly, she was a little rougher skinned, still gentle, but with the calluses of a seasoned sharp shooter. "You look just like your brother -"

"Only," said the Colonel smoothly, still stood at the door with a hint of a smirk now on his face, "considerably taller than Fullmetal."

Alphonse was very good at reading people, he had had to be, as he was very limited in what he could observe when he was inside his armour. Every small twitch and subtle glance, every tone of voice was lapped up eagerly, because they meant the world to Al. They meant that even though he couldn't feel, he could still interact with the world around him. Still tell when his brother was ill even though he couldn't feel the fever radiating from him, still figure out when they were in danger because of a few snide eyes pointed their way, still help those in need when they needed helping even though they couldn't ask for it.

And now every sense was screaming at him that his friends were beyond worried.

There were lines of stress visible around Hawkeye's eyes and pulling at her lips. The Colonel's voice had been almost too steady, as if he were overcompensating. And the scent of worry was so thick on the air that it was almost stifling. Winry's hand was trembling a little against his own as if she has realised it too; whatever they had come to tell him was not going to be good. He smiled at them in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, but years of having no way of expressing his emotions left him almost unsure of how to do it. His lips stretched into a smile, and his fingers flew up to his mouth to feel it there.

He wanted his first smile to be for his brother. Had he even smiled at Ed before he was snatched away? He couldn't remember.

"Brother's not dead." Al said, staring at them all with golden amber eyes. He knew that was what they all wanted to hear, that the two of them would have a happy ending like everyone had hoped. He wished that the Colonel and Hawkeye and Winry had been waiting outside just to see him, but he knew that the happy reunion that he had so wished for would have to wait until his brother was back home with him.

It was then that the Colonel chose to step fully into the room. Alphonse could smell soft smoke, as if a candle's wick had just died, and a small trail of wispy grey had ribboned into the air. He wondered how intense the smell would become when the Colonel had his notorious gloves on and unleashed all manner of hellfire in one controlled snap of his fingers.

"What happened, Alphonse?" Colonel Mustang asked, straight to business. "I may not be as fully versed in the field of human transmutation as you and Fullmetal, but I could tell what that circle was for – what he was willing to give."

"Did he just give himself up?" Winry asked, wiping her eyes with a newfound anger, "because that would be just like him! Stupid selfless alchemy freak."

Al shook his head, "Of course not! Even Brother isn't that reckless. We both know how much a human life is worth and neither of us would ever do something that dangerous ever again. We promised each other. Brother… he tried to give up his alchemy."

Hawkeye's brown eyes widened. Winry blinked, a single tear ran down her face, and caught on her lip. "Ed tried to sacrifice his alchemy? Is that even possible? But -"

"His alchemy is everything to him?" finished Mustang with a small sad smirk, "We all know that's not the case. The only thing that ever really mattered to Fullmetal was getting Alphonse back. And he succeeded in that." He lowered his dark eyes and muttered, "Noble brat. But seeing as he is no longer here, I'm guessing the exchange didn't go as planned."

Al nodded, putting his hands in his lap, fingers fiddling self-consciously. "I only know what brother told me. When we were inside the portal. Truth wouldn't let Brother give up his alchemy; he said that Ed would need it in the future. So they had to make a new deal."

The Colonel pulled up a visitor's chair and sat in it heavily, propping his arms on his knees. "I have something to tell you Alphonse."

Al's bright eyes stared back at him knowingly, "You used the philosopher's stone to restore your sight, sir," he said, without a hint of disapproval in his soft voice. There was nothing but quiet understanding in those amber orbs. "Brother wouldn't judge you for it, and neither would I. We were never allowed to use the stone for our own ends, because it was our fault we lost what we did, and we knew that should be the ones to repay what we owed. What was done to you wasn't fair, nor to Lieutenant Havoc."

"No, it wasn't fair," agreed Mustang, darkly, "and when I returned to the Gate to get my eyesight back, the being that you call 'Truth' agreed. He allowed me to see something."

Winry sat up a little, her shining blue eyes looking up into the Colonel's face curiously. Al echoed her, trying to sit upright, his arms trembling under his weight, not used to so much exertion. Winry placed a steadying arm around his shoulders. "Did you find something out about Brother?" Al asked, voice tight with hope. "Do you know where he went?"

The Colonel sighed, "Truthfully, I just wanted to be able to see again. After Marcoh used the Philosopher's stone to heal Havoc, I used what was left of it to open the portal to try and bargain my sight back – something stolen by the Gate is much harder to cure than mere blindness would have been. I could have cured a million eyes with that stone, but I selfishly used it on myself."

"Your sight was stolen from you; you didn't choose to exchange it, you didn't even want to see the Truth. It wasn't equivalent no matter what you gained from it," murmured Alphonse thoughtfully, "not really."

Mustang nodded. "Truth told me that giving up my eyesight was not my choice, and the power that remained of the Philosopher's stone would be enough of a payment to regain my sight, along with something of my choosing." He let out a heavy breath, "So, I asked him what happened to Fullmetal."

Al's eyes were impossibly bright and almost luminous. "W-what did he say? We only had a minute together, Brother couldn't tell me everything. He just said that he'd get back to me."

"Truth told me that Fullmetal has a job to do, in a world different to this one. That there are many Gates, like the Gate that controls our alchemy, and that they are all connected. Whatever happens to one happens to the others. It's my understanding that Fullmetal has been sent to this other world to stop that Gate from collapsing, and in turn stop our own Gate from that same fate. In return for this he got your body back, and he'll eventually be able to come home."

"But… how?"

"I'm not sure. But I was able to see into the other world, if only for a moment." Mustang seemed to be trying to steel himself. "I didn't understand it. Truth attempted to explain a little, but there was only so much knowledge the philosopher's stone was worth. It seems to be a world where there is no alchemy, but something called magic instead. I saw Fullmetal…" he swallowed.

Al gripped the bed sheets in his pale fists. "How was he? Was he okay?"

"It looked like he'd been tortured." The Colonel said evenly. "The whole place felt dark, it was almost the same feeling as a transmutation rebounding," his hands twitched in his lap, and Alphonse knew he must be reliving the unnatural feeling.

Some nights, trapped in that numb armour, it was all Al could think about, the memory of that twisted cold feeling of the rebound that took his body and Edward's arm, the harsh stink of death on the air, the darkness, the deep coiling wrongness. His brother was in a place that felt like that?

"I didn't get to see much more before my time was up." Mustang rubbed his eyes, his jaw tightening. "I don't know what kind of mess Fullmetal landed himself in, but it didn't look good. He may not be able to get out of this alone."

Alphonse shook his head. "I've dreamt of him. That he was chained up, and - and in so much pain." He said, quietly. "He was calling out for me… I think it has something to with our bodies still being linked in some way – Brother was the one who kept me alive inside the Gate, and even now that I'm here and he's on the other side, we're still connected." Al closed his eyes for a moment, and he could feel his brother's soul beating warm and golden and just beyond reach. "He may be in trouble, Colonel, but he's not beaten yet. Brother is strong."

"There has to be a way we can get him back." Winry said, the tears had stopped and there was now a bright fiery determination burning in her blue eyes. That look wouldn't be out of place on Ed's own face. It was weird how those two could bicker for hours, even days, and never truly realise how alike they were.

The Colonel cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair as he once again took control of the conversation. "That's why I wanted to see you. I believe there may be a way to cross into this other world, or at least send a message there, and while we may not be able to get Fullmetal back without his debt being paid, at the very least, we can see that he doesn't come to harm. The little brat doesn't do so well on his own; you know that better than anyone, Alphonse. We might even be able to help him complete whatever Truth told him to do."

Al shook his head, golden hair falling in a tangled waterfall about his shoulders. "Not we. Me." He said firmly. "You belong here Colonel, you want to be Fuhrer and this doesn't change that. It's my fault that brother is gone, and I'll be the one to get him back. "

"Hmm." The Colonel inclined his head, his dark eyes glittering, "If Fullmetal fails, then our own Gate will be at risk – as future Fuhrer don't you think this lies under my jurisdiction?" Mustang stood up then, and nodded firmly. "Besides, you're not going anywhere Alphonse, until you're back on your feet. We'll talk later. Do not attempt to do anything without me. I learned a couple of tricks from Hughes…" he left that sentence hanging on the air, and Al's bright amber eyes swished around the room, now intensely paranoid that the Colonel had somehow bugged the place.

Hawkeye stood up too, giving him a crisp clear salute, a smile on her lips. "It is my duty to warn you that Major Armstrong is currently waiting outside the door to see you, Alphonse." She said in a strict military tone, with only a hint of amusement, "And though he has been forewarned of your current physical condition, I cannot guarantee that he won't rip his shirt off at the rare sight of such pure brotherly selflessness. If you like, I can tell him that you are not quite up for having any more visitors today."

Al had paled considerably, "Uh, thank you, lieutenant - I am feeling a bit under the weather actually,"

She nodded curtly. "Get well soon Alphonse. I must echo the Colonel's sentiment; you are not to act alone. I know you're not a headstrong as Edward, but you do love your brother enough to sometimes let your feelings cloud your judgement." She patted her gun meaningfully and left with a small smile. Al's sudden shudder had nothing to do with his new found ability to feel the cold.

Winry turned to him then, her arms back around his neck, soft and warm and sisterly. He had forgotten how she smelled, and now it was all-encompassing and almost made him feel as though he was back home, in Risembool, with its swaying grasses and humid summers, with Brother, when mum was still alive and Winry had only smelt of automail oil because she spent so much time with Granny Pinako, knocking over things and tinkering when she wasn't supposed to, in the way that children always do. It was almost as though he had been pulled back in time. He breathed in deeply and a profound sadness pooled in his chest as he realised that that version of home was long gone now.

Perhaps, when Brother was finally back with him, they could have a home again. A new home, that was hard-earned and safe. He blinked up at Winry who was smiling at him with such open fondness as she kissed him on the cheek; he blushed so furiously that he was sure he must have turned purple. That was the first kiss he'd ever received from a girl that wasn't his mother. He had to admit, it felt wonderful. He almost touched his cheek in awe.

"I'm so glad you're back, Al. I almost forgot what you looked like." She grinned widely, and he smiled back. "Now, even though your idiotic brother isn't here yet, you still have that list of all the food you wanted to eat again, right Al? Because Mrs Hughes said I could use her oven to bake an apple pie…?"

Alphonse couldn't help the smile that spread over his face like butter on warm toast at Winry's enthusiasm; her eyes were almost glowing with all of the baking ideas sparking inside that head of hers, almost as if this was a particularly difficult challenge of automail engineering and she was going to completely nail it. He wondered absently where his father had gone off to. The man had looked sad when he had left earlier this afternoon and Alphonse had a strange feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever his dad was up to.

…

Ed followed the quiet hum of voices and the delicious smells of cooking breakfast down the stairs.

In truth, he was still feeling the painful effects of his incarceration, his limbs felt achy and sore, his head pounded, and the world lurched around him if he moved too quickly, but having completely embarrassed himself with his fainting act yesterday - or whatever day it had been, he didn't really know how long he'd been unconscious - he had decided that he really needed to get his reputation back on track. Sitting in bed feeling sorry for himself had never been his style, so he made his way carefully, wobblingly, down the old rotten staircases, with their odd damp carpets and dark cracking wood, one hand on the bannister or the wallpapered wall to keep himself from falling flat on his face.

... Maybe this was a bad idea... he felt a bit lightheaded...

Then he growled, shaking himself. He wasn't weak, damn it! He could get down the freakin' stairs!

He resisted the urge to boot down the door leading to what must be the kitchen if the smell was anything to go by, because it would probably hurt. But he wanted to. It would make him feel more like himself instead if that weird bedraggled mutt that had been staring listlessly back at him in the mirror.

His automail hand turned the doorknob and he threw open the door with great aplomb; it swung on its hinges as if blown back by a great gust of wind.

Okay, so he loved a grand entrance, he couldn't help it. Just call it Elric flair.

"Ed?"

The occupants of the small basement kitchen blinked at this kid who bore little resemblance to the filthy wild angry individual who had apparated into their hideout in the middle of the night in a hellish display of power and desperation.

His face still bore some scratches and bruises that Madam Pomfrey's healing magic had missed, but was scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime, revealing pale skin and painfully young features; his golden hair was no longer darkened with sweat and straggly, but bright and pulled back into an elegant loose plait. The clothes Mrs Weasley had picked out for him were a little too large but the red jumper suited him perfectly.

He looked small. He looked so young.

Damn, but those wild golden eyes looked like they could skewer Pygmy Puff at thirty paces.

Ed glared at them, a small grin pulling at his lips. That was the reaction he wanted.

Mrs Weasley broke the stunned silence, "Oh, Edward dear! Come sit down and have some breakfast," She said, a bit too cheerfully, bustling him into a chair immediately and plonking a large plate full of sausages and sizzling bacon in front of him.

Ed blinked. One minute he was upright and the next he was sat down and his chair pushed in so that he couldn't escape. However, he sure as hell wasn't going to complain if that mountain of succulent food in front of him kept coming.

"Uh," said Ed, taking his change of position in his stride, and never one to turn his nose up at a free meal, "thanks." He picked up a fork with his metal hand and it gleamed in the low light.

All eyes at the table followed him. The startlingly red hair and Ed's own shoddy memory told him that most of the people seated at the table engaging him in a staring contest were probably related to Fred, the other two he dimly recognised from the night of his collapse. They were looking at him as if he were an volatile alchemical circle about to be triggered.

A tick appeared on Edward's forehead but he speared a piece of bacon and started eating anyway.

A few minutes passed as Ed chewed his food.

He swallowed.

Every eye at the table watched his adam's apple bob up and down.

Then Ed slammed his metal fist on the tabletop and everybody jumped.

"What the hell are you all staring at?" He snapped, blonde plait flying behind him as he growled at them. Everybody immediately went back to their food. Well, everybody apart from the twins.

"Sorry mate," said Fred, eyes wide, "but you just look so…"

"Small." Finished the other Fred.

"I was going to say miniscule -"

"- like a first year."

"How old are you anyway?"

"Sixteen." Ed ground out, trying as hard as he could not to yell out a short rant in front of a group of idiotic strangers who didn't know any better. He could tell where this was going - why was it that no matter what world he was in, there were always those who could take the piss out of him for his small stature. It was just unfair! He wasn't short damn it, it was the automail weighing him down! The strain of having a large amount of metal strapped to his shoulder and thigh had caused his growth rate to slow to a crawl, and it wasn't his damn fault! Not to mention keeping his brother's body alive in the Gate had robbed him of any chance at all of gaining a couple of inches on his height. In fact, any height that Alphonse had gained should rightfully be his.

He made a mental note to berate his younger brother about that fact when he got home. He guessed in some way he should be proud of his short stature; Armstrong would have wept at the nobility of sacrificing his height in order to care for his brother's body. Ed was instantly annoyed at the thought. But he wouldn't give Alphonse up for the world.

Sure enough the twins looked gobsmacked at his supposed age. Ed fumed. "What?!"

"Seriously?"

"Are you pulling our - much longer than yours – legs, mate?"

"You look about twelve!"

That was it. Ed grit his teeth, eyes burning.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THEY COULD HAVE ESCAPED BECAUSE THEY WERE TINY ENOUGH TO SLIP THROUGH THE CRACKS IN THE STONE WALLS?!" he shouted, the fork in his metal hand bending almost in half in his fury.

At first the twins blinked in surprise at the outburst. And then their slightly shocked expressions fell into comfortable grins and they exchanged mischievous glances. "That's quite a big complex for someone so small, don't you think Fred?"

"Oh indeed George, we could have a little fun with him."

Mrs Weasley intervened. "Enough is enough! Edward dear, don't take any notice of them. Fred, George – enough. Edward is our guest, I'm sure the very last thing he wants to do after waking up in a new place is to be antagonised by you two layabouts! He's had enough of that already. Alastor had no right to act so rashly, and that goes for the rest of you as well." Mrs Weasley frowned in righteous disapproval at the others at the table. They looked guiltily elsewhere. She glowered at them in the way that only a mother could, and then resumed pouring the tea, making sure to look each one of them in the eye as she nudged a cup towards them with her wand.

"Indeed, and for that we can only apologise," said the man with the yellow eyes. "I've got to say though, in our defence, this house was supposed to be completely impenetrable to those who do not already know its location, so you can imagine that we were wary when you managed to get past our defences -"

"Sure," said Ed, waving an uninterested hand. "I understand." He'd had worse. Much worse.

The man gave a tentative smile, "Ah, well then, how about we get all the introductions out of the way, hmm? I believe in our shock, we forgot to do so. I'm Remus Lupin."

"Fred."

"George."

"Sirius, but you already knew that, kid."

The last person flashed him a tired smile. "And I'm Arthur Weasley, and I am late for work. I never thanked you properly for saving my son, but consider yourself an honorary Weasley," the man stood, placing a worn out hat on his grey-orange head and a kind hand on Ed's shoulder. "I'll be back late tonight I should think, so don't wait up for me Molly, dear."

Goodbyes were mumbled and Mr. Weasley ducked out of the room after pecking Molly on the cheek, his small smile giving way to worn wrung out features. Looked like his work was keeping him busy.

"You might meet some other Order members while you're here as well, but there is no one here that we all do not trust." Lupin said, sipping on his cup of steaming tea.

"Except Snape." Muttered George to Edward out of the corner of his mouth.

Fred nodded, whispering, "Greasy hair, hook nose. Can't miss him. Not evil, just a generally grumpy sod, so try not to get on his bad side. Though we're not quite sure where he is at the moment, he's bound to be in a bad mood when he finally turns up..."

A few minutes passed in slightly awkward silence, as they enjoyed their breakfast. Until Fred, true to form, decided to break it.

"So Ed, how'd you manage to get locked up with Moldyshorts anyway?" He asked casually, whilst pinching another slice of bacon from the frying pan, and licking his fingers.

"Fred!" admonished Mrs Weasley, cheeks a flustered pink, "You can't just ask such a thing so blatantly!" Then she turned to Ed with warm maternal eyes, "It's all right, don't feel pressured into answering. It must have been so horrible to have been…" her brown eyes took on a bright sheen and she placed a hand to her chest, "I can't imagine what they…" she sniffed, "and with you all alone… especially for one so young…"

The next thing Edward knew he was being enveloped in a hug; he held his arms out to the sides to avoid them getting squished as well and then patted her awkwardly on the back.

"Uh…" said Ed a little breathlessly; all the air having been forced out of his lungs by Mrs Weasley's comforting. She let go, clearing her throat and immediately returning to the frying pan and plonking the remaining bacon onto his waiting plate. As if feeding him up would make everything bad go away.

Fred gave him a sympathetic smile, and whispered, "Sorry mate, she does that. Be sure to take a deep breath in or you might suffocate next time..."

Sirius caught his eye, "How long were you there for, kid? You seemed pretty beat up."

Ed scratched the back of his neck, "Eh… It was kinda hard to keep track of the days. I tried to count the times they came in with water... those bastards only came every three days, couldn't keep me too dehydrated… "

Everyone at the table looked solemn at that, Sirius' eyes looked pinched, and Remus' face was white.

"Blimey mate, how did you stand it?" managed George, "I mean, he must have tortured you."

Fred's face lost all joviality; his eyes looked haunted as he focused on the tabletop, a piece of sausage lying forgotten on the end of his fork.

Ed's mouth hardened into a grim line. He rubbed the automail port at his shoulder and remembered the way it had hissed and fizzed angrily in pain as that strange magic had shot like lightning through his body. "What is that croo-see-oh thing anyway," he asked in a grumble, "hurt like a bitch."

"The Cruciatus curse," answered Remus solemnly, "is one of the Unforgivable Curses. It is a spell of torture that causes immense pain to the recipient; sometimes the harm it causes can be so grave that it does permanent irreversible damage to the mind." His voice sounded as though it were reciting a line from a book, and Ed wondered for a moment if he had been a teacher once. Despite his monotone, his yellow eyes were vibrant with emotion, holding concern and pain. "How many times did they use that spell on you, Edward?"

Edward was taken aback. He wasn't used to people expressing concern for his wellbeing in such obvious terms. Sure, Alphonse would, but they were brothers and Al was the most expressive being he knew, despite not being able to show it, and he cared about everything. Everyone else however, would rather clobber him over the head with a wrench for making them worry, or give him a hellish job over in some woe begotten town to keep him out of further mischief, or shout him into submitting to more hospital rest. Winry, Colonel, Teacher…

But almost never would they outwardly be obvious in their worry. Hell, these weirdoes didn't even know him and they were acting like his incarceration was the worst thing in the world.

Ed visibly flinched at their concern and batted it aside, annoyed. He was the Fullmetal Alchemist. He might look young, but he was one of the best damn Alchemists the state had to offer and he could take care of himself. They acted like bad things shouldn't happen, but Ed knew that that was just the way the world was. That wasn't the first time he'd been kidnapped and tortured. It wasn't the first time a kid had had to go through something like that. Everyone he knew at home had gone through hardships in their lives, and had come out stronger for it; he didn't feel sorry for himself and neither should these strangers.

"They were trying to make me talk." Ed shrugged. "They used it mostly after they couldn't find what they wanted inside my head…"

A sharp intake of breath, Lupin leaned over the tabletop, his strange yellow eyes were bright, "Voldemort used Legilimency on you?"

"Right!" said Mrs Weasley at the top of her voice, clearing the plates up and banging them on top of one another loudly, trying to startle them out of the sombre mood that had befallen the table. "Stop hounding the poor boy with questions! He needs rest and recovery, and – oh, Edward dear, Dumbledore sends his apologies that he can't quite make it too see you at the moment," the way she said it almost sounded as if she didn't quite believe it herself, and was covering up for this Dumbledore's shortcomings. Ed narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "But you are still recovering and too much excitement isn't good for you."

She handed him an envelope.

"Wha?" Ed was open-mouthed at her blatant overruling of his physical state, "Hey, I feel fine! And who's this double-door?" He turned the envelope over to reveal a knob of hardened red wax in the shape of a coat of arms. He swiped an automail finger under it swiftly and snatched out the letter inside.

Edward,

I realise that you must be desperate for answers as to your situation, so it is with deep regret that I must inform you that I am otherwise engaged at the moment and cannot meet with you. Rest assured, I will do all that is in my power to get to Headquarters presently, and I can only plead with you to remain where you are until I can reach you. I will explain everything.

News has reached me of your part in helping our young Fred Weasley escape, and I express my heartfelt gratitude on behalf of the entire Order; truly, we are in your debt. I must also apologise for some of the Order Member's behaviour upon your arrival at Headquarters; they were ill-informed and startled that our defences were so easily broken.

You can trust us, I promise you.

In the meantime, I suggest you get back on your feet, partake in Molly Weasley's renowned cooking, perhaps browse the library, and do your best to keep Sirius company as he does get rather lonely from time to time.

Yours,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Ed scowled at the loopy script. What a load of shit. He grumbled to himself, scrunching the letter into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder angrily, If that idiot thinks I'm gonna be staying here longer than I want to, he has another thing coming!

He lifted his fiery golden eyes to find that everyone at the table was looking at him rather expectantly. They were obviously interested in the contents of that stupid letter. And looked rather surprised at has blatant manhandling of it. One of the twins raised an eyebrow at him encouragingly, looking ready to jump out of his chair and retrieve the crumpled paper from its place behind Edward on the dusty floor.

"Well?"

"What did it say?"

Even Sirius spoke up, though he looked apologetic, "Sorry, Ed, but I want to know what was in it too. Dumbledore hasn't been very forthcoming with his whereabouts – truth be told, we're getting a little uneasy."

Ed grumbled. "He didn't say anything worth reading. He sounds like an idiot."

Sirius smirked a little. "Sounds about right!" he said with a gravelly chuckle, "He's the greatest wizard of our time, kid, but I'll admit he's a bit eccentric."

Lupin smiled softly, "Well, I'm sure he has good reason to, ah, be doing whatever it is that he is doing."

Ed snorted; it looked like their organisation was ill-prepared and floundering without its leader, but a silly directionless cult was the least of his worries at the moment. Now that he was free he needed to focus his attentions on researching a way to kill that snake-faced bastard, counter his 'magic' and get back home to Alphonse.

It was giving him a headache. He raised his automail fingers and pressed them to the spot between his eyes. The cool metal felt good against his heated skin and he leaned into them.

"You shouldn't really be out of bed, dear." Murmured Mrs. Weasley. "How about we -"

"I'm fine." Ed gritted out, his automail hand covering his entire face now. "Perfect."

"Huh. You look pretty wrung out to me mate," said Fred, "best stay here for the time being, eh? And don't worry; this house is pretty big I'm sure you won't get bored waiting around for a bit."

"Don't encourage him to wander off all over the place." Said Mrs Weasley, her wand making quick work of the dishes. "He should get back to bed; you can see the poor boy's exhausted." Ed for once, found himself far too entranced by her casual wand work to be insulted by her treating him like a child.

She flicked her wand and all traces of food left on the plates vanished immediately, and they neatly stacked themselves back into the cupboard. Bloody magic, it doesn't even make any sense! Where the hell'd the food go? It just vanished, with no thought for equivalent exchange at all – for Truth's sake, it gave him a headache just thinking about it. All the equations inside his head were telling him it was impossible. And yet the reality was staring him in the face. This world was so much easier than his; it was so loose and unrestricted, like something out of a fairytale. He had to wonder had he and Alphonse been born here instead of Amestris, whether they would have lost their mother at all. Perhaps with magic she could have been saved.

He closed his golden eyes at the thought, sadness blooming in his chest like a cold rose. No. He shouldn't think such things. It was wrong to mess with death in whatever world; nobody had the right to play God.

"Are you all right, Ed?" there was a small touch on his shoulder, and he snapped his eyes open and looked up, surprised to see Sirius there.

He suddenly felt a little smaller in this foreign world, a little unsteady. He really needed to work out what the hell he was doing here.

"Yeah…" he said softly, "I guess Mrs Weasley was right, I am tired." Everyone had gotten up from the table; so he pushed his chair back and stood up rubbing his aching forehead.

He suddenly remembered why he had come down here in the first place, not just for his reputation's sake. He had wanted answers from these people, wanted to know Voldemort's weaknesses, but it seemed his mind had been straying. And they were unwilling to give up any information without this Fumbledoor's say so. Usually Ed would rant and rave until they cracked, but Voldy really did a number on him and he found himself truly exhausted and wrung out. Ed could only hope he could trust these strangers until he felt more like the great Edward Elric. But he wasn't completely helpless...

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have some books about this magic business would you?"

Sirius grinned, "I can do better than that, we've got a whole damn library upstairs. But I have to warn you, there were some pretty dark wizards and witches living here so some of the books are pretty nasty and might try to take a couple of fingers off, better off using your metal hand eh?"

Ed smirked; if anyone could handle some crazy books, it would be the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Plus me and Fred have our school text books, in pretty good condition – we barely opened them at all this year," George winked, "much to our dear mother's constant disappointment!"

"Yeah, believe us, you're welcome to them!"

"But if you ever want to learn some really useful magic,"

"Then you should come and see us in person," Fred smirked, "we can teach you the things they dare not teach in books."

Ed smirked back; he knew well and good that despite the knowledge you could gain from wading through years of research and alchemical notes, real life situations always had more to offer. While he was recovering he may as well gain a few new teachers. "Sure," he said, contemplatively, wondering if these two would be as hands on as his own infamous Teacher. They didn't look nearly as terrifying; he could handle whatever they threw at him. "I might take you up on that offer. Thanks."

…

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