I do not own anything in Fullmetal Alchemist nor in the Harry Potter universes. If I did Harry would not have ended up with Ginny.

I wrote this because I could find no good crossovers with the Harry Potter universe and the FullMetal Alchemist or at least none that interested me. I hope this will inspire other readers to create their own stories with a similar premise. Understand however that I write toward realism and the characters are teenagers and I will write them as such.

While J.K. Rowling is good, I don't agree with her portrayal of the characters at their total lack of cursing or real interest in sex or sexuality at all. I think most of us are fairly interested in the subject of sex.

Of all the greatest triumphs that can be accomplished through the use of Runology, none is more deadly or more arrogant then an attempt to bring back those who are dead.

-From an older copy of "An introduction to Runology" circa. 1890.

It had been an entire week since the start of Harry Potters sixth year and he had finally had a moment to himself. A moment to finally design, calculate, and sketch out his madness onto a usable surface.

The entire task itself had taken so much longer than a week to actually complete- from his feverish study of every book on runes over the entire summer, to actually procuring all the necessary materials. Harry's entire obsession had all started at the very end of his fifth year, on his train ride from Hogwarts.

Harry could still remember starring morosely out his compartment's window, while his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat opposite one another, talking just as little as he was. Hermione was taken up by a small, tattered book, whose title had long since peeled off to illegibility, while Ron was taking up his time reading his favorite comic series, "The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle". The entire compartment remained silent with only the turning of the occasional page to break it, until with a huff of irritation, Hermione closed her book with an audible THUNK, and tossed it as hard as she could at Harry's shoulder.

With a squawk of indignation, Harry was drawn out of his circle of depressing thoughts by the sudden painful impact of a heavy object connecting to his shoulder. His head spun around like the crack of a whip, accompanied by the cracking of his neck.

"What the hell Hermione?" said a thoroughly shocked Ronald Weasley.

Hermione responded primly,"I'm not going to just sit here and let him stew there any longer."

"Let the man have some peace, Hermione," said a now shouting Ron. From there they devolved into another one of their bickering sessions as Harry looked on.

The adreneline-fueled sharpness of his mind began to fade as Harry bent forward to pick up the thrown leather missile. The once painful weapon was sprawled open with its pages clearly facing Harry. As he reached down, a phrase caught his attention, "bring back those who are dead."

A kind of all consuming obsession seemed to grip Harry, and he immediately sat up, book in hand, and began to feverishly read. The passages he found made no sense. He flipped back further and still found they were a mystery, so he flipped back even further. When he finally reached the very first introductory part of the small book, things began to seem more his growing surprise, the small book was all about explaining the beginning principles of Runology from its history in the world of magic, its more basic functions and even ethics.

Looking up sharply, Harry interrupted Ron and Hermione's little spat which was promptly becoming a full blown row. "Hermione," said Harry. "Can I borrow your book for the summer? I swear I'll return it." The look on Hermione's face was completely shocked, to say the least. It was truly the rare occasion that Harry showed an interest in learning much less books. Slowly as if still not certain Hermione jerkily nodded her head,

"Of course Harry, but I expect it back."

The first genuine smile graced Harry's lips in what felt a life time, and he nodded back at Hermione in thanks and began to read the book with an even greater fervor. When the train finally reached the station Harry was still too engrossed in the thoughts the book had imparted to him to pay attention as members of the Order of the Phoenix mildly threatened his Aunt and Uncle. Even when he got in the Dursley's family car, 'he let them make their snide remarks and gave them no mind. All he could think was, maybe he could bring back Sirius.

Harry's entire summer passed in what felt like a heated fever. Within the first week he had completely read Hermione's book multiple times and could still find no other reference to the dead. He contacted Hermione and asked if she knew how to order books with Owls. She promptly responded by sending a catalog she had of several books he could order.

Immediatly he ordered more advanced books on Runology and he consumed them like a fire in a high wind. To his growing displeasure he found no references to the human dead. Everything in the books was incredible, and he found them informative, but they still did not have what he wanted. Within a month they had given him everything, yet they had and answered nothing.

Again he reached out and ordered more books, but he felt little hope of having his desires answered. Slowly the fires of his obsession waned and grew quieter. The summer progressed and in his idle moments, Harry return to his books and read them again, hoping for answers in the next turn of the page.

When Dumbledore arrived at his family's home, he was happy to leave. When he arrived at the disguised Slughorn's muggle abode, he wasn't completely thrillled, but it was certainly better then continuing with that uncomfortable apparition. Still, after finally convincing the rotund Slughorn to join the faculty, there was another trip made with apparition.

Being back among his friends felt good to Harry. Having their comforting presence there was a great boost to his spirits. After a while, Harry's obsession for answers in Runology darkened, and he had nearly discarded them untill his encounter with Draco Malfoy at Madam Malkin's.

He knew Draco had become a Death Eater- there was no other answer. He and his dubious friends followed the blonde head of hair directly down Knockturn Alley to just outside Borgin and Burkes. While listening to Draco threaten Borgin, thinking that would be proof to both Ron and Hermione that his suspicion that Draco was a Death Eater, a small sliver of Harry's obsession resurfaced. He couldn't help but wonder, what kind of books could Borgin have in his shop?

After Hermione's failed attempt to get information from Borgin, Harry knew he would return to the small store and get what she couldn't. Deep down he knew that he would be coming back for much different reasons.

In the small hours of the morning, Harry returned to Knockturn Alley with its darkened windows, and entered the small store.

On first entering there was a small chime of a bell just above the door, and immediately came the oily haired form of Borgin- a rotten toothed smile plastered on his face for his potential first custumer of the day. The rotten smile died a quick death as he saw the bespectacled face of Harry Potter.

Harry could still remember the look on Borgin's face as he obviously began to sweat; rubbing at his hands and obviously becoming nervous at the sight of the rumored champion of the light. Harry still hated that people would think of him in those terms, but at this moment, those rumors had their uses.

"Why, Mr. Potter... what do I owe for this morning visit?" said Borgin in his most oily voice as he gave a minor bow. Harry felt a near over powering need to bathe as the man spoke.

Always start a new paragraph when the speakers switch.

"Do you carry books Mr. Borgin?" Harry cut through any possible wordy banter or waste of time the man might have started.

Bending back up with his eyes narrowed in suspicion Borgin hissed,

"What's it to you Potter?" As calmly as Harry could manage he responded as politely as possible,

"I'm looking for a book. Does it matter why?" Harry could see the greedy glint that had grown in the mans eyes. Borgins greed easily out-weighed his suspicion of the boy, and if the-boy-who-lived bought any thing from Borgin there was good blackmail material to be had.

"Well boy, if it's gonna be like that; then follow me." Swiftly with a flutter of his robes, Borgin turned around and disappeared behind a curtain that had seen much better days.

Immediately, Harry dug his hand into his robe pocket and gripped his wand tightly, on the watch for treachery. He quickly followed oily-haired man behind the curtain, and found himself in front of an enormous shelf of books. The book shelf seemed to stretch far into the distance- more than should have been possible given the size of the shop. In front of that seemingly endless shelf stood Borgin, another rotten toothed smiled plastered across his face.

"What book were you looking for Mr. Potter?"

Dragging his eyes away from the massive shelf of books Harry spoke up quickly. "Do you have anything on Runology?" At the very utterance of Harry's question the very shelf seemed to move of it own accord. The entire bookshelf slid directly to the right of Harry and more books on more shelves appeared. Those too disappeared as more appeared, until the entire shelf was moving so fast it was a mere blur to Harry's eyes. Suddenly it stopped and directly behind a still smiling Borgin, a nearly empty bookshelf stood.

Only five books were visible at the very bottom of the shelf- the rest was empty space. "Is that all you have?" asked a now impressed and yet disappointed Harry Potter.

"Is that all I have?" echoed Borgin, "Boy, those are some of the most useful books you'll find on the damn subject anywhere!" Harry couldn't help but lift an eyebrow at that statement. That was an older than dirt sales tactic that no one would fall for.

"How much for all of them then?"

I'm going to bold my corrections for the next few paragraphs so you can see the sort of changes I'm making...

At the pointed question Borgin bellowed a laugh that seemed to shake his entire body. The laugh continued for so long- only stopping so Borgin could breathe- that Harry felt himself growing heated with anger. "I'm serious," said Harry, using his most serious tone of voice possible.

Borgin used a grimy hand to wipe away tears of laughter as he straightened up. "Boy those books would cost you more than you entire Hogwarts tuition three times over!" Again Borgin began to laugh.

Harry could feel his face redden at the man's attitude, and promptly strolled over to look at the books to see what made them so expensive. As soon as he got close, Borgin stopped laughing and looked at Harry with a suspicious eye, his hand nearing his tattered pocket. When he was no more than an arms reach away from the books, Harry lost any sense of respect for the man. The books could not be worth anywhere near what the man claimed. All the books except one were missing their titles, and one appeared to be held together by nothing more than a single piece of string and a prayer. Every last one of those books looked tattered and ill-cared for.

Snorting, Harry turned around and began to head towards the exit, angry at himself for wasting the time.

"Where are you going boy," called Borgin.

"I wouldn't pay a single Galleon for those books, the way they look," Harry responded hotly.

Immediately, Borgin stopped laughing and watched one of his more golden opportunities begin to leave the store. Borgin didn't have a clue how much those books were worth. All he knew was they had come to him for free when one of his former clients sold Borgin what he thought was a desk cursed with disintegration . It turned out the desk had an infestation of termites that was simple to clear up. What was not simple was the small drawer that defied all magical and mundane attempts to unlock it, until Borgin had just sat on it, and the damn thing had popped open. The books inside talked at length about some obscure application of Runes, and he had just filed them away.

"Wait," cried the oily voice of Borgin. Swiftly, Harry turned around and looked at the man. "How about twenty thousand?" Harry let out a hiss of breath and made to turn back around. "Ten thousand!"

"Make it two thousand Borgin and you have a deal." Harry turned around and looked the man in eye, hoping it would work, and that he had enough to pay it. "We have a deal, Mr. Potter."

Looking at the circle of fine lines and acute angles that Harry and drawn on the floor of a unused classroom, he smiled confidently as he neared completion. He well remembered the days of frantic study- after getting the gold to pay the slimy man. When he had opened that first book he knew he had found what he had been looking for in the form of two words, Human transmutation.

In that book and the other four books combined, they described in detail the theory of creating a human from it most basic elements. At length the books talked about the risks and dangers of trying to bring back the dead and retrieving the soul, but Harry ignored them. He consumed their information like a thirsty man would water. Whenever he came across an idea or concept he didn't understand, he went back to some of the other books he had ordered and solidified his knowledge there. Often times those five books disagreed with Harrys previous books. The author, a man of the name Van Hohenheim, seemed to think differently about the limits that Runology had.

As Harry's summer wore on while he stayed at the Burrow, many of the Weasley clan were growing concerned with Harrys continued absence from the general family. It became clear to Harry that Ron had convinced most of the family that he just needed time to get over Sirius. What they didn't understand, Harry knew, was that they would all get to see Sirius again very soon. Soon Harry felt confident in his abilities to do as the books and his own knowledge directed. Getting the materials he needed proved so easily it was nearly laughable.

With the past still at the very forefront of his mind, Harry took a small knife and slid it across his index finger, causing a red upwelling of blood to spring forth and drop slowly onto the pile of his assembled material. It had been simple gathering the necessary reagents for Sirius's rebirth. Harry could feel himself becoming feverish at thought of finally being able to see Sirius again. Finally being able to hear his bark of laugher that sounded so much like a dog's. To finally see his godfather once again, with his shaggy head of hair, and finally to hug him and tell him how sorry he was that he hadn't done better. Harry hoped his godfather would forgive him.

The last bit of ingredients had finally been added to the mixture. The blood represented the soul. That was the only thing Harry could dream of that would be a metaphor for the soul of a human being. Without blood a person was nothing.

After his final labor was complete Harry rested for a short time, with thoughts of his eventual reunion with Sirius dancing in his head. There was so much he still needed to talk about and Harry honestly couldn't wait to begin.

Feeling fully rested, Harry got up from where he had been sitting and walked towards his chalked out circle. Dropping to his knees just outside of the chalked outlines, he clapped his hands together, closed his eyes and imagined the full form of Sirius. He remembered the man's wild hair and lined face from his long years in Azkaban. Harry pictured Sirius as clearly as his memories allowed him to. Leaning forward, Harry dropped down both hands, touching the circle with his eyes fully open to watch the miracle that was about to happen before him.

Nothing.

Nothing happened for one second, two second, three seconds, and on. Growing confused, Harry didn't know what he had done wrong. Maybe he mistranscribed a symbol? But then he felt cold.

The very air became as cold, as it would be during the height of winter. Then the very light darkened in the room. The many candles Harry had placed around the room so he could work went out with a puff of smoke.

Clear blue light suddenly began to glow from every last line and symbol Harry had painstakingly drawn on the floor. Around the pile of ingredients Harry had made, small sparks of electricity began jump across. Success! Harry knew he had succeeded; he was finally going to see Sirius again.

The light from the circle began to darken to an evil purple color, and slowly, dark and formless shapes began to rise from the very outside of the circle. Suddenly a great line appeared in front of Harry. It opened up to form what could only be an eye. It was not an eye Harry had ever seen. The iris was surrounded by the most clear white Harry had ever seen, even snow could not compare to such bright white. The iris itself looked like gray circles around gray circles that surrounded a black void that Harry could fee

l himself growing afraid of.

This was not what was suppose to happen!

Frantically, with fear crawling within, Harry he tried to get up and run; to get away from that pitiless eye. But he found his hands wouldn't move from where they were. Small black hands began to snake their way from the line of the circle. Each black tentacle seemed to undulate in multiple directions. They terrified Harry in the way a Dementor could never hope to. Those black handed tentacles were of a black that seemed to eat the very light around them.

Without a hint of warning, each and every last one of those black nothings dove at Harry, and white brightness surrounded him.

Harry found himself in a very strange place. Stranger by far than any other place he had ever seen. Around him was nothing but blank whiteness.

"Where am I," he muttered.

"Oi!"

Harry's attention was drawn toward... something. He didn't know what to really make of it in all honesty. There was only an outline to make out what the thing was. This thing, whatever it was, seemed to be sitting down. From the looks of it, Harry could have almost sworn it had the body of a human.

"Oi, human! It's rather rude not to introduce yourself." Harry nearly jumped out of his shoes and socks altogether once he realized where that voice had come from. The voice that spoke and the mouth that moved didn't seem to even be in sync, the more detached part of Harry realized.

Hesitantly Harry spoke, "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you?" He hoped this thing, or person, or whatever it was, would at least be able to help figure out where he was.

"Well," came the mellow almost-male voice, "we come to the heart of the matter. What. Am. I. That's a good good question. I am an existence that your kind might call the world. Some might call the universe and others god. To the few I am truth. To the many I am one, but for now I am you."

With a ghostly, near-invisible arm, this thing, Truth, pointed directly at Harry. Fear tightened in Harry's guts and the slow creaking of a door, long unused, echoed behind Harry Potters back. Twisting swiftly in alarm, he could feel a sense of dread claw up his spine as he beheld that pitiless eye again- this time framed by a black void beyond word or scream.

Arms of darkness stretched out to greet him, and Harry turned to run as blind animal panic coursed throughout his body. The black arms grabbed his body with ease, and Harry could only scream.

"So noisy. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Harry continued to scream and fight as those arms of darkness dragged him into a door way that would shut him out from the light. Before all light was lost forever to Harry, he could hear one last parting remark from this thing that somehow claimed to be him.

"Welcome to the truth, Harry Potter."

Please leave a review about what you thought could have been done better and I'll look toward implementing it.

I want to thank my new beta reader CyrusLestrange for going through this giant mess and finding it within him/her self to fix it.

Updated 1/31/2014