Author's Note: This fic is based vaguely off of an old fic I wrote and posted on this site approximately six years ago, under a different pseudonym. The title of that fic, at the time, was "Whisked Away," and while there are certain similarities between these two fics, this story will be significantly different from its predecessor. For example, it shall only be set in Harry's 5th year (The Order of the Phoenix). Additionally, I will venture to keep OC's out of this fic, although there is a very minor, nameless librarian in this particular chapter. So anyway, if parts of this fic seem oddly familiar, it's probably because you read my previous version.
Disclaimer: I don't own either FMA or HP, you know the drill.
Chapter 1
Roy Mustang would like to state, for the record, that he'd known that Pride's miraculous transformation into a docile child was too good to be true.
And as he races through the darkened alleys of Central, he's glad he did. He'd kept his eyes sharp when he'd started noticing out-of-place shadows, and hadn't ignored his instincts when he'd felt the prickling sensation of someone watching him, even when he was alone.
The only thing he regrets is not sharing his suspicions with anyone else. He can only hope it doesn't cost him his life.
"Don't you think it's about time to stop running, human?" a distorted voice rasps, and Roy struggles not to trip as shadows tug at his ankles, trying to drag him down to the cobblestones. "Just tell me where the Philosopher's Stone is and I'll make your death as painless as possible."
"I don't have it," Roy snaps, his mind racing as he searches for an escape route.
One comes to mind, and he wonders if he's desperate enough to try it yet.
"Tell me where it is, then," Pride orders, and Roy stumbles, a shadow getting a firm hold on his right leg, anchoring him down. The shadow yanks at him hard, and a moment later Roy's knees hit the ground.
Roy curses under his breath, claps his hands together, and slams them into the ground, gritting his teeth and hoping that his transmutation works.
He feels a surge of energy, and then nothing.
Roy regains consciousness slowly.
Which, while not ideal, means he's alive, at least. Hopefully it also means that his transportation transmutation worked.
He pries his eyes open, a little disoriented when it doesn't change the state of darkness he's in, before he remembers that he's no longer in possession of a Philosopher's Stone. It had taken careful extraction to separate his body from the stone he'd been using to supplement his vision, but he doesn't regret it, shuddering a little at the thought of Pride ripping the stone from his body instead.
Gingerly, Roy pushes himself to his feet. There's a wall behind him, stone – part of a building, he thinks. He props himself up against it and takes a moment to assess his position, steadying his breathing and focusing on the flow of energy around him.
It's an ability he'd gained after seeing the Truth. Now, he can tell with a single touch the composition of everything around him, down to the smallest of trace elements, knows how to build them up and break them down, how to convert and conserve.
But he can also feel the flow, the energy that runs through everything on earth, pulsing in a complex network beneath his feet.
He'd tried to explain it to Edward once, but had only received a blank, uncomprehending stare in response. Ed had said that he understood what he was talking about in reference to composition and bonds, but he'd been at a loss as to the "flow" that Roy had described.
It wasn't until he'd mentioned it to Alphonse that anyone understood what he was talking about. Al had said it sounded like the "Dragon's Pulse" described in Alkahestry, the "chi" running through the earth which Alkahestrists manipulated to perform their brand of alchemy.
This knowledge probably shouldn't have surprised Roy as much as it had. He doesn't remember much of his parents, but his father had been from Xing and had often patched up Roy's childhood scrapes and bruises with what Roy had, at the time, assumed to be alchemy. It even explains Roy's affinity for fire alchemy – his ability to so delicately control the flow of volatile flames.
But now, without his vision, his ability to detect the flow of the earth's energy is his most useful skill.
The highest concentration of chi he can detect is to his left, so he starts in that direction, trailing his fingers against the wall to help guide himself. He's too far away to be able to discern individuals, but where there's lots of chi, there's bound to be other humans.
Or he could just be walking into the middle of a forest, he supposes. He still has difficulty discerning plant chi pathways from animal ones.
But either way, he's not going to get anywhere if he just lies in an alleyway forever.
Roy walks until the wall ends, and then pauses for a moment before heading a little further forwards until he feels his hand connect with another wall, this time in front of him. To his right, he feels a conglomeration of chi moving towards him, close enough for him to detect its complex pathways, indicating another human.
"Could you please – " he starts, reaching out a hand, but the person just shoulders past him, snapping something at him in a language he doesn't recognize.
Roy clenches his jaw and shakes it off, deciding to head right down the new street, leading him closer to what seems to be more human chi pathways. Along the way, he feels a few more people pass him, but he doesn't try to engage them, lest they treat him the same way as the first person.
Roy finally comes to the end of the street – or, rather, the alleyway, he suspects. The actual street in front of him is much wider and packed to the brim with people, a constant hum of noise enveloping him.
He pauses there for a moment, frozen as he tries to figure out which direction to head in next, but before he can move, he feels someone bump into him. It's not a hard hit – he barely stumbles – but he hears the other person say something to him in a rapid, apologetic tone, their hand going to his arm to help steady him.
He tries to smile at them and shakes his head, saying, "I don't understand."
The stranger pauses, and for a moment Roy thinks they've left, but a moment later he hears them say, "You need help?"
Their voice is high – a woman's, Roy thinks – and their accent is strange and a little distorted, but to his surprise, Roy can understand the woman well enough.
"Yes, thank you," Roy says quickly, relief washing over him. "Where am I?"
"Diagon Alley," the woman replies, and Roy frowns, wondering if this is some sort of dialectal slang that he doesn't know.
"What country?" he asks.
The woman pauses again, and Roy supposes it is a strange question to ask, but she says, "England."
"England?" Roy replies, disbelief clear in his tone. "England" doesn't exist outside of storybooks, a magical land where Equivalent Exchange doesn't need to be abided by.
"You have mis-apparated?" the woman asks, but Roy's already shaking his head. "You are from Germany?"
Roy feels his forehead crease as the name of another fairytale land is invoked. It appears that Dr. Marcoh's experimental transportation array was faultier than he'd anticipated. Then again, if the events of the past year have taught him anything, it's that some myths are closer to truth than anyone wants to believe.
"Is there an inn where I can stay?" Roy asks suddenly, already starting to form a plan of action. "And a bank?"
The woman helping him hesitates for a moment, clearly caught off guard at his change in topic, but then says something in a language Roy doesn't recognize – different from the foreign language she had been speaking before, and not her broken Amestrian – and he feels her chi pathways suddenly shift, an energy rushing through them which he's never felt before. The strange energy hits him squarely before he can think to dodge, and an image blooms in his mind.
His startles as he realizes it's some sort of map, two spots on it lighting up. He opens his mouth to demand to know what kind of alchemy she just preformed on him, but she speaks before he can fully form the words.
"Right is the inn," the woman says in her awkward Amestrian dialect. "Across the street the bank."
"Thank you," Roy replies, dipping his head.
"You need help, I am Minerva McGonagall," the woman tells him.
"Thank you, Miss McGonagall," Roy replies, giving her his most charming smile. He hears her snort, apparently amused. "Roy Mustang."
"Take care, Mr. Mustang," Ms. McGonagall tells him, patting him on the shoulder once more, before turning to leave.
Roy tracks her path down the street for a moment, before turning back down the alley he came through. He ducks down another smaller alley along its side, out of sight of the few people lingering in the side-street. He crouches down and brushes his fingers over the cobblestone road, pleased when he finds traces of lead in the stone. He smirks and claps his hands together.
Transmuting gold may be illegal, but he's in a country that doesn't exist outside of children's tales and desperate times call for desperate measures. He can only hope that gold works as currency here, too.
That done, he pries the few cobblestones out of the street and pockets them, dusting off his hands. Then, he makes his way towards the bank.
Edward Elric receives a letter about the disappearance of Brigadier General Roy Mustang five days after the fact, and takes the first train to Central.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye!" Ed hollers as soon as he jumps off of the train, bag slung over his shoulder.
"Edward," Riza greets him, managing a shadow of a smile, although her appearance is ragged and tired. "I'm glad you could make it."
"You should have called," Edward snaps, and Riza's gaze goes icy. "Who knows what sort of trouble that bastard could have gotten into in the past five days!"
"You know how secure phones are," Riza says, her tone cold, and Ed feels his heart drop.
"It's that bad?" Ed asks, tone uncharacteristically soft. Riza just nods.
"Come on, Al's already at the house," Riza says, leading Ed to a waiting car. Captain Falman waves tiredly at Ed from the driver's seat.
"So what have you found?" Ed demands as soon as they pull away from the curb, heading towards Roy's house.
"Not much," Riza sighs. "There's clear signs of a struggle, furniture knocked over, but nothing that clearly indicates a certain suspect."
"Blood?" Ed asks, steeling himself for the answer.
"None," Riza replies, much to Ed's relief. "The General hasn't made contact with anyone at this point, though."
Ed frowns, but has no way to argue with her statement – at this point, at least.
"Fuery was the last to make contact with General Mustang," Riza continues. "He said that the General seemed relatively calm when he left the office, though."
"Was he?" Edward asks, frowning. He sees Riza pause, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I had noticed that he was looking a little worn out recently," Riza admits, looking down at her hands, which are clenched into tight fists. "I assumed he would tell me if he had serious enough concerns. I'm worried he wasn't prepared."
"You think he's dead?" Ed asks, a little bluntly. He and the General have always had a tumultuous relationship, but the thought of him being dead makes Ed strangely nauseous, dread congealing in his stomach.
"He's missing in action until we have a body," Riza replies, her tone sharp. Ed winces, regretting his question a little.
Thankfully, they pull up at the General's house before Edward can shove his foot further into his mouth. Ed frowns as he gets out of the car, though – from the outside, at least, it doesn't look like there's anything out of place about the house. The bushes are somewhat overgrown, but Ed's honestly surprised that Roy would have a garden in the first place, much less tend to it diligently.
The inside, however, is a different matter.
The living room is in complete disarray, chairs, lamps, and side-tables knocked over, and broken glass from the lightbulbs strewn across the floor. The kitchen isn't much better, with the entire kitchen table tipped over. Edward freezes for a moment when he sees a couple of bullet holes in the wall.
"Were these made by Mustang or someone else?" Ed asks, moving closer to examine the bullet holes.
"General Mustang's gun was found on the floor with three rounds missing, so at this point we're assuming that it was him," Riza confirms. "We're still waiting on ballistics, though. We've been trying to keep this quiet. The last thing we need is for the press to get ahold of this story."
"Hm," Ed replies, studying the bullet holes in the wall for a moment longer before turning to look through the rest of the house.
However, when he enters the study, he pauses in the doorway for a moment. It's somehow in even a worse state than the kitchen, papers strewn everywhere and books torn clean in half. Something about the mess – beyond the scope of it – is different than the rest of the house, though, and Ed finds himself frowning as he surveys the scene.
"Find anything, brother?" Al asks, sidling up next to Ed and peering over his shoulder. (He's a whole two inches taller than Ed now, and Ed tries not to get mad about it. Too often, at least. He's the older brother, goddamn it.)
"I don't know," Ed replies truthfully, scratching the back of his head. "The damage in this room looks different, don't you think?"
"Huh," Al says, his tone thoughtful. "You're right, the damage is a lot more… thorough. Like it was done after the fight, not during it."
"They were looking for something," Edward mutters, stepping further into the room and couching down to shift through the papers on the floor. "But what?"
"Do you think they found it?" Al asks, starting to look through the disarrayed bookshelves.
"I don't think so," Ed answers, shaking his head. "The amount of damage suggests that the person who was searching the room was getting frustrated. People don't tear books in half to try and find something."
"Did you two find something?" Riza asks, appearing in the doorway.
"Sort of," Al answers as Ed continues to look through the papers on the floor. "Ed thinks that this room was destroyed after the fight, and that whoever did it was looking for something, but didn't find it. Do you have any idea where the General would hide something important?"
Riza hesitates for a moment.
"I might," she finally says, and makes her way over to the far corner of the room, where a chess board lies haphazardly on the edge of a small table. The pieces have all been scattered across the floor, and a few have hairline cracks in them, but the piece Riza bends down to pick up is completely intact.
With a twist of her wrist, she pries the bottom off the queen and lets its contents drop out into the palm of her hand.
She, Ed, and Al all stare at the small, red stone.
"Is that – ?" Al asks, eyes wide.
"It's the stone Mustang was using to see," Edward confirms, his tone grim and his lips pressed into a tight, unhappy line.
"But if he doesn't have it with him – " Al says, concern clear in his tone.
"He thought that whoever was following him was dangerous enough that he'd sacrifice his vision again to keep them from getting the stone," Riza interrupts, her eyes hard. "But this also means that he's probably alive."
"Yeah?" Edward asks, frowning.
"As far as his attacker is aware, General Mustang is the only one who knows where the stone is," Riza explains, clutching the queen so tightly in her hand that her knuckles look a little white.
"At least it buys us some time," Alphonse says softly.
"Now we just have to figure out who would want stone that badly," Ed says, his expression determined. "Who knew that Mustang had the stone?"
"The three of us, Führer Grumman, and Dr. Marcoh," Riza answers.
"There has to be someone else," Ed protests, mind racing as he tries to think of who else was there on that fateful day, when Mustang had lost his sight. There had been plenty more people who had seen him stumbling about, blind, but few of them knew that it had been fixed with a Philosopher's Stone. The cover story was that Mustang had just been temporarily blinded by a flash grenade.
"Hey guys," Alphonse says suddenly, breaking Ed and Riza form their thoughts. They look over to find Al holding one of the few intact lamps near the wall, angled down towards the corner of the room. "Look at this."
"At what?" Ed asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"At the shadows," Al answers, indicating the shadow in the corner of the room – which, while under direct lamplight, hadn't disappeared.
Oh shit.
Almost two weeks have passed and Roy hasn't gotten anywhere.
Between the language barrier and his lack of sight, trying to get information has been slow-going. He'd found a bookstore his first day and managed to stumble through an awkward conversation with the shopkeeper until she'd directed him to a tiny section of the store with books in a language called "German."
Not that that had helped him all that much. However, when he'd awkwardly motioned to his eyes, the shopkeeper had just let out an annoyed sounding huff and muttered something, their chi warping strangely. A moment later, Roy had found himself holding a book with braille dotting the pages.
In the end, he'd left the store with a handful of books, translated by the shopkeeper. (Although he's fairly sure that she'd charged him extra for it.)
The "German" to "English" dictionary has been by far the most useful of them, and despite his difficulties with the few dialectal differences between "German" and Amestrian, Roy is slowly building up a decent vocabulary – enough for small transactions in stores, at least.
But as for the other books, well. He's not entirely sure what the make of them.
At first, he'd assumed it was due to some sort of mistranslation when all the books kept referencing "magic." A mistranslation of alchemy, he'd thought, but no – he was at a loss for how alchemy could account for all these "spells." Make something float? Turn a rat into a teacup? Impossible.
Well, impossible with alchemy. From what he'd observed so far, it was quite possible in this fairytale world.
Roy shuts the final book with a loud clap. He desperately needs more reading material.
He takes a moment to stretch and then tugs his coat and gloves on, before heading downstairs, intent on finding the innkeeper. Thankfully, Tom is behind the bar as usual, wiping down the wood with a damp cloth.
"Gut morning," Roy manages, trying not to get irritated at how thick and obvious his accent still is. But then again, he's only been learning the language for a little over a week.
"You know, I think you're getting better," Tom replies with a toothy grin, and Roy can't help but roll his eyes. "Need help with something?"
"Is t'ere – wie sagt man?" Roy mutters, wracking his brain. "Library, I t'ink?"
"You're looking for a library?" Tom asks, and Roy nods, relieved. "Alright, well, we have a section in the British Library. It's right next to King's Cross station, though, so you'll have to apparate or take the tube to get there."
"Tube?" Roy echoes, wrinkling his nose.
"It's, uh," Tom replies, pausing for a second. "The underground train? What do you German blokes call it, U-Bahn or something?"
Roy frowns, wondering if he's mistranslating again. There are certainly no underground trains in Central, although from what he's seen of this world so far, they've certainly make some advancements which have not yet been developed in Amestris. Underground trains, at least, are not nearly as farfetched as magic.
Tom explains in more detail how to get to the "Tube" station, and Roy manages to navigate the route to the library with relatively minimal difficulty. (Well, barring his issues with the turnstile.)
However, it's something of a different story when he finally gets to the library. He makes his way to the help desk on the second floor, as instructed, and asks for access to the specific reading room, but the person manning the desk says, "Library card?"
"Card?" Roy repeats, his brow furrowing.
The person at the desk subtly checks the nearby area before leaning in close to Roy and hissing, "Your wand."
"Ach so," Roy replies, trying to suppress a wince. "It is not vit' me. Forgotten."
It's so much harder to negotiate with people with a language barrier.
"You forgot your wand?" the librarian asks, sounding incredulous. "How do you forget your wand?"
Roy shrugs, pretending not to understand. It's not as if it's too far from the truth, though – he can only half understand what the librarian is saying.
"Well, come back when you have it," the librarian sighs. "I can't let you in without it. Standard protocol."
"Wie bitte?" Roy replies, his brow furrowing.
"You can't go into the reading room," the librarian says slowly. "No library."
Roy plasters on his most charming smile and says, "Maybe t'is time you – "
"Please just go and get your wand," the librarian sighs, one of their hands going to Roy's shoulder to nudge him back towards the door.
Roy's lips turn down into a scowl, but he doesn't press the matter anymore, instead turning around to head back to the Leaky Cauldron. It's not until he's halfway there, on the underground train, that it occurs to him that he's come across a wand store before. He doesn't have much foreign currency left, but he's only exchanged transmuted gold at the bank once, and hadn't aroused any particular suspicions. (At least, not any that the strange chimeras working at the bank could prove.)
So when he gets back to the inn, instead of holing himself up in his room again, he heads to the back alley. The first time, he'd been more than a little confused when confronted with the wall blocking his path, but after the past few weeks, it's become practically second nature to clap his hands together, transmute a small hole in the brick, and then seal it back up after going through. So far no one's accused him of property damage.
He makes his way down Diagon Alley, grateful that it's not as crowded as usual at three in the afternoon on a Thursday. He's gotten better at keeping track of strangers' chi signals, but it can be a little overwhelming trying not to bump into people when the street is packed, like it typically is. The first word he'd learned in English was "sorry."
As he steps into the old wand shop, not for the first time, Roy wishes he was able to take in all the details of the building. He can tell the general layout, that there's a counter in front of him and the walls are lined with shelves, packed with small boxes.
What makes him pause, though, is the dull chi he can feel emanating from each box. He's about to reach for one of the boxes to examine its contents, when he hears someone say, "I don't believe I've seen you in my store before."
Roy fights not to flinch, instead plastering a polite smile on his face and turning in the direction of the voice.
"I vill a vand buy," Roy says, trying not to grimace at his own broken, accented English.
"You will?" the shopkeeper chuckles, and Roy frowns, his nose wrinkling.
"Vant?" he tries instead. "I vant buy a vand?"
The shopkeeper replies with a noncommittal hum, before saying, "Well, let's get your measurements, then. Hold out your wand arm."
Roy hesitates for a moment, but then brings up his dominant arm, hoping that he's interpreted correctly. He feels something ghost over his skin a moment later, and can't help but flinch back.
"It's just my tape-measure," the shopkeeper assures him in a soft tone, a little apologetic.
Roy doesn't recognize the word "tape-measure" but he relaxes when the object doesn't attack him outright. He's not entirely sure how long he holds his position, but just as he starts to fidget, the strange object floats away from him.
"Try this," the shopkeeper instructs, pressing a slim piece of wood into Roy's hand.
Roy frowns for a moment, testing its composition. Some sort of wood, of course. Keratin, strangely enough, at the center.
"Well, give it a wave," the shopkeeper instructs, his tone impatient.
Reluctantly, Roy flicks his wrist, feeling supremely childish while doing so, but as soon as the motion is complete, he feels the slender piece of wood yank at his chi.
"Scheiße – " he hisses as he feels a beam of energy shoot out of the end of the wand. He hears something shatter not too far away.
The shopkeeper mutters something Roy can't comprehend under his breath, and snatches the wand back. However, instead of reprimanding Roy, he shoves a new wand into Roy's hand. It continues like this for quite some time, and Roy's starting to think that maybe magic just isn't within his capabilities, despite his affinity for alchemy.
He's about to beg off and leave when the shopkeeper hands him another wand which feels… right. Instead of yanking at his chi, the wand seems to gently draw it out of him. It's like using alchemy, carefully infusing energy into a transmutation circle.
"T'is one," Roy says firmly, gripping the wand tightly.
"Oh, definitely," the shopkeeper replies, sounding pleased. "Eleven inches, cherry, with a phoenix feather core. A very good wand."
"How much?" Roy asks, digging his coin purse out of his pocket.
"Seven galleons," the shopkeeper answers, and Roy digs seven of the largest coins out of his bag, handing them over.
"T'ank you," Roy says, dipping his head slightly and pocketing his newly bought wand.
"Glad to be of service," the shopkeeper replies.
Roy exits the shop and wonders if he still has time before the library closes.
Time passes slowly, but not slowly enough. As each day passes, Roy's reminded Pride is somewhere out there, doing god knows what, and Central has been left undefended.
Well, relatively undefended. Roy can only hope that his subordinates are looking for him as thoroughly as he's looking for his own way back. Not for the first time, he regrets using Marcoh's experimental transmutation. Then again, if he hadn't he'd probably be dead and just as useless.
On the subject of uselessness, the library he's been reading his way through – and practically living in, if he's being honest – is just that. They have virtually nothing on alchemy, and what they do have could have passed as children's guides back in Amestris. The books on magic, meanwhile, aren't much more useful. So far what he's read has either been too basic – more "how to" guides than anything – and the rest have been too complex, the terminology far too advanced for his limited English vocabulary.
He has managed to work a few spells, at least. He suspects he could do the braille translation one in his sleep, by now, and he's also managed to make his books levitate, and his pillow catch on fire. (Tom, the innkeeper, has been less than thrilled with his last experiment, but Roy had repaid him in full for the damages.)
In short, Roy has come to realize that he needs a bigger library. And possibly a translator.
(He hasn't managed to find any workable translation spells, yet – not for speech, at least. Book translation spells seem fairly common, but ones for fluid speech, it seems, are too complex.)
"Is t'ere a ot'er library?" Roy asks without preamble as he arrives at wizarding section of the British Library as soon as it opens in the morning. The librarian doesn't seem particularly surprised to see him, but then again, Roy's been coming to the library every day from open to close for almost two weeks now.
"Another library?" the librarian asks, and Roy can practically hear their frown.
"I haff read all books here," he answers, a little dismissively.
"All of them?" the librarian repeats, incredulous.
"All I can read," Roy corrects, lips turning down in a scowl. "So need new library."
"The only larger one in all of Great Britain is at Hogwarts," the librarian huffs.
"Hogvarts?" Roy echoes. The name sounds vaguely familiar, like he'd come across it in one of his books, but he can't quite place it.
"School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the librarian clarifies.
"Can you tell me how I get t'ere?" Roy asks, already determined. He might not have detected Pride's presence recently, but that doesn't necessarily mean that Pride didn't get swept along to this world with Roy's transmutation. And if he didn't, he's still loose in Central. Compared with that alternative, Roy almost hopes that Pride is here in England with him.
"You can't just use the Hogwarts library. It's for students and faculty use," the librarian retorts, and Roy frowns. It's like Amestris' restricted military libraries, it seems. "You'd have to request access from Headmaster Dumbledore or Deputy Headmistress McGonagall – "
"McGonagall?" Roy interrupts. "Minerfa McGonagall?"
"Yes – " the librarian starts.
Roy grins.