A/N: Konnichiwa minna!

FMA/HP is a crossover made in heaven and is one of my personal favorites; I have followed both the series, researched till the facts began to repeat. And when a fan who writes fics gets crazily obsessed, she ends up writing a fanfic! I know I have many incomplete projects still awaiting updation but I had to write it to stop the plot from plaguing my waking hours.

It's post-Brotherhood crossed over with Harry Potter.

Al, Winry and Harry and group are 15 while Ed's 16. The HP material is mostly from the Order of the Phoenix but their will be loads of changes in it. No facsimile copy from the books or the anime or the manga...the plot's my own though sadly I don't own either franchise.

Unlike my other FMA:B fic To Be King, this will have less action but more angst...you'll soon see.

Reviews awaited!

ABYSS BREAK

Synopsis: A cryptic letter gets delivered to the newly instated Brigadier General Roy Mustang's table. Unable to make head-or-tail of it, he consults the only person who could be expected to have solutions of problems that transcend the boundaries of normalcy. But can the Fullmetal Alchemist unravel this brand new mystery, especially when he is trying to come in terms with the fact that he cannot perform alchemy anymore?

CHAPTER 01: CAN YOU DIE?

"The boy who lived can be killed."

For the life of him, Flame Alchemist and Brigadier General Roy Mustang couldn't figure out the head or tail of the one-liner that had slipped into his in-tray. He could have suspected it to be a prank, only the fact that the people who might have been the perpetrators weren't around anymore; one was way beyond reach while the other was back home, which was at least two-days' journey by train.

Not Hughes, not Fullmetal...then who?

He saw the door to his office open, followed by the entrance of his most trusted subordinate.

Not subordinate.

Partner.

"It is Major Armstrong, he says he has an appointment with you," said Riza Hawkeye, frowning infinitesimally as she noticed the discomfort on her commanding officer's face.

"Does he, now?" Mustang asked distractedly, the words of the note still swimming in front of his mind's eye. "I thought you said I was free till lunch."

"Sir, you do not say 'no' to Major Armstrong, I thought it was a very well-established point," Hawkeye replied, relaxing her previous 'at attention' pose though her russet eyes still looked worried.

Mustang gave a mirthless smirk. "All right, let him in. Maybe I'd get my mind to work."

If Hawkeye was a bit surprised at the cryptic remark, she didn't show it.

Turned out that Major Armstrong had come to invite Mustang's entire team for dinner on the coming weekend at the Armstrong Estate.

Roy raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"It has been only three months since the Promised Day, Alex. Why the sudden dinner party?" he asked, twirling the pen with his fingers.

"My younger sister has finally found a suitor—she is formally going to introduce him to us. So I thought, why not make it an occasion? With all the restoration work on every front, people are dead tired. So a small party might pep us up," Armstrong answered in his usual booming voice.

Roy couldn't help but smile at him; the giant man could come across as an overbearing man at times, but that did not mean he missed the nuances. Roy knew without a mirror that his face was a poor imitation of the one he had when the entire Father business started. And with the large scale reconstruction work to carry out at Central, weeding out the "rats" from the military and administration and ensuring that everything went smoothly was proving to be a forty-eight-hours job to be done in twenty-four hours.

He accepted the card. "Thank you, Major. I appreciate it. We will attend the dinner."

Armstrong looked around.

"Aren't the Elric brothers here?"

Roy shook his head wistfully. "They left a week after the Promised Day, as soon as Al could walk without support. They should be in Resembool now."

Armstrong sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. "Guess I should go and pay those boys a visit."

Roy wasn't too thrilled at the aspect—somehow, he got a feeling that Edward Elric wouldn't be too happy to receive the invite.

*/*/

Gate...gateway to different worlds...white...dark...

Harry Potter woke up with a start, almost hitting his head on the bunk bed above him. His hands were clammy and he was shaking violently; his clothes were soaked through with sweat. This dream was different...unlike any other dream he had in the last fifteen years of his life. It was mostly Voldemort who inhabited his nightmares, but this one was different.

It was a white expanse, and there was a huge gate. If he squinted, he could make out a white something seated next to it, its chin resting on its palm, and a wide toothy grin. Some sort of runes, symbols were carved on the gate. But whatever the gate was, it made him feel afraid.

Very afraid.

He looked around, unsurprised to find a posse of red-heads in varying positions of slumber—he was in the Burrow, after all. He could hear Ron mumble unintelligibly from the bunk above him.

He gave a tired smile, deciding not to break this rare moment of tranquillity. Voldemort was on the move, so effective sleep would soon become a luxury.

His dream analysis could wait.

He tip-toed out of the room, ensuring that no one was disturbed. His midnight walks both in Hogwarts and at the Dursleys' have sharpened his night-vision. He closed the door as gently as he could and climbed downstairs into the kitchen, skipping those steps which groaned.

Mrs. Weasley's clock pointed all of the family at mortal peril. Harry wished he could show it to that idiot of a Minister as proof that Voldemort was back but he knew he wouldn't believe—Fudge's brain seemed to be on a vacation. He filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down, savouring the cool liquid as it wetted his parched throat. His nightmares were slowly upping their ante.

He should inform Dumbledore.

"Can't sleep?"

Harry whipped around, cursing the fact that his wand was on the bedside table upstairs.

A sliver of moonlight lit a mass of sandy brown hair—it was Lupin.

Harry relaxed his shoulders.

"You scared me, Professor," he admitted, placing the glass back on the kitchen platform.

"Constant Vigilance, Harry. Now, more than any time else," Lupin said, a compassionate smile on his face. The last two years had aged him a lot—that big expose at the end of third year destroyed the ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's career. From what Harry could gather from various snippets of information, Lupin mostly performed odd jobs to survive.

"Moody, eh?" Harry said, dragging a chair from the dining table and sitting across him.

"You've lost weight," he added.

"You've grown taller," Lupin said. Harry could hear a tiny bit of pride in his voice.

"Not as tall as Ron, though," Harry replied. Though he was secretly glad he had overtaken Hermione in the height chart.

"A dream, was it?"

Harry nodded slowly, knowing his face would give him away any way.

Lupin looked out of the window, at the waxing moon.

"It would be full moon in two-days' time," he said, almost wistfully. "And I'm out of the Wolfsbane Potion. And Severus is not in the mood to make more."

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "But why?"

Lupin smiled gently. Harry knew that Snape and he weren't the mushiest of friends but surely Dumbledore...

"And Dumbledore has a lot on his mind at the moment," Lupin said, as if he read Harry's mind. "I couldn't possibly bother him."

Harry was about to shake his head furiously when Lupin interrupted him.

"But you should. Apparently this dream is different from the rest?"

Harry nodded in mid-shake.

"Then all the more important it is for Dumbledore to know. I'm going back to Grimmauld Place—I'll let Sirius know about it too. And remember to code your letter—the Ministry isn't to be trusted, and nor the Death Eaters."

Lupin stood up, straightening his robes.

"Tell Molly that my job's done. I'd be in London till the moon starts waning," he said. He hesitated for a moment before giving Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't bottle yourself up...you've friends, you know. People who want to help. Don't rob them off their chance," he said softly before exiting the kitchen.

Harry stared at the retreating back, feeling oddly lonely all of a sudden.

*/*/

Edward Elric was a bit surprised, and a bit pleased too.

"It'd be nice, right Brother? I'd love to meet Sheska and the others...it's been three months," Al said excitedly as he read Armstrong's invite. "We can go, right?"

"Guess so," Ed shrugged. "Can't see why not."

"And before I forget, the lovely Miss Winry Rockbell and Madam Pinako are invited too. My sister will be glad to have their company," Armstrong added.

If possible, Al's smile grew wider.

After having lunch Armstrong left, citing how Central was short-staffed at the moment. As Al waved him off from the porch, he couldn't help but feel some sort of uneasiness—his brother, though he smiled as easily as usual, seemed a bit off.

And that smile...it did not reach his eyes.

"So you noticed it too, huh?" Winry said softly. Al looked at her—he was at least four inches taller than her now and the last two months had put some muscle over his emaciated frame, lending him a rather attractive slender look. She held his arm—he could feel the minute shakes of worry run through her. May Chang's crash course of Dragon Pulse had made him more susceptible to human emotions. But strangely, Ed's emotions seemed to be locked behind an impenetrable wall.

"I did. And I don't like it," he replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Ed was now sitting on the porch steps, scratching the back of Den's ears as she hummed comfortably. From a distance, the scene looked peaceful. But Al could sense a cloud of darkness cling to the normally bright and cheerful young man.

"Do you think..." Winry faltered, unwilling to voice out Al's biggest dread. But at this rate, it wouldn't be long before his fears gave way to reality.

Ed was in a serious need for help.

Ed sat on the porch, whistling nonchalantly as he massaged Den's neck. He enjoyed the feeling of Den's luxuriant fur on the fingers of his right hand. He knew Al and Winry were whispering away—no doubt about him—but he didn't care. Though he tried to wean his mind away to the smells of the delicious apple pie wafting from the kitchen, he couldn't forget the way Al's fingers tightened around Winry's.

And the way Winry held Al's arm.

Four years back, he never had the time to think about Winry as anything apart from his mechanic and a childhood friend. When she accidentally learned about how Scar killed her parents, he felt something stir inside him. An odd sense to protect her. Not how felt about Al.

Something different. He couldn't think of a life without Winry—he could even live with that dratted wrench being thrown at him.

And he planned to confess his feelings after he brought back Al's body, never realising the price. And when he had done that, he was too late.

Winry...she was never his' to begin with.

*/*/

Harry never ended up writing the letter.

Dear Professor Dumbledore

Instead of dreaming about Voldemort and dingy alleys, I have started dreaming about a toothy guy and a white room. Please help me, I am scared.

Yours sincerely

Harry Potter.

Harry snorted. Even in his head, the words sounded stupid.

He was currently helping Ron and the twins lay the dinner table out in the lawn—Kinglsey Shacklebolt and some other guy from the Ministry had come visiting. Mainly they visited Grimmauld Place to submit their regular reports but since the Ministry's new decree, they couldn't visit there anymore.

"Funny, making that place non-Apparatable," Ron grunted, heaving under the weight of an enormous pot of chicken stew. "Dunno, did the Ministry get a wind or something?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't have any idea either. Only, he was furious—Sirius was only one he felt could soothe his anxiety without acting like a typical adult. And he couldn't even send him an owl at the moment—the risk was too great.

"You think Mundungus Fletcher sold out Sirius for a couple of Galleons?" Fred asked, dipping his finger into the pot Ron carried. The latter gave him a disgusted look which the former completely ignored.

"Even though he's a stink-pot, I don't think he's gonna fall that far," Fred commented as he surveyed the scene. Twilight had just set in, the steady orbs that floated around for illumination casting an unearthly glow around. Moths hovered around and the faint crying of the cicadas could be heard—nothing to let anyone know about the brutal reality that was killing people—Muggle and wizards alike—some hundred-odd miles away.

Harry arranged the cutlery while the twins dragged out the chairs, cursing the fact that there was still a year to go before they were allowed to perform magic in public. Harry revelled in the menial task as it made hi mind calm down and stop over-thinking.

Spoon, fork, knife, dish, bowl...

Dark...light...gate...

Harry shook his head, trying to get that ominous feeling leave his body.

"Hey mate, anything's up?" Ron asked, looking concerned.

Harry shook his head, perhaps a bit too quickly. Ron shrugged back, though the look of concern did not leave his features.

The dinner was not a talkative affair. Mr. Weasley, Bill and Charlie were exhausted and talked in low tones with Shacklebolt and the other man. Hermione seemed to be out of sorts and had almost mixed sugar with her stew before Ginny came to her rescue. Harry quietly spooned down his dinner; it felt as if his discomfort was contagious.

"Ahem!"

It was Mr. Weasley.

"I need to tell everyone something—not that you are going to like it. Dolores Umbridge," Mr. Weasley shook his head slightly at his direction before continuing. "The woman who was part of Harry's hearing two weeks back, she has decided to get on board with her Blood Status project. In normal circumstances, this idea would have been thrown right out of the window without a second glance but she seems to be taking advantage of the chaos at the moment."

Harry looked puzzled. Blood Status?

But the stricken look Ron sent Hermione made him re-evaluate his thought process. Blood Status? Hermione?

Then it dawned on him. But it seemed like he was the only tubelight in the group and Mr. Weasley had already progressed a lot further.

"Leave?" Ron asked, flabbergasted. Similar looks were mirrored on the others except Hermione who was looking rather furious at the moment.

"I understand that I'm in a pretty dangerous position," Hermione began angrily but Bill interrupted her.

"You're a Muggle-born, Harry's Public Enemy Number One and Ron's the son of the man who's Muggle-loving tendencies are legendary. And everyone knows how you three are good friends," he said dryly, twirling his ponytail around his index finger. "I agree with Dad on this...you three need to hide away."

"But what about school?" Hermione countered. "We've just four years worth of magical education! We can't survive like that!"

"About that," Mr. Weasley said, though Harry could swear he sounded uncomfortable. "Dumbledore came up with a plan. Ingenious..."

"But there's a catch, right Mr. Weasley?" Harry found himself speaking. Mr. Weasley nodded apologetically.

The older man began to dig within his pockets and produced a very old scroll.

"Nicolas Flamel's last letter to Dumbledore. It will answer your questions."

Harry took that letter and began to read.

Dear Albus

I have lived long, so don't berate yourself about my death. It is the ultimate truth—One is all, All is one.

Alchemy is the thing I treasure the most, to point that you often dubbed as insane obsession. How often you scolded me about how I did not prefer magic? You see, it is because of the simple fact that from where I come from, magic simply does not exist.

I come from Amestris, a country in another world. All through my long life, alchemy often intrigued me and one of my experiments made me perform a taboo. And as compensation of my folly, I was thrown here. To your world.

I know you might find it hard to believe me, but it is the simple plain truth, my friend. And attached to this letter is an alchemical circle. It is a transportation circle imbibed with a spell that is the base for designing Portkeys. It was my last experiment, a method to return to my world. But I guess Truth caught up with my actions.

Should you want to visit my world, just touch the sheet and call out "Amestris". There is another piece of paper—I should expect that it would be enough to cover up your adventures in that foreign land which was once my home.

Returning is simple—just say "Hogwarts" out loud and you'd be back. But this circle can be used only for three round trips so be careful.

Good luck, friend. May you many adventures.

Yours as always

Nicolas

Stunned silence greeted the conclusion of the letter; Harry could feel his fingers tremble slightly.

Another world?

*/*/

Edward Elric felt claustrophobic.

The Armstrong Estate was huge in more ways than one, proving it when the entire Northern Battalion was hidden in its grounds. But still, as he played with his usual favourite chicken quiche, he felt as if someone had pressed a pillow on his face.

In the cavernous dining room of the Armstrongs, he felt suffocated.

He could see Al chat animatedly with Winry and the Colonel, though Roy Mustang had been promoted to Brigadier General.

Brigadier General...

Naah, Colonel sounded better. Old lady Pinako had refrained from coming, saying she needed to stay back in order to keep the shop open. He kind of missed her at the moment—he was sure she wouldn't have ignored him like that.

Even Hawkeye seemed to find Alex's exuberance more interesting as she smiled at his explanations.

His sister, Anneliese, and her fiancé too were wrapped in a deep conversation.

All in all, Ed had the full attention of his conscience.

He managed to swallow the dinner quickly and before the dessert arrived, he exited the room on the pretext of visiting the bathroom. He was sure no one had even bothered to listen to him.

Maybe because you are no longer useful?

Ed shook his head as he walked down the corridor, following where his feet led him.

It is the reality, ex-Alchemist Edward Elric. You brought your brother's body back, he stole the one you love. You gave back the country to the military and they forgot you. Not their fault—without alchemy, you are just a brat who thinks he's someone important.

Ed shook his head, unwilling to accept the words that were being whispered to his being.

You cannot lie to me...I am you. Your heart. Your deepest desires. I am the real you, the one without the mask. You can never lie to me.

Ed stopped, clutching his head with his hands. It seemed as if someone was hammering from the inside of his forehead.

Stop it! Whatever you are, just stop!

His conscience gave a cruel chuckle at his pitiful cries.

Accept yourself, brat. Accept your destiny. You are meant for great things, and rotting away in some village hut does not feature on your to-do list. Seek me, desire my power. After all, it is yours, in a way. Your legacy—left by the one who has already departed.

Ed felt an excruciating pain emanate from the left side of his chest and before he could make head or tail of where he was, darkness overtook him.

Roy understood what Al was trying to tell him. In fact, he was afraid of the same thing.

"Good you brought Fullmetal here, I should get Marcoh give him a lookover. Brat or not, alchemy was his life. And I'm afraid he is on the verge of going beyond the point of no return," he said slowly, eyeing the said blond from the corner of his eye. Edward Elric was no longer the loud-mouthed, obnoxious kid he knew. Roy suddenly found himself wishing that the Promised Day was not over—even though they had lived dangerously, Edward had lived. Now, he was more like a marionette on strings.

"He rarely talks these days," Winry added in a worried voice. Her plate of food was largely untouched. Roy noticed it but didn't comment.

They saw Ed scrape back his chair, mumble something about the bathroom and leave.

"I should go after him," Al said, standing up. Roy pulled him down on his seat.

"I think he doesn't want company...the last four years, he has lived a life high on adrenaline. This sudden complacency is not sitting well with him, similar to what most soldiers feel post retirement. And the fact is, he is still too young to grasp it. For military men to adjust to civilian life is quite hard—most never end up doing it."

Al sighed as he sat back down, knowing fully well that what Roy said was the plain truth. Roy could see acceptance written across the younger Elric's face, even though the amber eyes held layers of doubt and confusion.

Roy patted his shoulder awkwardly; he was never good with the emotional stuff.

"Give him some time," he said, before resuming eating. "I'm worried too. Let him talk with Marcoh once. But of what I can figure out, time will heal all wounds."

Reviews...pretty please with a cherry on top?