Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling
Fields of Gold
"The truth shouldn't be silenced to spare someone."
- Latin Proverb
Pale, thin fingers pressed gently against the side of his face, putting pressure against the wound that he had gotten. He winced; that would be a wound that would contribute a scar, if not at least a thin and nearly unnoticeable one. He felt out-of-place in his dark blue and gold twined uniform, the cotton fabric rubbing against his skin comfortably. Yet when he wore it, he felt as though he was a person placed in another empty vessel.
A week, it had been, ever since he was allowed to heal. Now, they were going to another country, another lead that he had for the small semblance that his brother was still alive. He would do anything to keep that illusion, even if it was just that—an illusion.
"Sir?" a female's cold and uncharacteristically soft voice said behind him, "The ambassadors from England are there. General Mustang is waiting for your arrival."
"Thanks, Lieutenant Colonel," he replied. Letting his arm drop to the side lifelessly, he turned to see the blonde sharpshooter stare at him questioningly. "Let's go. I don't want to keep them waiting."
Hawkeye nodded. She stepped aside so he could move out. He walked through the halls of the building noiselessly, despite the ever lasting click of Hawkeye's boots behind him. The closer he got to his destination, the more he left his mind wander off, allowing his feet to take him to their meeting place: The Fuhrer's office. He let himself think about his still-hurting wounds (because he had nothing else to think about) and he thought about Alphonse and the day before he disappeared, and he thought about going back home and doing something with his life.
"We're here, sir," Hawkeye said from beside him, ripping him out of his reverie. He turned to look at her slightly; that's when she took the opportunity to smile warmly at him, just a bit. "It'll get better, Edward. Just remember that." And leaving those comforting words for him to muse over, she left.
He tapped on the door lightly, opening it after ward without any permission. He knew that neither the Fuhrer nor the General cared about that stuff. As he came in, he closed the door behind him and saluted briefly. The sound of the door opening caused the occupants of the room to turn to look at him.
There were two men; one, a tall and spindly man with a great spout of a beard falling from his chin and odd clothing compromising of brightly coloured and shimmering drapes. Another, an equally tall man, dark-skinned (an Ishvalan?) with dark, almost black eyes peering at him curiously.
"Ah, Colonel Elric," Grumman said with faux surprise from behind his desk. "Nice to see that you were able to make it."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything, sir," he said in reply, staring all the while at the new comers. Both of them must've been from the school, perhaps one of them the headmaster. His mind flashed to the scene of bloody bodies on the ground, a gun in his hands. Pure white snow crushed underfoot by heavy boots and artillery. Bright red soaking in a field of endless white.
"These are your accompaniments to their headquarters," Grumman motioned a hand toward the two nameless men. "Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt."Bumbling-something, he remembered Mustang saying. The headmaster. As if the old man knew what he was thinking, his blue eyes met his own. He stared at the wizened old man for a moment, not daring to back away. He was not one to back away from a fight.
"We'll be leaving shortly, if you don't mind," Mustang murmured from beside him. His only answer was a slight twitch of the nose.
Grumman stood up, chuckling deeply. "Well, I will leave you to your new mission, gentlemen. I trust I will see you soon enough." His eyes glinted behind his glasses, staring at both Mustang and Edward. Both men saluted once and murmured a sharp, "Yes sir."
"Good," the Fuhrer said, pleased. "Now, if you don't mind, I have an appointment to get too." He nodded his head toward Albus and Kingsley for a moment, then stepped beyond his desk and walked right out the door. Just like that. Edward followed his movements with a careful eye. He was sure Mustang was as well. Until they heard the click of the door, neither moved a muscle.
Then, slowly, he turned to look at Albus. Mustang was no doubt following him as well. "Colonel Edward Elric," he introduced himself shortly, keeping his voice frosty. "Fullmetal Alchemist."
"General Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist," said Mustang wryly. "And may I question how you will get us to your headquarters, as you have mentioned earlier?" He recognized the tone as Mustang's 'business voice'. As in, no funny business whatsoever. But this was way more than funny business—this was straight out unbelievable. And yet, they were still going.
"Ah, of course!" Albus Dumbledore cried, laughing. He seemed awfully happy and cheerful when his country was in it's most 'horryfing' time of it's history. Edward decided that he didn't like this Albus Dumbledore man at all. Of course, that was only his first assumption, made by one judgement only.
Albus took out something from inside the multiple folds of his clothing. Wrinkled fingers held in his palms a—was that a book? He stared down at it dubiously, raising an eyebrow. What was it going to do? Suck him in and transport him to another world? He kept quiet, waiting for an explanation to be given.
And it was. "This is called a port-key. Port-keys can be any old object—say, for example, a book or a sock—and they are charmed to take a person or a group of people to a designated place at a designated time." Albus' upper lip curled in a smile. "Very useful, port-keys are. But, if you miss one, you cannot get it back until it's been charmed again."
"This one will take us straight into Order headquarters," Kingsley said.
"How does it work?" Mustang bent down slightly to look at the book as if he was observing a new type of species ready to be divulged in. Albus kept on smiling serenely. He looked at both of them, keeping his face purposefully blank.
(channelled energy through half-broken seals)
He blinked.
He had simply been thinking about the port-key...for he was also an alchemist, and the type of alchemy that the two foreign men were doing—magic, they called it?—was rather unbelievable for him. He wasn't going to start on it without proof. Slowly, he thought about the port-key again.
(placed by catatonic energy shifting earth's plates into a cut transmutation circle)
A blond eyebrow rose slightly, focusing his energy on the conversation that Albus and Mustang were having. Apparently, all you had to do was touch it, and it would take you to your destination. Mustang touched a timid finger to the book's leather cover, but frowned when nothing happened. Albus merely chuckled.
"It's due to go off soon," he said amiably. "I suggest you all hold on." He gave a pointed look to Edward. Mustang also gave him a tight-lipped stare, his brows furrowed in concentration but still motioning for Edward to take hold of the book. He did so hesitantly, Kingsley following after him.
"So, will it do anything any time soon, or am I making a fool of myself for no reason?"
Kingsley gave a small laugh at his flat tone. "Just wait, and try not to move too much."
He turned to gaze questioningly at the man, but then he found himself being distracted by the sudden vicious tug in the lower region of his stomach. It pulled uncomfortably, and like a suction of some sort, he felt himself being squeezed through a sort of tube with a loud yelp. He heard someone else scream—probablyMustang—and then, he closed his eyes as they fell through a sort of twisted dimension.
His hair blew in his face violently, and he tried to open his eyes but avoided doing so after he realized the pressure. Somewhere, in the corner of his mind, he was wondering how there could be such an invention; it didn't even feel like alchemy! Alchemy felt like electricity running through his veins...not this foreign, somehow sickening feeling...the feeling of something stripping his away of every single heartbeat in his body...
"Let go! Quickly!"
He let go.
And then, he found himself being held up by his superior officer—whom he had just managed to avoid falling on—as they stood off-balance in a grey and blue room. He pushed himself off the darker-haired male, muttering a hasty apology while Mustang fixed his attire smoothly.
He stood still, uncaring that his wardrobe was messed up slightly. He never did like the uniforms.
His cheek stung a bit, but he looked around the room first. It looked more like the inside of a haunted mansion rather than the base of operations for a high-strung group against their main threat. He was unimpressed. The only thing that he got from this was that you could get away with holding something secret in here. It didn't look like people had lived in here for years. Paint peeled off the walls and a layer of thin dust covered the furniture.
A redheaded woman, plump, with a long and thin stick in her hand, stared at them for a moment before setting down her stick. There was a man next to her, redheaded as well. During their fall, the man had moved in front of the woman protectively, so he could only assume that they were married.
Their faces, however, cleared when they saw their company.
"Dumbledore!" the man said, relieved. "Good thing it was you, gave us quite the scare. I thought Death Eaters had gotten into the house!" Albus chuckled and said something in response; he didn't notice. Edward was too consumed with something else. When he heard the man speak, his words did not match the way his mouth moved. Like he was saying one language and Edward was hearing another.
"Ni jetuciare shnazade," he murmured to Mustang, blinking when he found that he heard himself speak another language but found that he understood anyway. Mustang gave him an odd look, then tried to speak for himself.
"Kie ni buira ma dshce, ho zhuoe seonsgue."
Mustang wasn't quiet enough. The unfamiliar, foreign language caught the attention of the strangers, and then the redheaded woman addressed Albus, "Who are they?"
"Ah, these are our new Order members," said the old man. Edward stared at his mouth, fascinated by the somewhat grotesque moving of his lips and the unequality of his words. "Colonel Elric and General Mustang. From Amestris." At their dubious looks, he added, "They're friends of mine. Well, Colonel Elric is the son of my friend, I should say..."
"Ne, Dumbledore," the blond started, thanking god that he remembered the man's name, "Juoe ho jiyeo jhese ceta qui zho?"
Albus smiled in apology. "I'm sorry, my dear boy! I forgot to do the other part of the translation spell...of course we wouldn't be able to understand...I did the first part when you all walked in your president's room..."
"Ni ceta," Mustang nodded.
Taking out his wand, there was a moment's notice where he waved it in a simple swishing motion and mumbled some words that sounded suspiciously like humming under his breath. Edward didn't feel any different, but he wasn't going to take chances. He checked himself over before speaking again, this time in the English language. "Hello," he said easily, with the traditional accent. "My name is Edward. No need to call me Colonel."
"Roy," the dark-haired man followed after ward. "And it's a pleasure to be doing business with you." His voice was cut and sounded like it was a recording; toneless, business-like, like he had repeated many times over and over to himself. "I hope we won't have to stay here long."
It may have been rude, but they all knew the meaning behind his words; the faster the war gets done. We have our own things to take care of.
"Molly, would you please show them a place to stay?"
The redheaded woman flushed. "Oh—oh! Yes, yes, of course, if you'd follow me..."
Albus smiled at them for one last time. Edward averted his eyes in response. At first he didn't move, so Mustang had to take him by the arm lightly and push him in the direction Molly was going, impatient and most probably tired. There had been a suicide bomb at one of the battlefields in Drachma—part of Mustang's unit. The man had much paperwork to fill, and there were many deaths that were probably hanging over his head.
Molly led them past a series of doorways, all as old and dusty as the rest of the house. Honestly, it felt like the whole thing would collapse any moment. There was a stifling silence between the three of them; you could cut it with butter knife. Finally, Molly said, "So you're both from the military, correct...?"
"Yes," Mustang answered. "One part of the military that's considered more advanced than the rest."
"Oh." She seemed lost for a second, then composed herself. They went up a flight of stairs. "You both look awfully young to be in the military..." Out of the corner of his eye, Edward say her stare at them briefly in concern. He did not say anything, and decided to let Mustang answer the questions for him.
"I'm thirty-two. Edward is eighteen. We're past legal age in Amestris."
"Eighteen?" Molly jerked, turning around with her eyes wide in horror. "Oh, my! You're so young! What are you doing in such a dangerous position?" They had stopped moving and it was clear that she wasn't going to let this go, so the blond sighed.
"I joined when I was twelve, miss," he said evenly. "I hardly think that my current age is much of a headache now." At her rapidly paling face, he started to lose his impatience. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was pity and sympathy. Two of the things he hated most in the world. He nodded his head toward the stairs. "Mind taking us the rest of the way there?"
Molly blinked, her hand still covering her mouth. "O-oh, I just—"
They were cut off by a few extremely loud, verbally sparring voices. It sounded as though a few were male and one was female; the girl was shrieking loudly. "I can'tbelieve you, Ron! It's just a book, and it was none of your business to go around and—"
"Well, maybe if you'd look up and watch where you were—"
Both voices stopped. They belonged to a small, petite girl and a lanky, almost too-tall-for-his-age boy. They halted rather suddenly on the steps, so the people behind them—a girl and two other boys—stopped in their tracks as well. Immediately, he watched with amusement as the redhead—wait a minute, all of them were redheads except for one of the girls—with blue eyes changed his tone from annoyed to wary.
"Hi mum," he started, shifting on the spot. "Um...who is..."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," the girl snapped, "Can't you say a proper hello?" She seemed too pissed off to be as suspicious as the other one—Ron, he remembered—was. Edward licked his dry lips and bit the bottom one slightly. It was a habit of his when he had an emotion that he couldn't properly well show, be it anger or anxiety or happiness. And right now, he was not the most patient of their group.
"This is Edward and Roy," Molly said amiably, motioning to them both. "They'll be joining the Order for a while." The wariness and suspicion disappeared from Ron's eyes, but Edward had a feeling that it hadn't disappeared completely. He bowed his head slightly, and Roy greeted them with a, "Nice to meet you."
He elbowed Edward slightly, causing the blond to grunt. His discomfort was clearly shown on his face, but he said shortly, "Pleasure." and left it at that. After all, they were only doing this for looks, right? The General had a reputation to maintain. Before any of them could get to introduce themselves—which was something he really didn't need, just more names to memorize—Molly said, "You guys get downstairs quickly. Dinner's on the table."
The kids nodded and the two military men moved aside to let them pass. When they were gone, Edward turned to Roy and looked slightly confused. He decided to try something out and said in low tones to the man while Molly's back was turned, "Dinnare? Ne, kisama todaoe ho kie nipanos?"
"Yeh." Mustang murmured back. Molly glanced at their whispered conversation uneasily and interrupted with, "Would you two like to come in for dinner as well?"
"No thanks, we already ate," Edward answered. Molly nodded in response, looking thankful after they had stopped in front of a slightly ruined door. It was like all colour was muted from the world, he mused. Molly still looked a tad bit relieved, but he couldn't really blame her—after all, they were the strangers, and it seemed that these people had problems of their own—depending on the way that those kids were fighting with each other on the stairs.
Molly left them in silence, and Edward sighed as he looked around the room. "I hope the old coot remembers to bring our luggage," he said, fingers ghosting over the rickety structure of the wall. His nose crinkled in displeasure. "What kind of fucked up place is this?"
"Nice to see your bad mouth hasn't been left behind," Mustang walked toward a boarded window and inspected it, his eyes glancing over every crevice of the appendage. "Besides, I think you'll have more worry than clothes on this trip."
He scoffed. "And neither will you?" They were in some weird place with weird people and he was probably countries away from Winry. The only good thing about this is that he would be able to find Alphonse all the quicker. "How much longer until we go to the school?"
"A week, perhaps two at best."
The blond nodded. "Okay. What's the plan?"
Mustang frowned. "Excuse me?"
At this, Edward turned around, raising a shaped eyebrow. "You really think that I was stupid enough to believe that you wouldn't come without some back-up plan? You don't really think we're just here to gather information on magic and protect that Harry Potter kid, do you?" Mustang looked ready to answer, but a small thump was heard. Both military men stopped and their eyes trailed to the door, where the noise had originated.
Edward nodded at Mustang. He made his footsteps quiet, as they usually were. Mustang carried on casually, "This is a simple hit-and-run mission, Fullmetal. If you need to have a back-up plan, then make it yourself. I can't do all the work all the time." Mustang had enough paperwork back at Central, thank you very much.
He snorted softly, as to make the illusion that he was farther away from the door, not getting closer to it. In the same tone, he replied, "I'm still getting over the fact that you think at all. It must've taken a few years to come up with that whole escapade two years back, huh?"
"It did not," Mustang snapped, now feeling genuinely annoyed. He sobered slightly and finished with, "...it was just two years to come up with that."
"I prove my point." And as Edward gave him a smug little grin, he brought his automail fist while kneeling down toward the door; with a large bang and momentum, he smashed his fist so hard against the door that it almost shook in it's hinges. He heard two yelps of pain on the other side and in a flash, the door was open and he was faced with two redheaded twins.
There was a surprising amount of that colour today. He frowned and knelt down to their level again, noticing the fleshy-coloured substance in their hands and grabbing it while they were still frozen on the floor. He held it up, examining it in front of their faces. "If you're going to eavesdrop," he started, never taking his eyes off the bizarre auxiliary, "Do it less obviously next time, ja?"
He didn't give them time to respond, standing up instantaneously and shutting the door rudely in their faces. He held up the fleshy string like it was some sort of poisonous germ: far away from himself, with his nose screwed up in the way that it usually was when he discovered something unfavourable.
"Stupid kids," he muttered, throwing the item to Mustang, who caught it easily. "What the hell is that?"
He turned it around in his hands, not as hesitant as Edward had been. "No idea," he finally replied, putting it gently on the boarded windowsill. "But better to keep it away than to try it out for ourselves. It was probably something to help those guys spy on us, if the way they were holding it was any explanation." The blond grunted.
Mustang took in Edward's form, the square bandage on his cheek and the dark circles under his eyes. Tight-lipped, he sighed. "Go take a nap, Fullmetal. You look like shit."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," came the satiric answer. Even still, as Roy set his head against the wood of the window he heard the shuffle of movement and a body flopping down on one of the twin beds that were provided with the room. Edward needed his sleep—everyone in his team knew that the boy wasn't sleeping well. One time, Hawkeye had caught him in the middle of a nightmare, and that was in a small nap in the middle of the day. Who knows what went on at night time.
The least he could do was make sure that none of those burdens plagued his subordinate tonight.
Memories of sweet-smelling hair and impeccably soft hands filled his mind. He had barely gotten any sleep last night, instead vying to keep his breathing even as Mustang fell to his own bed almost drunkenly. They were both tired, but at least he wasn't tired enough to fall asleep the moment that he reached the bed. In fact, the bed seemed almost cold and hard, but he wasn't going to mention that.
About seven in the morning brought him to another problem; breakfast.
It was pretty obvious that neither him nor Mustang wanted to participate, but it was an old Amestrian custom to go and share a meal with your host. Even hosts from another world, it seemed. Edward wasn't about to break that tradition, especially after about a night filled with dreams of his mother.
He knew he probably looked horrible. At least yesterday, he guaranteed some warrant of respect. Now, in his plain civilian clothes, he looked much more vulnerable and approachable than ever. Add in the pale skin and dark shadows from not getting sleep and the cut on his cheek which had no healed, he must've looked like a sick man walking. He sat at the rickety dining table at current, hearing Molly bumble around in the kitchen to make food for twenty.
Stirring a spoon almost thoughtfully in his coffee cup, he smiled slightly at the thought of explaining to Molly what coffee was this morning. According to her, it was like a "pepper-up potion" (Truth knows what that is) but he explained it as one of the greatest drinks of mankind—once you got used to it. She still didn't seem to get it, so he had to make a cup of his own. It made him wonder, however, how much wizards didn't know about outside existence. They were shutting themselves off from the world, and that was never a good thing.
Immediately, that smile faded as another personnel sat beside him. A thin-haired man with golden eyes just like him, sparing him a questioning and sleepy glance as he settled himself in.
"Good morning," Remus Lupin said cautiously. He nodded deftly in Edward's direction as the blond continued to stir his coffee listlessly. "I take it you are part of the reinforcements that Dumbledore called yesterday?"
"Correct," he replied, bored. There really was nothing for him to do here except socialize and mingle, something that Mustang was much better at than himself. The golden-eyed man seemed to be taken aback at his tone, but then saw that Edward wasn't really paying attention to him; his eyes were glazed over, and with mild curiosity, Remus noted that he had golden eyes as well.
There was the possibility that this man, was, of course the same species as him...Remus shook his head. He had never heard of magic. How would he know about lycanthropy otherwise? Still, Lupin thought to himself that he would at least try after a little bit of warming up. The blond teen didn't look too kind to the rest of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place.
"Remus!" Molly said, surprised, appearing at the doorway to the kitchen. Her wand was raised, a feast following the simple jerks of her wand. "I didn't know you were awake. Is Sirius up yet? Any of the kids?"
"You know Sirius," Remus started, shrugging. "He's going to sleep in until he falls off the bed or has to go to the loo. Oh, let me help you with that." As he brought out his own wand to help her with the load, Molly turned to Edward.
"And is your...partner coming down as well?" she asked kindly.
Edward simply shrugged. "He hasn't been getting sleep lately. I'd rather you not wake him."
This time, Molly did look worried. "But then, wouldn't he be hungry when he wakes up? I know for sure that Arthur and the boys do." The redheaded woman shook her head in frustration at her family as she laid down the platters of food carefully on the table. Edward's eyes were trained of the plates, looking slightly pale. His lips were in a tight line.
"He'll probably not be all that hungry," he said shortly. "I'll probably save a small portion for him, but if I know that bastard, he won't come down to eat anything." Mostly talk and get any information he can out of you, Edward added in his mind, but he kept his expression breezy.
"Oh." Molly looked mildly dispirited, but that passed quickly by. Edward noticed that his coffee had gotten cold.
After she disappeared behind the door, Remus stared at him questioningly. "Isn't he your...superior, or something?" The man shifted uncomfortably. "I thought that muggles had to respect their higher-up officers...in the military...of course, all that I know about muggle government is from the Muggle Studies class at my time in school."
"He is...but sometimes, he's not worth my respect." Edward shot the other man a strange look. "And what is a muggle?"
"Oh," Remus blinked, "I suppose you wouldn't know...a muggle is a word for a person without magic. Sort of a slang word, if you may, but only more official."
"I see," Edward said quietly, even though he really didn't. Instead, he pushed away his cold drink and stared at the food in front of him, watching as Remus took some into his own plate and then shovelled some in his mouth. His own stomach twisted, but not in a good way; seeing so much food at one point may have excited him, but now it only served to disgust him.
A moment later, sounds of shuffling and moving could be heard from the stairway. Down came the teenagers, Edward presumed, and he was partially correct. There were the two twins that that had introduced themselves as "Fred and George" yesterday, the other son of Molly's, the girl that he was always arguing with, and a black-haired man with a certain, crazed look in his eye that Edward had seen many times before in Drachman captives.
"Morning!" the black-haired man said cheerfully, patting Remus on the back, causing the him to choke momentarily. "Molly, what wonderful meal have you prepared for me today?"
"Don't make me come over there, Sirius Black!" Molly's shrill voice called from the kitchen. "Flattery gets you nowhere. Can you tell Ron that his clothes are in the wash and that he needs to get them himself? I have no need to have such lazy children..."
"Oh, mum, you still love us!" said one of the twins back, snickering at the other.
Immediately, the daft kitchen was filled to the brim with a warmth that Edward found very unfamiliar. Sure, it had once filled his own kitchen, but now even that place had become strained and cold with the only two inhabitants being himself and Winry. And he had gone and left her alone, causing it to be a more gloomy place, no doubt. He felt a pang of guilt go through him; he'd have to ask when he would be able to get another vacation to visit her.
"Ah, you're the new bloke that's staying with us, right?" one of the Weasley twins (he really didn't care to remember which) said, smiling friendlily at him. "Welcome to Grimmauld Place, the most depressing house on earth!"
Sirius Black snorted. "You got that right."
"I've seen worse," he said, pursing his lips, gold eyes grazing over the uneven beams that somehow magically held up the house. Sirius moved in his seat; even though he hated this place as much as the next person, it was still his house, and having a stranger criticize it (well, was he really criticizing?) didn't bode well with him. Something about this person set him off.
"Well, yeah, I bet you have," someone muttered from down the table, but when Edward turned to see who the speaker was he couldn't discern it from the myriad of faces.
"Anyway, where's Ginny?" Ron said, pushing another spoonful of grits into his mouth. Edward felt something stick in his throat, and he felt mildly disgusted at the redhead's eating habits, even though it was close to his own when he was younger.
"She didn't wake up yet." There was one more person just as disgusted as he. "Chew slowly, Ronald! You look like a pig!" Hermione chastised, cringing.
As he watched the teenagers bicker with each other, Edward let his own thoughts wander off. He had been doing a lot of that recently. Ever since Alphonse's...disappearance, he had been focused on the most important of things only. His mind was not littered with useless information and his actions not burdened by equally useless emotions. It served him well, so far. It kept people away, yes, and caused many strained relationships, but he couldn't change now. It was an easy fit, almost too easy, but it was comfortable to keep people at a distance.
Plus, adding to the abject horror of loosing his brother for a third fucking time, there was the Drachman war. If their sudden kindness to the Ishbalians wasn't enough to tame the thirst that the land of Amestris had for bloodshed. As if they had to fight to keep on living, which in a way, they did.
Bad thoughts flooded through his head, unwanted, and he shut his eyes closed in frustration. He leaned back against his chair, uncomfortable, and saw the faint vision of red against white in his mind's eye. And he saw a disposed body, covered with soiled snow. And he saw the barrel end of a gun, heard a thudding in his ears that was loud enough to inform that it was his heartbeat.
(war brings loss and death and hardship but is still necessary)
He scowled.
"Edward?" a timid voice asked somewhere beside him, and the blond in question opened an eyebrow to meet face to face with Remus Lupin, staring at him curiously. "Are you alright? You look like you were in deep thought, and you also seemed to be a bit troubled."
Despite his concern, he asked, "How did you know my name?"
Remus flushed. "The headmaster held an impromptu Order meeting, informing us all of who you were and your purpose after you and your company retired. You'll be Dumbledore's personal apprentice, I hear?"
"Really?" Hermione's ears seemed to be perked at any mention of academics, especially whenever it included Dumbledore. Brown eyes wide and pliant, she turned to the two golden-eyed men with a smile lighting up her face. "You're going to study directly under Professor Dumbledore? How exciting! Did he tell you what you were to learn yet? Oh, I suppose you're far advanced in the theory of magic to actually be studying under Dumbledore's guide—"
"Miss," Edward cut in, "No offence, but you're annoying."
Hermione stopped in the middle of her rant, her eyes wide and losing their shining quality. Her mouth hung open for a moment, but then she closed it and pressed her lips thin, shifting back into her chair. The redhead beside her, the one named Ron stuffing his face, turned and glared.
"It was just a question, mate, no need to be rude."
"And me and Remus were having a conversation until she rudely interrupted," Edward raised a satiric eyebrow at him. "Do you have a rebuttal for that? If not, then don't lecture me on manners." He pushed away his coffee and chair, nodding to Molly who had just walked in. "I'll be skipping breakfast. Not much of an appetite these days."
He walked away without looking back, passing by Mustang as he made his way downstairs. The dark-haired man regarded his charge for a moment with a single, raised eyebrow before turning to the Order, who were all silent at the previous conversation.
"I don't suppose one of you pissed him off, did you?" the General asked, just to be sure. A brunette girl flushed darkly, and he sighed. "I thought so."
"It's not like he said anything really insulting," Harry defended.
"The smallest things these days sets Edward off." Roy told them matter-of-factly. "You have to be careful about what you say around him; he may not look like it, but he's actually hot-tempered." Roy's mind flashed guiltily to the days where he would bait the young blond into his rants and furious escapades. Edward would also run head-first into fights if he could back then. Things had changed.
"Sorry for the intrusion," Roy murmured slightly, sitting down in a spare seat and thanking Molly when she placed a plate in front of him. He began to eat quietly, professionally, and soon enough the chatter in the room increased as more people came downstairs for breakfast.
Roy began to think of what to do; he couldn't help it. It was a natural process for him. After the meal, he had retired to his room, sparing a thoughtful glance Edward's way and then sitting on his bed, facing the wall. Yesterday, his subordinate had been right; he always had a plan, if not an extra back-up one in case things had gone wrong. But for this mission, he was out of his league, even Roy realized that.
These people were wizards. Wand-wielding actual wizards.
He didn't know the extremity of their power, or the status of their government, or hell—their customs, even! How was he supposed to blend in and somehow look after some brat? He was already up to his nose in looking after Edward, who would be closer to the kid anyway...if he tried. Somehow, Roy doubted that Fullmetal was all that willing to make friends.
It was irritating to admit to himself that he didn't know where they would go on from this, but it had to be done. Roy wondered what the best course of action would be. He could join in Edward's study of the magical universe, by the way that the blond was pouring over his books, or he could go and call a meeting with Dumbledore. But based on what he had heard downstairs, the man was busy and rarely in for Order meetings unless called by himself.
That was disconcerting. What kind of leader allows himself to disappear when his subjects need him the most?
Roy realized that he had gotten to a point where he was not only thinking about the wayward headmaster, but also about himself. He needed to finish this mission quickly and painlessly, like ripping off a bandage. No bonds, no caring, nothing at all. He would provide watch over the boy and let Edward get the answers that he desperately craved for, and they would go back to their war. Their own problems. Just thinking about the Drachman-Amestrian drift made him cringe.
"Oi, Mustang," called Edward's gruff voice, "Can you get me another book? I already finished the ones that—er...Mr. Weasley, I think—lent me." He held up a leather-bound book to prove his point. "They're really not that interesting, but hey, at least it's all sticking."
"It's not interesting?" Roy repeated, raising a brow. "I would think that a scholar like yourself would have your interest piqued by a new form of...something that isn't alchemy."
"It was," Edward replied sourly, "But then I read a few pages and realized that it was more about their 'fail-safe' economy and history than actual magical theory." He grunted as he stretched, a few pops sounding as bones moved back into place. "I think they want to keep me in the dark. Dunno why, if they want that Harry boy to live."
Well, that was certainly another worrying thing. He'd have to talk to the headmaster about that...whenever he saw him, of course.
"What time is it?" Edward looked around for a clock, but didn't see any. He really wished that wizards were more up-to-date with technology.
"Somewhere a little before noon." Roy stood up and made a stand in front of Edward, crossing his arms. "I heard that you put up quite a show during breakfast. Did you even eat anything?"
The other scowled. "Not hungry."
"Mind telling me what pissed you off so much?"
"I do, actually," he replied stiffly. Leaning back, the blond looked away and muttered under his breath, "It's nothing huge, Mustang. Just a personal pet peeve. Let it go."
Roy rolled his eyes, but complied warily to Edward's wishes. "I'll go ask for more books. Maybe you'll have an epiphany and find why magic is so different from alchemy." There was a dryly sarcastic tone in Roy's voice, and Edward ignored the childish urge to stick out his tongue at the man. As soon as he heard the door close, he let out a relieved sigh and closed his eyes. He was a long way from home.
*cough* This was supposed to be longer, but I really wanted to get it up. |: Oh, and guys? The Amestrian? It's not really any language in particular—I just made up random words on the spot. So yeah, don't worry about that.
EDIT: Hey. Sorry about the notice for the extra chapter—it's just that I had written the other part for this, and it was originally supposed to be one chapter only, so here you go. *shrug* I hope you guys will read it again, and forgive me for the lateness, yeah? Great. :D
Translations:
"Ni jetuciare shnazade," = "I thought they spoke the same language,"
"Kie ni buira ma dshce, ho zhuoe seonsgue." = "There's something going on here, and it doesn't have to do with country boundaries."
"Ne, Dumbledore, juoe ho jiyeo jhese ceta qui zho?" = "Hey, Dumbledore, are we speaking in a different language than you?"
"Dinnare? Ne, kisama todaoe ho kie nipanos?" = "Dinner? Wasn't it a little bit after lunch?"
"Yeh." = "Yes," or "It was."
.:.
to be continued.
11.27.11