Edit: Fixed a few things. Also, sorry if you didn't get a response to your review.. I got lost with the review button.. and I'm lazy.. Haha..

Notes: I'm sorry that this chapter took forever to put up! (There were a lot of things going on, like living in Asia for a month and a half, exams, stupid things... lame excuses.. Haha).

So I'd like to thank everyone for their support, reviews, et cetera, and I'd especially like to thank AkitaFallow for beta'ing this chapter!

I'll respond to reviews via the button thing!

And I think I might want to go back sometime in the future and rewrite or edit the first chapter; it kind of.. sucks.. o.o

Anywho, happy reading! (And if anyone can tell where the chapter title came from gets a virtual rice crispy treat! - It's not that hard!)

I'm not copying the disclaimer/summary/et cetera from the first chapter (They still hold, of course). I'm much to lazy for that.. Soo..
How We Long For Heaven

Chapter 2: So Where Do We Go From Here?

Peter Pan,

Do you think I could visit you in Neverland? I suppose that will never happen; I am not "young" enough to enter, am I? But what a life that would have been! To be free from sin, living with those you love... If only I could do the same, and live as you do.

Perhaps one day, I might be able to return...

If only I could find the Fountain of Youth.

Despair.

Yes, that was what Al was feeling. He hadn't realized it until now; that is, until Dumbledore had taken his brother to the school for immediate care while sending Al to the Leaky Cauldron so that he could become accustomed to the wizard's life and magic (it wouldn't be wise to become a professor of a magic school if he kept jumping in surprise or fright when a spell was cast). But Al supposed he was only feeling this sort of misery because he had been putting up a strong face for his brother, even though he knew Ed wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Habits die hard.

However, slowly, his despair was turning into restlessness and frustration. It had become a habit to pace around his small room for hours on end, sometimes even late into the night. At times, he even forgot to sleep because his thoughts kept running in circles. First, in a panic— had he made the right choice?—then anger— why wasn't he being updated on brother's condition?!—then guilt—if it hadn't been for him, Ed would still be alive...—and then panic, once more. The cycle was horrible, but he just couldn't stop it. It was like trying to stop a river from reaching the ocean—impossible.

He even began wondering whether this 'Dumbledore' was actually Envy in disguise, kidnapping Ed in order to have him create the Philosopher's Stone; but that didn't sound right. Surely he knew of Ed's condition—being, in part, the cause of it—and that, therefore, Ed could not make the Philosopher's Stone. However…

Al could.

After all, he himself had been there with Ed as they searched to create the Stone, and so he knew how to make one. Still, something didn't click. If the homunculi had kidnapped his brother to make Al forge the Stone, they would have informed him in some fashion, and seeing as how there had been no mail whatsoever… Dumbledore simply had to be who Al believed he was—who he said he was.

Still, even with this conclusion, what about his brother? Why had there been no news?

He sighed and then stepped up to the window overlooking Diagon Alley. It had been a month since he was brought here. A month. During that time, he had explored the alley and bought several books that might be useful, while reading others at the bookstore in a secluded corner. He'd also been dragged to the Quidditch World Cup. The game itself hadn't interested Al; however, the events that took place after the game...

It shocked Al, even after all his adventures, how cruel people could be to one another. It simply made no sense. What drove people to discriminate based on one trait? The trait to use magic? It was disgusting; but, even so, it hit too close to home. After all, hadn't his own country done something similar? They had waged war simply because the Ishballans were different. Because they had a different religion, color, and eyes; and because of these differences, the Amestrians and the wizards were allowed to believe that they were somehow superior and were granted divine permission to do as they would.

Granted, this wasn't the whole story. Al understood that much of this hatred against the Ishballans was fueled by the government's—no, King Bradley's—will, but it was still painful to think that the people would follow his ideas so readily and without thought.

In a way, Al was almost glad about the events that took place because he learned a little more that day: That even though these people could use magic, it didn't mean that the world they lived in was sugarcoated and sickeningly happy. They had their own problems and worries as well. He couldn't help but think about a historian he had once read about. This man—Al had long since forgotten his name—once said something to the likes of: "History is a poem with a set rhyme scheme that will last for the rest of time." In other words, history is cyclic, where events seem to repeat endlessly. The only way to break the cycle is to learn from the past, but even that has proven to be a futile effort.

Wars, hatred, pain, revenge—they all continue without an end in sight. Even if there is a respite from the battle, a moment of peace, there is certain to be another war over some frivolous idea.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Al was pulled from his thoughts with a small start. Hastily, he strode to the door and pulled it open. To his surprise, there was a severe-looking woman on his doorstep who disturbingly reminded him of Lieutenant Hawkeye. She seemed to glare at Al through her glasses. "Erm, hello. What can I do for you?"

"You are Alphonse Elric, correct?" she asked, studying him critically.

"Yes, I am..." If this woman knew him, then she must work for… "You work for Dumbledore?" Before she could even respond or make any sign of affirmation, Al continued, "How's Brother? Is he okay?" Already, the panicky thoughts were filling his mind. What if his condition got worse? What if he died? Maybe the homunculi actually do want him and he got kidnapped! Maybe—

"There has been no change in his condition." Al sighed in relief, but stiffened when she continued. "However, he isn't the reason why I'm here. It is approaching September—the start of the term—and Dumbledore thought it best that you are at least accustomed to the castle. So, if you would, please gather all your things." And before Al could interrogate her some more on news about his brother, she said, "We will be meeting with Dumbledore shortly. He can answer any questions about your brother."

"Oh... R-right." Al was placated for the moment. "Hold on, please." He turned away from the door, but suddenly turned back. "Please come in..." he added, then went to gather his things and unceremoniously shoved them into a small, brown suitcase. He didn't have very many items, so it didn't take him long before everything was packed. Taking a final look around, he turned back to the woman, who was studying the surroundings, and then said, "I think I have everything. So, shall we go?" He grabbed a bag and shouldered it before taking hold of his suitcase.

The woman— Professor McGonagall, Al later learned— pulled from her robes a Tupperware lid. "We're going to travel by portkey." Al nodded apprehensively; his first experiences with portkeys at the World Cup had not been pleasant ("If you wanted me to hurl, I'm sure you could've used some sort of spell and skipped all this spinning nonsense!"). Adjusting his luggage, he took hold of the lid with a spare hand, and within seconds, the world around him became a spinning blur.

Suddenly, the world stopped spinning, and, thanks to inertia, Al fell over, dropping the suitcase he had been holding. "Ow..." he muttered, slowly getting back on his feet and dusting himself off.

The room that he had been rudely dumped in was anything but normal: it contained strange trinkets and contraptions along the walls and on them. The room itself was circular, and there was a desk off to one side, but still more or less in the middle. Even more curious was the great, red-fire bird perched on the desk, studying the new arrivals with its tiny head cocked.

Al was studying the curious bird when his attention was drawn away as Dumbledore entered the office. "Good afternoon, Alphonse," he said cheerily, his eyes twinkling as usual. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I take your stay at the Leaky Cauldron was pleasant?" At this point, he had finished descending the stairs from, Al assumed, his quarters, and went to sit behind the desk, giving the bird a few affectionate pats.

"Yes, it was. Thank you very much…" Al muttered. It wasn't that he had really meant to lie; it was more like society's unwritten laws of conduct decided to take over, dictating Al's actions and keeping him from voicing his mounting irritation. It was another habit he had learned when Ed was around since Al was always left cleaning up whatever mess Ed had made. "Um, how's Brother?"

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes seem to fade for just a second. "His condition remains unchanged." He paused. "However, part of the reason I wanted to bring you here a little earlier than I had originally planned was because I wanted to ask you the conditions under which he had become such because... we are unable, so far, to find anything wrong with Mr. Elric."

Al looked away; he should have known something like this would happen. The headmaster reminded Al a little too much of General Armstrong, who loved to help people, but also loved to stick his nose into their business. He also reminded Al of Hughes... "We... When we were much younger, we made a grievous error; we thought we could do the impossible and go against the laws of nature, and as a result, we paid an enormous price. Brother lost his leg and arm while I lost my body..." McGonagall gasped quietly, and Dumbledore leaned forward over his desk, resting his head on his hands as he studied Al with sharp eyes.

"For many years after, we journeyed to find a solution. Brother even went so far as to become a part of the military, even though we were only children. Eventually, we were able to find something of a cure and then retired to live a quiet life in Central; however, unbeknownst to Brother, my body was rejecting my soul. I'm not sure, even after all these years, about the events that took place that day... It was utter chaos. Brother disappeared, and we feared that he had been taken by the enemy. And then…

"And then... Well, we found him, bloody and on the verge of death. He then... Well, I'm not sure what theory he had based his idea on, but he had somehow managed to make my body accept my soul and turn it into a more permanent container. But, ever since that day, Brother hasn't been..." Al drifted off. He had glossed many things over, but it was only because Al didn't want to think about it; the memory was still too painful even though it had happened so long ago. It was his original sin. His alone to carry for all eternity.

There was a long silence as the two digested the information. Then, "I see.. Well, I shall see what I can do with this information." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, continuing to study Al. "In any case, the students arrive in a few days. Minerva, if you would lead Alphonse to his room?"

McGonagall consented. "This way, Alphonse."

"Wait, Professor. If I may... I would like to schedule the first lesson of Alchemy as a school-wide class." Al had been thinking about this for awhile, and it seemed to be the best course of action. He had to make sure that no one else would walk the path he and Ed walked. "And I'll need a large area..."

"Very well. We will schedule it for the day after the Sorting Ceremony. After lunch, and on the Quidditch pitch," he replied after a moment's thought.

Al nodded, and allowed himself to be led away.

How did you like it? I know it was kind of boring, but there was some things I thought were necessary to add.

Anywho, review?