XI
The Cradle Will Fall

Minerva McGonagall's first class after lunch consisted of fifth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. She had nearly forgotten that it would include the new foreigner, Edward Elric; she was quickly reminded, though, when he burst in with Granger, Potter, and Weasley, complaining loudly about "that pink bitch." She had to suppress a very unprofessional smirk; at least he wasn't stupid.

The second thing she noticed was that he was decidedly out of uniform. A bright red coat, huge boots, and—leather pants? She hadn't seen those since Sirius Black was young, and even then, they had been both strange and disturbing.

Elric had an air of someone who had absolutely no idea of what was going on but was doing his best to hide it. She had to admit that he was succeeding admirably; he was acting raucously enough to rival the Weasley twins as he sat at a desk next to Granger, still complaining about Umbridge. Nevertheless, his outfit…she could see many of the girls eyeing him with something bordering on lust. She had to admit that he was rather handsome, but his pants certainly weren't helping the situation.

"Mister Elric! What are you doing out of uniform?" she asked, catching most of the students' attention.

He sighed loudly. "I don't want to wear your stupid robes. What's the point? I can learn just as well in my clothes."

"Nevertheless, as a student here, it's required that you wear your robes," she said, mentally raising an eyebrow. She supposed that she should have expected a "devil-may-care" attitude; the few times they had met at Headquarters, he had made his independence quite clear. "If you don't, I will take points from Gryffindor and give you detention."

Seamus Finnigan groaned loudly, glaring at Elric. "Uh, right," the blonde shrugged. He sounded as if it simply didn't bother him, but Minerva had been reading students' expressions for fifty years. She knew when they had no idea what was going on.

"We will discuss this after class," she said shortly, just as the bell rang. He only shrugged again, watching his classmates with a curious expression as they snapped to attention.

Class began normally enough; Minerva started off by lecturing about the O.W.L.s they would be taking at the end of the year, and then she continued onto the lesson. It was over changing small vertebrate animals into rigid objects; the theory was easy enough to understand, but often, people struggled with the application. The incantation and wand movement were both rather complicated, and she went over them several times to make sure everyone copied them down correctly.

"Are there any questions?" she asked half an hour later, once the lecture was over. Many people shifted in their seats, obviously confused but unwilling to speak up.

"I have a question," Elric's accented voice asked from the front row. A badly concealed expression of alarm adorned his face. "How can you change an animal into a thing without hurting it?"

Minerva was rather surprised. That was a common question among her kind-hearted first years, but the older students readily accepted it. But he and Alphonse are new to magic, aren't they? "I can assure you that the mouse is not harmed," she said picking one up and changing it into a wooden spoon. Elric flinched visibly, but looked on in obvious awe as she turned it back into a mouse. It scurried across the desk as if nothing had happened. "If you have more questions about the nature of magic, we can discuss them after class."

"Right," he said, slumping back in his seat. That was when she noticed something else—

"Have you not been taking notes, Mister Elric?"

There were a few gasps from around the classroom; Minerva was glad she had ingrained in the rest of her students the importance of writing everything down. She'd just have to teach Elric as well…

"Taking notes?" Confusion was written all over his face; it was obvious he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"You're supposed to write down the lecture for reference later, when you complete your homework or study for tests," she said patiently, inwardly wondering at how ignorant the boy was. She knew that he had not been to school for the past few years, but—

"I'll just remember it all," he said, sending her an incredulous look. "Why should I bother writing it down when it's so easy to remember?"

More gasps came up from his classmates, but he ignored them, staring at her, expecting an answer. Minerva had not experienced such arrogance since those four Marauders twenty years ago. "You may be able to remember it for the short term, but you will regret not having notes when you're studying for an exam," she said.

He scowled deeply. "Give me a mouse."

She sighed and picked up the large box on her desk. She was going to pass them out if there were no more questions…the boy was incredibly impatient. She went up the room, passing out mice for the students to practice with. Most of them knew not to begin until everyone was ready and she was at the front again to supervise. But then, Elric didn't seem to know how to be a proper student.

"This is right, isn't it?"

Minerva spun around from her position only three desks behind him. Elric was holding up a wooden spoon, one eyebrow raised expectantly. She stared a moment before setting the box down on Parvati Patil's desk, turning to inspect the spoon.

"Yes, this is a perfect transfiguration," she admitted after a moment, handing it back to him. Everyone started whispering behind her, and Minerva couldn't really blame them. In order to properly change it, he would have to fully understand the makeup of both the mouse and spoon, and focus on changing it while casting the spell correctly.

Quite frankly, she had expected very few people to succeed today. Wednesday's class was also dedicated to practicing…

He smirked for a moment before casting the spell again, changing it back into a mouse with absolutely no effort. He watching it run around his desk as Minerva returned to passing out mice to the rest of the class. As she turned away, she thought she heard—

"If only we had this two years ago…"


The rest of the students performed as Minerva had expected; Hermione Granger and Ernie Macmillan eventually also completed successful transfigurations, but it was near the end of class, and it took them quite a lot of effort. Honestly, she had never had a student who took so naturally to Transfiguration. Especially one who had started studying magic—what—two weeks ago?

"Mister Elric, a word?" she called as the dismissal bell rang.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand as he picked up his bag, said something quickly to Granger, and walked to Minerva. "What is it? You can skip the lecture about my clothes, because I'm not changing."

She was struck silent for a moment by his utter lack of respect for her authority. Surely it was natural to treat those who were older and in a position of power—? "And I still want to know how it's possible to change an animal into a spoon," he continued, an odd expression on his face. Pain? Regret?

"You just can," she shrugged. "I know it might be hard for you to swallow, but magic just allows that. You can even change yourself into an animal, if you wish."

"What?" His tone was one step from hysterical, but Minerva couldn't think of why.

"It takes several months—even years—of study, but some people can turn themselves into animals at will."

"But—how—"

Deciding it would be easiest just to show him, Minerva focused on her cat form, quickly turning into the familiar tabby. Elric gasped loudly. "That doesn't hurt you at all? You can change back? But—"

She transformed again to address the boy. "I assure you, as long as you are trained properly, the transformation is nearly risk-free."

"And your mind is intact? And your soul? Can you speak? Are you totally cat? Or—"

"I simply change my form. I cannot speak, but everything else is just the same. It's very useful, depending on what your animal turns out to be." She paused, seeing his stricken expression. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "At home—it's not reversible. If you combine a person and an animal—they're stuck. In pain. Shipped off to the lab. If we had magic there…"

"How did that happen if you didn't have magic?" she asked, genuinely curious. She wasn't an expert in Muggle science, but she didn't think they had anything close to Transfiguration…

He stared at her a moment, as if trying to remember something. "What did you think of Molly's stew on Saturday?" he asked finally. The non sequitur threw her off for a moment, but then she realized how odd it really was.

Molly had invited the Order over for dinner to kick off the school year, and Minerva specifically remembered eating turkey and mashed potatoes.

"Molly didn't serve stew," she said slowly, wondering what the point of the exchange was. "We had turkey and ham…"

He flashed her a toothy grin. "It's called alchemy." Without another word, he turned and left the classroom.

He was testing me! Trick security questions… She'd have to run that by Albus. Despite how much of a pain in the ass he was, Edward Elric was quite obviously brilliant.

She sat heavily in her chair, already exhausted. She glanced at her schedule: fourth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were due to arrive in ten minutes. She didn't think much of it until a certain name on the roster caught her eye.

Alphonse Elric.

She groaned and leaned back in her chair. Hopefully, the younger brother wouldn't be quite as tiring as Edward…


Hermione didn't think she had ever met anyone so ill-suited for school before. Sure, there were people like Ron, who complained about the work and dreaded every class. There were even those like Crabbe and Goyle, who barely knew the business end of a wand from the other.

But she was pretty sure the Elrics beat them all.

It wasn't that they were slow; on the contrary, their intelligence levels were bordering on ridiculous. Even she felt inferior while sitting next to Edward in class.

It was more that the idea of school seemed utterly foreign to them. Sure, they had mentioned that they hadn't been in seven or eight years, but surely even primary school should have taught such basic things as respecting the teacher and raising your hand to speak?

"I still don't understand how you got out of going to school for so long," Ron said incredulously a few days later in the common room. He and Ed were sprawled all over the two nearby couches, leaving everyone else to find a seat on a chair or the floor.

"We lived in a small town. The school was too slow for us," Al said, shrugging. "We dropped out and learned from Teacher for a year instead."

The way he pronounced the title, and the way both Elrics shivered violently, piqued Hermione's interest. "So you were privately tutored? That's pretty similar to regular school, isn't it? You should at least know what homework and taking notes are…"

"Teacher was pretty hands-on," Ed said, grinning fondly despite the terror still clear on his face. "Beat the shit out of us sometimes, but we learned that way, yeah? The way you guys learn here, you'll never remember anything well."

"She beat you?" Harry asked, his eyes growing very wide. Hermione knew hers were the same. If anything, this Teacher seemed to be the only person the Elrics truly respected. But why, if—?

"To train the mind, first train the body," Ed said, shrugging. "She taught us nearly everything we know about fighting. Don't know how many times it's saved our lives…" he glanced down at Al, who was propped against his couch.

The younger boy shrugged, petting his cat absent-mindedly. "She's the scariest lady I've ever met, but she was like a mother to us. I hope she's okay…" he trailed off, his face drooping in worry.

Hermione felt the urge to steer the conversation away from what was obviously an upsetting topic before Harry or Ron could ask an insensitive question. "Ed, you know McGonagall will keep her word about the house points and detention if you don't wear the uniform. If she keeps docking points, the rest of the Gryffindors won't like you much, and detention cuts into your free time…"

"I don't care about some stupid little competition," he said dismissively. "And I don't even know what detention is, so it can't be that big of a deal, right?"

"It's terrible!" Ron butted in, an incredulous look on his face. "You have to sit and clean things for hours, or write lines, or some other ungodly thing—"

"What's that supposed to do?" Ed asked, also looking incredulous. "Bore you to death? It doesn't even do anything—they can just clean it with magic, right?"

"It's a punishment," Hermione said, sighing. Seriously, did he know nothing of normal life? "It's a deterrent so you won't do it again."

"I'll do whatever I want! The stupid teachers here won't stop me," Ed grumbled, standing up suddenly. "Where's that library Dumbles promised us?"

"I'll show you there," Hermione volunteered, standing up as well and heading for the portrait hole. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised; after all, they had made it abundantly clear that they were only at Hogwarts for its massive collection of books. Harry and Ron didn't join them; Harry had a detention with Umbridge, and Ron had apparently planned a nap before dinner.

"Hey, Neville!" she said in surprise. He was climbing into the common room just as they were leaving.

"Hermione! I was looking for you," he said, relief washing over his face. "I didn't follow a word of Professor McGonagall's lecture on Monday, I was wondering if you could help me, if you had time…"

"We were just on our way to the library!" she said cheerfully. "You can come with us—maybe Ed can help too. He was much better at it than me…"

"Yeah, you weren't even trying!" Neville turned his attention to Ed, an awed expression on his face. "That was amazing! I wish I were as smart as you…"

Ed waved a hand, his expression a strange combination of pleased, confused, and annoyed. "It was just understanding what they were made of and saying a few funny words. I've done that since I was little. It was easy."

"Could you help me? Just a little bit? I'd really appreciate it!" Neville's whole face was lit up with hope, an expression Hermione rarely saw the reserved boy wear.

Ed looked ready to object, but Al poked him in the ribs. "Go ahead and help him, Brother. Hermione and I will look for books, and then we can all sit together, right?"

He harrumphed and nodded. Neville looked a bit nervous about Ed's sudden bad mood, but Al grinned and patted his arm. "He's always grumpy. It's not you, I promise."

Neville didn't seem calmed by his assurances, though, and said, "Ed, if you don't want to, it's fine, I can ask one of the Ravenclaws or—"

"Hm? No, it's fine," Ed said quickly. "It shouldn't take too long, and if you stick around we can bounce ideas off you, too."

"You can try…" he said, obviously confused. "I don't know what I could do to help, though…"

"We'll see when we get there," Ed said, waving a hand as they arrived at the library. They split into two groups, Hermione leading Al to the books on magical runes as Ed and Neville wandered to a table near the Transfiguration section.

"What do you guys need runes for, anyway?" she asked as she pulled a few promising books from the shelves. "You're already in the class…isn't that enough?"

"Just a project we're working on," he said vaguely. "The foundation of magic is doing the impossible, right? So runes based in that would be useful for anything."

"Mm, I suppose," she agreed, wondering what they would need them for outside of spells. But she pushed that aside as she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to ask…"You know, I've been wondering. Ed's arm and leg…what happened to his real ones?" Al immediately stiffened, and she continued hastily—"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It's just so terrible. It must have been horribly painful…I can't even imagine…"

"Yes," he said after a moment, not facing her. "It was an accident when we were younger. But Brother doesn't like to talk about it."

"Of course…" She thought that if she was missing two limbs, she wouldn't be too keen on discussing it, either. "It's just, we know almost nothing about you two. We've all been spending practically every day together, but…it's just very odd. I'm curious. We all are." Honestly, she had been hoping to catch Al on his own at some point to ask him about this. She was sure Ed would act defensively, even violently; Al was much more patient and likely to refuse her kindly, if he did refuse her at all.

He was silent for a few seconds, glancing over the book titles in front of him. "There isn't anything to know about us. We just want to get home. People need us there."

Hermione was hurt that they only seemed to see her—and the wizarding world in general—as a means to an end. Even if they had family and friends at home waiting for them, they had her, Harry, Ron, and everyone else here. They shouldn't just write them off—

Before she could say anything, though, Al announced that they had enough books to start off with, and made his way back to Ed's table. Hermione followed behind him, a little put off.

Edward had somehow made a wooden spoon out of the table, and was explaining—as patiently as he could, it seemed—how to properly focus on the components of the mouse and spoon. He was failing spectacularly; even Hermione was having trouble keeping up with what he was saying.

"You just—the spoon is oak, see?" Ed said loudly, waving the utensil above his head. "And the mouse is skin, and muscle, and fur, and blood—"

"Brother, you're a terrible teacher," Al said as greeting, sitting down on Ed's other side. "Not everyone is a genius like you."

"No, it's not that," Neville said, his red face averted. "I'm just dumb. You're explaining it fine. I'm really just useless…"

Hermione opened her mouth quickly to object, but Al beat her to it. "We know a girl who used to think the same way, back home," he chuckled. "I promise that you're not useless, or weak, or any of those other terrible things. You're a Gryffindor, right?"

Neville nodded hesitantly. "Just because—"

"So that hat thought you were brave enough to be in that house, yeah? And don't even get me started on the café…" he laughed outright this time, and Hermione leaned a bit closer, listening intently. She had never heard the whole story, so maybe if they…

"You held me back even when I was ready to kill you so I could help Brother. And you saw him fighting, right? I'm even better than him. That's impressive, to be able to restrain me, isn't it?"

"You were so thin, though…" he trailed off. "It wasn't that great of a thing."

"See, you're humble, too!" Ed said loudly, thwacking him on the head lightly with the spoon. "You're a good person, right? Think better of yourself."

"Uh—" Neville's eyes were very wide now, and he looked to Hermione for help.

"They're right, you know," she said, shrugging. "I've always admired you, ever since first year. You should stop putting yourself down."

"…Uh…right," he said slowly. "So, since Ed's teaching doesn't make sense…?"

"I'll help you!" Hermione finished brightly, reaching for the spoon and pulling out her notes.

"Still don't see the point of writing down such easy stuff," Ed grumbled, looking across the table at her notes. "Hang on—you don't code them?" he snatched them from her grasp, glancing over the neat rows incredulously.

"…Should I?" Hermione had never heard of anyone coding class notes. In fact, she had only very rarely heard of anyone coding anything.

He huffed and shoved the papers back at her. "Not if you're just writing down exactly what the teacher said. I thought we were supposed to come up with our own theories. That's what I did for the spoon…"

Hermione was, for once, struck dumb. Ed—someone who had started studying magic less than a month ago—was already developing his own magical theory?

"Mister Elric!"

All four flinched before turning to Umbridge, who was standing next to them with a smug expression. "You're still not in uniform…"

"I don't intend to change that," he said lazily, turning back to the table. "I'm helping Neville with our Transfiguration lesson, so if you would just go away—"

It was a testament to how abhorrent Umbridge was that Al didn't rebuke his brother's rudeness. "I'm afraid I can't do that," she said with a little fake cough. Ed looked even more disgusted than before, and Hermione didn't think she could blame him. "The Ministry would still like to know exactly what brand of magic you have been practicing, and—"

"My answer is the same as it was Monday, you hag. Go. Away."

She was silent for a moment; her smirk did not diminish in the slightest. "Well, if you're so sure," she said finally. "Just keep in mind that the Ministry has eyes and ears everywhere…"


Weeks passed quickly as the fifth years were overwhelmed by their schoolwork. The only person who wasn't stressed was Ed. Strangely enough, he didn't seem to have a problem with doing "useful" homework, as he called it; anything that required critical thinking—something most students loathed with a burning passion—was the only type of assignment he completed. Anything that was—as he put it—puking information back onto the paper, was apparently a waste of time and promptly ignored.

Ed still refused to wear the robes; he had lost Gryffindor nearly two hundred points over it before the professors realized it had no effect on him at all. They had resorted to giving him detention, something Ed deemed utterly useless. He rarely went to them.

The professors didn't seem to know what to do with him; they had taught unruly students in the past, but evidently none had cared so little for school as Edward did. He never attended Defense, and often skipped other classes in favor of spending hours in the library.

Al, on the other hand, seemed to adjust to school life much better. He wore the school robes without complaint, often commenting on how soft or comfortable they were. After Hermione explained its significance, he did all of his homework, and he attended—most—of his classes. He had apparently even forged tentative friendships with Luna Lovegood and his roommates.

(Hermione often overheard professors wondering why Ed couldn't be more like his brother.)

Despite all of this, he spent every minute of his free time—far more than he should have had, considering his workload—in the library, researching with Ed. They both spent obscenely long hours there, blocking out the rest of the world, rarely coming to meals and returning to the common room far past curfew. And one night in mid-October, Hermione had had enough. When Ed and Al walked into the common room at eleven-thirty, discouraged looks on their faces, she decided to confront them about what they were so hell-bent on discovering. Before she could ask, though—

"There's nothing," Ed sunk angrily into an unoccupied chair. "Nothing's even close to what we need! Either you wizards are idiots, or—"

"If you told us what you're looking for, maybe we could help!" Harry said rather defensively. He had clearly been put off by Ed's antisocial tendencies; Hermione knew that he spent very little time talking with his roommates. He had developed a sort of mentor-student relationship with Neville, but that was about the extent of Edward's social life—outside of Al, of course.

(Hermione had thought the boys were inseparable at Headquarters, but it was even more unbelievably apparent at Hogwarts. They spent every waking hour together, unless Al convinced his brother that they should attend class. Even so, Al spent more time with Edward than he ever did with his fellow Ravenclaws.)

"You guys wouldn't understand it," Ed waved a hand dismissively to Harry's accusation. "It's all very advanced, and we've been studying it ever since we could read. You'd just get in the way. We're fine on our own."

Harry and Ron looked very offended by this blunt response, and Hermione couldn't help but feel the same way. The Elrics hadn't even given them a chance; the fact that Ed and Al were smarter than the three of them—in fact, probably smarter than the three of them combined—didn't mean that they were totally useless. Surely, a fresh view on something, a magical view, one of someone not searching as if his life depended on it…

She looked to Alphonse, hoping that he would rebuke his brother and ask for their help. She shouldn't have expected so much; he shook his head, looking almost apologetic.

"You shouldn't worry about us. We've always worked things out together. We'll get it, don't worry."

Hermione heard, loud and clear, the message the boy was far too kind to say: Stay out of our business. We don't trust you enough.

"Whatever you want, I guess," Ron said gruffly, flopping back into his seat. Harry also admitted defeat, glaring mistrustfully at the Elrics as they began talking to each other in a different language. It was an annoying habit they had, when they didn't want anyone to listen to them; Hermione wanted to ask them to teach her, if only so she wouldn't be so confused.

"Look, at least let us try," she said loudly, cutting off their discussion abruptly. "You guys always say we wouldn't understand, but you never even give us a chance! What are you looking for? We're not totally useless, you know, and you're not on your own. You guys are allowed to ask people for help when you need it."

This apparently struck a chord with Ed, for he stared at her for a moment in surprise before sighing. "Have you ever heard of something called the Gate?"

Hermione could clearly hear the importance of the word in his voice despite his effort to sound casual; it held part fear, part respect, part hatred. It was obviously important, and she racked her brain trying to think of anything she had read that could help them.

"I think there might have been a mention of it in a title I read first year," she said slowly. "It's important, isn't it? I can try and find it again, if that would help."

"Please!" Al's whole face lit up in an instant, betraying the neutral façade he and Ed had tried so hard to hold up. Despite the fact that it was far past curfew, Hermione quickly led the way to the library, her mind working furiously. Where had it been? It hadn't had an author; that was all she could remember for sure. But the section? The title?

She found the book after several minutes of searching near the back of the library. World Cooking: The Gate to Foreign Cultures. She only remembered it because the title seemed so strange, but she was grateful for it now. She turned around to face Ed and Al triumphantly.

"I'm not sure what a cookbook will do for you, but I'm sure this is what I was thinking of," she said, giving it to Ed. He glanced at the title, laughed heartily, and handed it over to Al.

"Finally, someone in this world has sense!"

Hermione stared at him oddly, but Al laughed as well, checking the binding for an author. Now that she thought about it, it was odd that something as plain as a cookbook was written anonymously…

"It's coded," Al said as explanation, flipping through the pages quickly.

"The entire book's written in code?" Hermione asked, her voice going rather high. When they had mentioned coding their notes, she had assumed it was something like an anagram, where it simply looked like nonsense to everyone but the author. Coding an entire book to make it look like something else, she decided, was possible, but the amount of effort and time required—

"This is excellent. Maybe you wizards aren't as dumb as we thought," Ed flashed her a grin before turning around. "We can check it out at the front, right? This'll take a while, and if you insist we don't stay in the library all day…"

Ten minutes later, Edward and Alphonse were situated at a large table in the common room, the small red book and several rolls of parchment spread out in front of them. "What're you going to do with it, then?" Ron asked curiously.

"Figure out what it is he's coded. It might help us," Ed said. "Damn, we don't have any reference books this time…"

"Parts are written in Xerxesian," Al said, squinting at a page in the middle of the book. "Look, it's not Amestrian, it's the old script—"

"But unless he came over four hundred years ago, because Xerxes—"

"Right. But the Gate doesn't change, so his theory still—"

They continued their fast-paced discussion, occasionally lapsing into Amestrian. Hermione couldn't even keep up with the parts that were in English. She had known they were smart, ridiculously smart, but this bordered on blindingly brilliant. She wondered briefly if they might even be smarter than Dumbledore…

Ron and Harry diligently copied Hermione's homework like the studious boys they were, and she resorted to watching the Elrics work. They were talking entirely in Amestrian now, quickly filling up long rolls of parchment with unfamiliar words and diagrams. They had said they specialized in a science similar to chemistry, but the things they were writing down didn't look much like the chemistry she knew…

"Done! Thanks a million, Hermione," Ron said, grinning and handing her homework back to her.

"Have they made any progress?" Harry asked, looking over and apparently trying to make sense of their notes.

"No we haven't. Stop annoying us," Ed growled, not looking up from the book. As quickly as he said it, he slipped back into his research, pointing at a page in the book emphatically and saying something to Al.

"Well, we'll leave the geniuses to it, then," Ron said, looking rather bemused.

"You're sure there's nothing we can help you with?" Hermione asked. "If you taught us a little Amestrian, or the theory of your chemistry…maybe he added a magical component you're overlooking." Ed shook his head, not even looking their way, and continued talking to Al.

"You know, Brother…" It took Hermione a moment to realize Al was speaking in English. "Maybe we should teach them a few phrases, for emergencies…"

"Mm…I suppose," Ed said slowly. "Let's see here…this—" he scribbled down something on a scrap of parchment—"means 'we're in deep shit, help us out.' And this one—" he wrote another—"means 'stay out of our business, we don't need anyone butting in.' Okay? Don't forget, or I might have to kill you."

Hermione couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but she took the slip without question. She was surprised that they translated to such long phrases; "Gluckviel" was the first, and "Valbisd" was the other. Before she could ask, though, the Elrics had already absorbed themselves in their work.

"Nutters," Ron muttered, also staring in confusion at the Amestrian words. "If you're gonna teach us a language, at least teach us something useful—"

"They'll be useful," Ed said, scowling deeply as he looked up. "We want to get this done, right? So if you want to complain, take it somewhere else."

"I'm not complaining! I'm just saying!" Ron said defensively, throwing his hands into the air. "If you're going to bother—"

Hermione tuned them out as she noticed what Al was doing: tapping the red book with one bony finger as he wrote more notes. At first glance, it simply looked like a nervous—

Oh…it's code…?

Apparently he heard her exhale heavily, for he looked up at her and grinned before returning to his book.

Meanwhile, Ron and Ed's argument continued uninterrupted. "Dad said you did crazy stuff to that café last month, but then you say you aren't wizards! Why won't you tell anyone what it is or teach it—"

"Because it's very dangerous in the wrong hands," Ed hissed. "And nobody would gain from learning it. It takes years, and we don't have that kind of time. Alchemy isn't easy, and—"

"Alchemy?" Harry said sharply, effectively stopping both Ed and Al cold. "That stuff you did is alchemy?"

"Isn't that what I said?" Ed said impatiently, though he was obviously beating himself up over the slip-up.

"The only alchemist I know of was Flamel, and he died four years ago," Hermione said slowly. "And I've never heard of it manipulating things like they said you did—"

"That guy probably just did cheap tricks," Ed said derisively, turning back to Al and the book. "The person who wrote this is the only real alchemist from here—"

"Couldn't they be the same guy?" Ron asked. "You said this guy had to have written four hundred years ago, right? Wasn't Flamel like six hundred when he died?"

It was more like six hundred seventy, but Hermione was so startled that Ron remembered such a thing that she didn't correct him. When she turned her attention back to Ed and Al, though, their expressions were ones of abject horror.

"He had a Philosopher's Stone?" Al asked, his eyes growing even larger. "But then—how did he die?"

"Dumbledore destroyed it," Harry shrugged. "Said it was too dangerous."

Wait, how do they know what a Philosopher's Stone is in the first place? If they didn't know who Flamel was…he was the only one who had successfully created the Stone…

"Shit," Ed said angrily, turning once again to the book. "That explains—he—the—fuck!" he stood up quickly, grabbing the book and their notes. "Al, let's go!"

Hermione felt rather lost by their half-conversation, and yelled after them—"Where are you going?"

"Dumbledore!"