- Laura -

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. c h a p t e r t e n .
To Fight 'Til Our Death

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STOP.

And then it all went to hell.

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PLAY.

"Professor Ed?"

Hermione, standing in front of my desk, snaps me out of the doze I slipped into sometime in the middle of class. I lift my head from my arms, rather irritated. "Yes, Hermione?"

She glares down at me with a rather fierce expression (well, it would be fierce, except I grew up with Winry), and lets her bag drop heavily to the ground. "That's the third time in two weeks you've fallen asleep during the practical lesson, and everyone's worried about you. And they don't even know about your blood problem! There's—"

"I'm fine," I grumble, going to stack some papers with notes of my plan to get home. The small size of the pile is rather depressing. "I'm just stressed. I haven't ever taught before. Hell, I've barely even gone to school! And being sick doesn't help."

"But that's not all of it, is it?"

I sigh and send one of my best glares at her; she flinches but doesn't look away. I turn again to my parchment and the charts of runes that could possibly be useful. None of them work well enough in conjunction with the geometry of the lines; it's sad, really. I've been here a month and a half, and have made almost no progress on how to get home. "What's that?" Hermione asks curiously, craning her neck to look at the parchment.

"Just a personal project," I answer shortly, snatching the parchment away before she can look properly. "It's far beyond what I've taught you."

"It looked like you were having trouble," she says, still trying to catch a glimpse. "You don't know much about magic, right? There are some exclusively magical runes that Professor Babbling's talked about...maybe I could help you with those...?" She trails off hopefully, staring at me with big eyes.

"Really? Would you mind helping now, over lunch?" I perk up instantly, forgetting my previous reservations about talking to the girl. If she knows enough of those...the premise of magic—bypassing equivalency—is exactly what I need to get out of this God-forsaken place. I sit up a bit straighter in my chair, absentmindedly pulling my hair out of its tie. My nap has ruined it; I can feel loose strands everywhere. I quickly set about plaiting it again. Hermione glances up at me after pulling out parchment and quill, her expression transforming into one of utter confusion.

"Uh...Professor, what are you doing?"

I stare at her; isn't it obvious? "Re-braiding my hair...?"

"But—o...kay," she says, slowly, still looking totally bewildered, but then she shakes her head and continues, "What's the circle designed to do, exactly? I probably can't help with any of the angles or such...those look very complicated to me, and they're not even done, are they?" She gestures to my reject pile of arrays.

I tie off the braid, shaking my head. "Those won't work. But maybe with magical runes..." I trail off, trying to figure out how to tell her what I need without actually telling her what I'm doing. "Anything about traveling or transport? A Gate or portal? The Truth? ...Divine intervention?" I say the last with some disgust, but Truth considers itself God, doesn't it?

She thinks for a moment, and then draws several runes on a spare bit of parchment, pointing to the first one. "This is Mannaz—it represents mankind and his important relationship to the divine structure. More specifically, in relation to magic, it's how magic seems to almost transcend God."

I nod, staring down at it. Transcending God...yes, that would work nicely. And I've never seen that rune in my life! "And if you inverse it?"

Shrugging, she replies, "Just the exact opposite. Mankind has no true importance to God. It's a bit of an existential idea, really...man is alone and powerless in the grand scheme of things." I nod my understanding, and she points to another. "This one's Dagaz. It usually represents new dawn breaking, but it can also symbolize the start of a new journey...now that I think about it, this one, Raidho, is also very prominent in travel...there are tons of these, Professor!"

I let my face split into a feral grin. "Well, would you mind helping me out more often?"

Maybe these wizards were useful, after all...

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(What is this terrible sense of foreboding?)

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"Professor, are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Draco Malfoy drawls from his seat in the back row of students. Many of his fellows turn to him in surprise; it is not often that the pompous bastard—one bad enough to rival even Mustang—speaks up in class. And on such an unrelated topic!

"No," I say shortly, glaring at him in hopes that he'll shut up. "There's work I have to do. It's just a waste of time."

"Hogsmeade is fun!" Ernie Macmillan, a loud (but admittedly bright) student, says from the front. He looks up at me with wide, incredulous eyes. "There's tons of stuff to do, especially if you've never been there!"

"They have a bookstore," Blaise Zabini says from next to Malfoy, a slight smirk forming on his lips. Apparently, he and Malfoy find some secret between them incredibly amusing. "You like that stuff, right, Professor?"

He's got me there. "I'll think about it," I say shortly, effectively ending the conversation and turning back to the board. "The elements of the most basic transmutation circle..."

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(It still hasn't gone away...oh God, what's Truth planning now?)

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After a bit of coaxing from Hermione during our next few runes lessons, I finally agree to go along to Hogsmeade this coming weekend. She quickly made me realize that magical runes very well could be my key to getting home. I plan to spend most of the day in the Hogsmeade bookstore; there's a very good chance that they have useful books there. Hermione also told me that the Three Broomsticks has some sort of non-alcoholic drink called "Butterbeer" that's very popular; I make a mental note to stop by later and see if my stomach can take it.

I walk down the street toward the bookstore Hermione mentioned, looking around at all the sights. It really is an intriguing place, if nothing else. The students are milling around out of uniform (which is an odd sight in and of itself); the stores all have brightly colored fronts that advertise their wares; everything is lively and happy.

If only I could actually fit in here.

I see Hermione step into a seedy-looking bar near the end of the street, followed by several other students. I recognize a few from my classes, but have no idea what they're all doing there. I push it out of my mind, though, as I finally arrive at the bookstore. Just as Hermione promised, it's large, brightly lit, and well-organized.

Draco Malfoy slips out the door not long after I enter. It's odd, as he doesn't exactly strike me as the bookish type, but I push that out of my mind once I reach the Runes section, near the back. It's enormous! Picking a promising-looking Index of Ancient Magical Runes, I eagerly sit down to read.

I never get past the first chapter.

Back home, it was well-known among the military that when Al and I read, we block out the rest of the world. The only things that matter to us, at that moment, are the words printed on the page. People talking, dogs barking, doors slamming open and shut—we don't notice them at all.

But then again, we've never been interrupted by explosions and screams.

My head snaps up, searching immediately for the source of the attack. It's not far off at all; in fact, it looks like the front of the bookstore has been blasted in. People in the store are screaming; people on the street are running; a group of people dressed in black are shooting various colored lights at people.

"Kid, get out of here! They're Death Eaters!" the store owner shouts at me as he runs toward a back door himself. Correcting his assessment of my position seems unnecessary at the moment; nevertheless, I scowl deeply and prepare to head straight for the group in black. What did he call them? Death Eaters? As far as I can tell, they seem to be out to kill people for no apparent reason, and their name certainly doesn't sound very nice.

I clap my hands and automatically prepare to transmute my right arm, but then I remember that there is no metal to transmute. Well, this is inconvenient...I cast around for metal to turn into some sort of knife before joining the battle...it's decidedly unwise to enter a heated conflict unarmed. Especially one against people armed with magic.

The chair legs, as far as I can tell, are made of some strange sort of iron. Not the strongest thing around, but it'll do in a pinch. I test the weight of my new knife, switching it between hands quickly, before dashing off toward the center of the battle.

The Death Eaters have already done quite a bit of damage. Several people are bleeding on the ground; some are definitely dead. These 'Death Eater' people are threatening my students. I don't know much about being a teacher, but I do know that we are supposed to protect our students at all costs. I dive into a bundle of black-hooded men, quickly incapacitating them through non-fatal knife slashes and kicks to the head. I see several students—Ernie Macmillan among them—nod at me gratefully before running off to another group of Death Eaters.

What are they doing? They need to get out of here!

There is no time to send them back to Hogwarts, though, before I'm engaged by another knot of Death Eaters. Out of nowhere, Hermione and the other teenagers I met over the summer come to try and help me. I don't have a free limb with which to shove them away, but I yell, "Get away! Go back to the castle! You'll all be killed!"

It's hard to tell between the yells, crashes, and screams all around, but I'm fairly certain I hear six pairs of footsteps retreating. I return all of my attention to the group of Death Eaters that are trying to attack me. None of them, individually, are terribly strong, but when they get into groups and attack all at once...

I dodge a jet of green light without much thought. I've learned quickly, early on in the battle, that the best strategy is to avoid the enemy's shots at all costs. There's one—I can't remember the color—that kills you instantly; one tortures you; there are a few particularly nasty ones that disembowel you or slice you clean open—

"Idiot! We're supposed to capture him! Not kill him!"

Interesting...these Death Eaters want to kidnap me? Why? I haven't done anything to them...unless Malfoy is one of them. That would make a lot of sense, actually.

Whoops.

I quickly defeat my four remaining opponents and spin in a quick circle, looking for more enemies. The battle seems to be winding down; the Death Eaters disappear into thin air...then something red on the ground catches my eye. I'm sure why; after all, it isn't an altogether uncommon color on the battlefield. But something about this...it is far brighter than any blood I've ever seen...

I turn to look closer, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Dull brown eyes stare up at the sky, frighteningly blank and cold. I was so sure, so sure, that they left! I distinctly heard six pairs of footsteps leaving me, leaving the battlefield, leaving danger. So how—?

I fall to my knees, overcome by a sudden sense of nausea. Some of it is my overtaxed body's response to the fighting. Most of it is not.

Maybe I imagined hearing them leave. Maybe they've been here all along, ignoring my warning, acting so much like me when there is no need. Not when innocent young lives are on the line. There's no reason for it, none at all. This death is nonsensical. Surely she hasn't actually—?

Yes. That has to be it. If I could have hallucinated them leaving, then it's just as possible that I'm hallucinating this dead body lying on the ground. I'm going mad, I know that well, so of course she's fine. My mind is trying to trick me; Truth is playing its cruel game; and surely this girl isn't actually dead, because that makes absolutely no sense at all—

"—Where are—" Harry Potter's worried voice cuts sharply into my thoughts. I welcome it, welcome the reprieve from the madness that is my own mind, because now the real her will show up with the others, because she is fine—

But the boy cuts himself off with a strangled gasp, and I know that he is seeing exactly the same thing as me. Still, I look up at the group of five (there should be six of them, where's the last, why isn't she there?), pleading, begging them to tell me that no, everything's okay, they've convinced her to go back to the castle because it's dangerous, and she is only fourteen, and the battlefield is no place for a fourth year—

But then Ron gives something akin to a sob, dropping to his knees with an anguished expression, and I know this is real.

"GINNY!"

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[Four hours, thirteen minutes.]

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