Chapter 20 Bear With It
You would have thought that leaving such a dreary, hopeless place that didn't even have a name (what were you supposed to call it? The space where the Gate is? Truth's space? What exactly?) would be like lifting the heaviest burden off your heart. But it was quite the opposite. The White Room (Ed decided to call it) seemed to slow down or even stop the pain of his injuries. He could walk through the Veil fine, even leading a blind man, but when he found himself in the real world, he collapsed to his knees. His body's hurt seemed to finally register in his mind and it took all of his willpower to stop him from vomiting again (like he had anything left to regurgitate).
Everyone looked positively shocked. The Archway suddenly glowed, red lightning cackled and then two figures just fell out of nowhere. One looked awfully like the recently 'deceased' Sirius and the other a certain golden haired (also deceased) shrimp. Those left in the pit were the Order and the DA group; most Death Eaters defeated, some missing, probably fled. Shock was soon replaced with horror.
It wasn't just Sirius. It was Edward Elric. Edward Elric that looked like some Dark creature with red symbols crawling up his neck, missing only his pale face, and that golden hair and eyes and those pieces of metal that replaced his limbs. He looked horrifying, something that came out from...from...hell.
An angel of death, golden hair loose like a halo, black jacket, trousers and those bloody combat boots. Eyes of molten gold, arm of steel and a dead language glowing on pale skin. It spelt a ritual that made monsters (said in a whisper).
Ed was staggering to his feet, seeing that Sirius was unconscious, face down on the rock. A terrifying thought immediately flashed through his mind. He hurried, rolling the unmoving body over with trembling hands. His heart was in his mouth, eyes widened in fear. His cheeks were damp, either dried blood or tears and short gasps escaped his mouth. He could barely focus to take the man's pulse; his head and stomach were hurting so much.
And there it was, slow and sluggish, but there, the heartbeat.
Ed heaved a sigh of relief, relaxed and almost letting his body fall into unconsciousness. He felt weak, wanting to flop down and just sleep. Sleep the pain off. Sirius wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. He didn't let him die. He couldn't get up; Ed was just hunched over the seemingly lifeless body, seeing the small rising and falling of the chest. Tired, hurting...
He let out a shout; as if someone zapped him in the head with a taser.
And it started burning. It was literally like someone doused him with kerosene and set him on fire, flames that reached up to thousands of degrees and Ed almost believed he had turned into a pile of black ash. Then his brain finally registered the fact that he was in fact not dying, not blazing but in pain, and he was glowing. Yes, his skin was glowing red.
The marks that were his curse were peeking through his sleeves and gloves. A message? A warning? Truth wanting to make his life more difficult than before in the sickest way possible? His heart was pounding, the thrumming beats echoing in his head, intensifying the migraine. The Philosopher's Stone was a mash of souls implanted into his very core seemed to have melted and was now coursing through his veins. The millions of voices in agony that used to scream at him seemed become one, telling him something in one voice. Shouting at him. It was so noisy. But so clear.
"ED!"
The golden haired boy jumped out of his trance, turning so quickly he might have twisted his neck. Remus was behind him, looking more dishevelled than ever, holding two hands up in a gesture to calm him down. He took cautious steps. Not a surprise; Ed looked like an alien.
He looked traumatised, glowing with widened eyes and breath escaping his mouth in short pants. His hair had come out of its braid, hanging limply on his shoulders, tangled like seaweed. He seemed reluctant to leave Sirius' side, hovering beside the unmoving body as he struggled to stand. One leg seemed broken, it giving off small spasms as he rested his entire weight on the other foot. Ed soon caught his breath, now repeatedly running his tongue over his dry, split lips, though there just seemed to be no moisture in his mouth anymore.
"He's...he's fine..." Ed croaked. "Harry..."
"He went after Bellatrix," Remus explained, trying to help the swaying Ed. "Don't worry. Dumbledore's here. He won't let anything happen to Harry."
Ed sighed at the assurance. He swallowed the lump in his throat that wouldn't go away, making a sound at how painful it felt. His whole oesophagus felt inflamed.
"Thirsty..." he groaned, hoarsely.
The first time in years he felt real thirst.
And his stomach hurt. Not like any pain he had felt before. It hurt in a different way.
Real hunger he had not felt in decades.
"Ed, you alright there?" Remus asked.
Ed's head seemed to snap up to look at the werewolf.
Doesn't he look delicious?
With a strangled roar Ed jerked away from his hold that was trying to support him. He backed away quickly, a new feeling flashing in his eyes. Terror beyond words.
The Philosopher's Stone mocked him, shrieking at him, word by word, loud and clear as day.
Rip them to shreds! Tear them apart! Suck their souls right out of their mangled flesh!
Don't they all look so delicious?
"NO!"
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"One," Truth sang, jabbing a cruel finger into nowhere.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
"Five."
"They're all here! Good, good."
"Now we can start for real! Spice things up!"
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"ED! Calm down!" Hohenheim tried to grab his son. His little boy, looking so lost and scared and hurt. "What's wrong?!"
"NO! Nonononononono!"Ed kept yelling and yelling, backing away from everyone and everything.
He was a screamed psychotically and people flinched and jumped at the tortured tone, eyes full of fear and horror. What was that archway? Sirius Black looked like a corpse and Edward Elric was losing it. Those traumatised eyes and red marks that glowed like a curse. What sorcery was this? The boy was choking, his raw throat burning more than ever. He gloved hands flew to his mouth, not trying to force down more vomit but to crush his nose and lip. The sense of taste is amplified by the sense of smell. Don't. Don't. Don't.
Do it! You have starved us for years!
Homunculus sweetheart, aren't you so very hungry?
"I'M NOT!" he screamed at nothing. "I'M NOT! I DON'T WANT TO!"
"ED!" Hohenheim reached out again, only to be pushed away.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
After the outburst, Ed took off, scrambling away and running, running away from some beast. And Hohenheim could only bring himself to follow a few minutes later, snapping out of his shock. He could only curse himself, an old man, so full of regret. So many mistakes he couldn't fix. And hopelessly chasing someone he walked away from who would never want him again. How he hated to see the back of his son getting smaller and smaller, trembling from pain and fear.
He needed to be the father to the boy he orphaned by choice. Right his wrongs. Then maybe he deserved bits of forgiveness.
"EDWARD!"
Ed pressed his hands to his ears in vain of calming the excruciating headache. The roaring of the millions of souls were deafening, trying to explode out of his body in an attempt of freedom. It burnt. It hurt. It HURT.
Brother, Brother! It hurts! It HURTS!
The distorted voices were drowning out his surroundings. With a loud gasp Ed forced eyes open, leaning on the black stone wall trying to pull himself together. The Philosopher's Stone. Homunculus. They wanted more souls. They wanted less suffering. Less suffering, for more souls. Eat everything alive. It hurts and it would hurt less.
Big Bwother! Big Bwother!
Not a monster. Notamonsternotamonsternotamo nsternotamonster.
"Al..." he croaked, hands flying to grasp his throat to stop the burn, stop the rawness, stop the thing that was trying to claw its way out of his body. "Al..."
He felt like he was back at the day he did human transmutation, committed the taboo to have his brother snatched from him. How he was pleading, how he was begging to be given his brother back. How he yearned for his brother in his arms. Warm, soft flesh or cold, hard metal. It didn't matter. Just his mere presence, his innocent eyes, his gentle voice...
He couldn't. He wouldn't. He would never. Never, ever use the Philosopher's Stone. He would rather die than lay a finger on his brother's lost soul, boiling inside him.
SHUT UP! He thought futilely. It was just screaming in his head. The kind of screaming from the Ishvalan Massacre. The kind of noise from the Gate. Well Truth or homunculus of Philosopher's Stone could go shove their head up their asses.
He met greater resistance as he tried to collect all the power, all the voices, all the millions of people that were unjustly sacrificed for one man's selfish dream. Listen to me. Listen to me! SHUT UP!
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I know. I know it hurts." He swallowed thickly. "Just a while more. I'll set you all free, I promise. Bear with it."
And silence.
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For someone with short legs, Edward could sure run fast. Hoheheim panted through the hall of the Ministry of Magic lined with tens of black stone fireplaces, desperately trying to find his son. He noticed the debris, the shattered glass and bits of rubble, a fight definitely occurred. Magical, of course, alchemy could do so much more damage.
A little figure laid leaning on a protrusion of the domed dark walls, breathing but shallowly, hoarsely. He rushed to the trembling boy, noticing half lidded eyes and shredded black jacket (his coat was gone, oh how he loved that red coat), sweat streaked forehead and plastered golden hair, the braid already came apart, strands hanging limply. His automail was limp besides the twitch every few seconds. He was unseeing, clear exhaustion dragging him slowly into unconsciousness.
"Al..." Ed breathed. Keeping his brother's name at his lips kept him sane. It kept him strong.
If Al were here in your place, he would know. We would have fought this together.
If Al were here in your place, he would have been with me.
And Hohenheim knew that he could never match up to even a molecule of Alphonse. His younger son was everything of his mother: love, gentleness, strength. But Alphonse was sacrificed. And he thought that he took Alphonse's place and disappeared; the brothers both would be so much happier. He couldn't wish for nothing more that Alphonse standing where he was.
Because he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do, what to say, how to help. He couldn't do anything for his beloved son because he just didn't know what.
It was terrible how great an alchemist he was yet how terrible a father.
Hoheheim tried to gather his son into his arms but the bare contact made him flinch violently, the previous reaction leaving every part of his skin sensitive as if sunburnt. As carefully as he could, he slowly supported Ed to his feet, his son coherent enough to stubbornly refuse being carried. Ed groaned without saying a word, trying to push the comforting arm away. He staggered, gasping, yet he wanted nothing to do with the man beside him.
It broke his heart, it did. Hoheheim felt torn apart. He was just as obstinate though, holding Ed up despite the weak struggles. Wounds needed more time to heal. Scars needed more time to fade. Maybe he could do something right for once.
He was clueless though, he never knew the best thing to do. Ed was right, he knew nothing.
His boy resolved to being held up by the arm on his automail, knees shaking too much. There was the same awkward tension between the two, Ed glaring resentfully and Hohenheim ignoring it with the usual grim look.
"What could have caused the reaction?" he asked hesitantly.
Ed refused to reply. He pried the arm away, swaying for a moment before continuing to walk, steadily. His lips were pursed though cracked, the fire in his eyes blazing like an inferno, the tinge of victory and raw strength. He always looked like a warrior (one that looked too much like a child) and with those ripped clothes and crimson marks he seemed more like one walking from a won battle, or towards one.
There was a wind, a strong gush of it, certainly spelled, that whipped his hair and cloak back.
Ed broke into a run, turning around the corner. His combat boots crushed the splinters of glass, slapping against the wet tiles. His mind went into overdrive, dispelling any sort of ache he felt earlier. Harry was in trouble. The trouble-magnet was definitely in trouble. He swore foully. He swerved around a corner.
And met with eyes of blood.
Time seemed to freeze. Ed could see the bald snake-like head, nothing but cruel eyes and bluish green veins. No nose, lips, ears and neck long like a cobra's. For a second he could feel the man, no, monster unravel before him, each life that each spider finger took forcefully. The torture, the selfishness, the brutality, he could sense it all. And most he could feel was the lack of remorse, the hollow heart housing a soul torn apart by murder. Fragmented.
Voldemort was already gone, but he had seen what he needed to see. He came for the Prophecy, with the desire to see the future, or confirm the future that was destined. Harry Potter, was the equal that would stand up to him? Was he meant for his doom? No. Harry Potter was his equal, yes, neither could live while the other survives. But he was not a true weakness in his eyes. He saw it, found it, the one who was held in completely different level above him.
Tom Riddle knew it was vital to know thoroughly what he wanted to make. A horcrux. No, horcuxes. He knew much of their benefits, their tiny weaknesses. He used their power, kept them hidden and protected from power. But there was one thing, seemingly impossible. Homunculi, they were the natural destroyers of such dark items of magic. They smelt out soul fragments and devouring them was their nature, instinct. It was what the Philosopher's Stone core required, a necessity for survival. Tom knew that but he didn't take it under consideration. After all, Homunculi went extinct years ago.
Except one.
Two obstructions now, not just one. Best get rid of one, make it one again.
If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy...
"Harry!"
Wounds were torn open, as if clawed fingers held each side of the gaping hole in the flesh, prying it apart to bleed and bleed. Ed saw Harry writhing on the floor, muttering words of death mixed with strangled cries like one of those tormented animals. His eyes were opening and closing rapidly, showing the whites of the eyeball, sweaty hand grabbing the cursed scar as if a knife was drawn on it.
"Kill me now, Dumbledore," he snarled, hissing like a snake, spit flying from his mouth like he was choking.
Ed knelt at his side, holding the convulsing body down by the shoulders, swearing like a sailor.
"Fight the damn bastard, you bloody idiot!" he yelled, contemplating on using violence to snap Harry out of that possession, the boy was struggling and hurt and if he didn't do something he might just kill himself by biting off his own tongue with those insane words pouring pass it. "Do something, Grandpa!" His head snapped to the side as he bellowed at the slightly stunned Dumbledore. He was getting more and more panicked, the Philosopher's Stone might reactivate with this strange pouring of emotions like he had to do something and why wasn't anyone doing anything?
The struggles were weakening and Ed was terrified that the worst was to happen. Dumbledore looked calmer now, stern and he had a vice grip on Ed's right shoulder, forcing him away from Harry, who laid still. If not for the quick laboured breaths, he looked dead. But he was sitting up, pale and sweaty and totally exhausted.
The two boys, relief pouring into their veins, finally noticed the people emerging. Wizards and witches came in sparks of green, rushing pass the fireplaces nearer, muttering.
"He's here, I saw him! He-who-must-not-be-named!" "He's back, he's really back!" "Merlin's pants –"
And the buffoon of a Minister looked like a fish, stumbling and stammering. Can't deny the facts now? Ha, Ed really wanted to transmute something up his ass.
They were really drawing attention. The Boy who Lived (yet again) and Edward Elric (he'd better not become famous), alchemy professor Van Hohenheim and supposed exiled Headmaster Dumbledore. He was almost joyous to be ushered onto a newly made Portkey (those deathtraps of transportation) to be whisked away into the Headmaster's office.
The place never changed. Everything that was broken was repaired though it had been locked away for quite some time. Must be magic making things so tidy and not equivalent. But Ed was too tired to figure it out. He just wanted to curl up in a soft warm bed and sleep till next year. His brain was fried along with everything else, he could even start snoring on his feet...
Ed swore again, louder than all the times before, face blackened like a child who was just denied his nap. Silver ornaments shattered on the floor, swept off the crowded table in a fit of anger. Harry looked like he was about to smash something else but was stopped by the ultimate dagger glare of Ed. Ceasing his destruction he began bellowing instead.
" – ALIVE!" Ed cut in, that one word in raised pitch and actually louder than Harry.
"What?" Harry snapped.
"Sirius is alive!"
"I saw him go through the Veil!"
"I went through the Veil and got him out obviously!"
"But how?" Harry demanded. He was tired of the secrets. Dumbledore kept things from him. Ed kept things from him. He was no longer going to be so bloody ignorant! "NO MORE LIES!" he shouted, eye blazing from anger and hurt.
Ed gritted his teeth. Telling was horrible. Truth was horrible. He hated it. But it had gone to the point that silence was no longer right. Half truths were now hazardous. He needed secrets to remain secrets, but revelation now became a necessity.
"Harry..." Hohenheim interrupted, trying to sooth the tension and negative energy.
"Shut up!" the boys both said, though Ed was feebler.
"Yes," Ed muttered. "You're right." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He needed to be rid of the stubborn headache. This story, his story, it needed to come out right.
"Get out," Ed told Hohenheim.
"Ed..."his father protested.
"Get out," Ed repeated. "I need to talk to Harry alone." He was surprised how cool that came out. Usually these conversations ended with someone's broken nose.
Hohenheim hesitated before making his way to the door with slow steps. Gonna walk out again? Again? He berated himself. He ran a hand through his golden hair, watching his son from the corner of his eye. He couldn't read the apathetic expression. He rarely knew what was going through Ed's mind. And he couldn't decide what hurt more: anger or indifference.
Anger: his efforts bore no fruit. Indifference: Ed was hurting and hiding. What should he do? He was so useless at the most crucial times. He never knew what to do when he needed to. Screw it all. Screw. It. All.
Ed was taken by shock at the warmth that engulfed him. He froze though it was so warm and comforting, the strong arms that wrapped around him. He could go numb even as he thought back to when he was held like that. The gesture had power, strength like a pillar and Ed was for once earthed, drawing energy from elsewhere instead of always, always sapping from himself.
"I know," Hohenheim breathed, voice full of sorrow. His eyes must be wet, tears threatening to flow, face contorted in devastation. He must look like that bloody awful family photo.
Like he was holding him up with those large, calloused hands.
"I know it hurts," he croaked again. "But you're no longer alone."
Ed bit his lip hard because he couldn't find it in him to push the man away. He felt himself threatening to burst, part of him wanting to hit his father while wanting to hug back. While being embraced to what felt like hours but was seconds, Hohenheim pulled away, his right hand brushing his eyes and nose, digits swiping away the messy evidence of sadness. But his heart too welled in joy as he turned to leave, just to stand outside the door. This small happiness at the simple fact that his son did not reject him for once; it was enough to make him want to never leave. Never again will he leave.
"This doesn't change anything," Ed forced, blinking rapidly, successfully hardening every bit of his already melted heart. "It doesn't change a damn thing." He punctuated each word.
Hohenheim gave a small nod, but he looked so distorted, like on the verge of crying and laughing, smiling tearfully and leaking mucus.
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The door was open just a crack so Ed could see the tip of a leather boot peaking out.
"Muffliato," Ed told Harry who muttered the spell. He might need to get his wand back from Neville. It didn't matter anyway; it was a useless piece of tree bark.
He took a seat, just at the angle of the door opposite Harry. The boy was clearly uncomfortable, looking confused but roughly calmed, fidgeting and chewing his lip like it was a chocolate frog. Dirt, grim and a bit of blood covered up the strain his mind and body took on earlier. His eyes were terribly bloodshot, must have burst a blood capillary; fighting Voldemort off his brain took its toll, the bloody annoying parasitic bastard. But Harry was clearly adamant, determined to not be treated like a five-year-old made of glass anymore.
"I hope you understand that I can't tell you everything," Ed began. "It's..." he swallowed. "Hard."
Harry nodded. "But promise me: No lies."
Ed laughed lightly, a weak attempt to ease the tension. "Of course."
"I admit I did lie to you before." Ed sighed. "But my story did have some truth." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know where to begin."
Harry's eyes widened a bit, thinking. "Was that man your father?" he started.
The alchemic markings were itching, a lot.
"Biologically," Ed replied. "Not sure if I will ever consider him one though. He left us when my brother was a baby. I believed he caused our mother to become ill with worry. I blamed him for her death. He didn't write, didn't bother replying our letters, didn't even come back for her funeral."
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, not knowing how to react except looking guilty.
"Don't worry about it. My brother and I got by just fine. We had a teacher and she was like a mother to us, and Granny Pinako and Winry." He smiled as he reminisced. "Then we made some bad mistakes and had to leave home. I joined the military. Al didn't but we went around together anyway. Got into some nasty great adventures. And on the way we obtained some valuable secrets. And found out about the plot this one bastard had. He wanted to sacrifice our whole country to for a great power. And of course, being the bloody heroes, my brother I plus other allies wanted to stop him. It was a corrupted government so we revolted."
"What sort of power?" Harry asked, feeling that it was the least personal question.
"A Philosopher's Stone," Ed said after a pause. "A big one, enough power to create an immortal army." Harry looked like he was about to question but Ed raised a hand to stop him. "It's not the same as the Sorcerer's Stone you wizards have. It's made of alchemy and it required human souls as sacrifices."
Harry gasped, appalled and disgusted.
"We organised a coup. It was a success, I guess. He's dead now. But I couldn't stop the alchemy he did. I tried but it all just...blew up to put it simply."
Ed was scratching his left arm, digging his metal fingers into the thick cloth of black. Scratching was terrible to do with automail. The steel always slid off his skin, leaving an itch that could never be reprieved. He looked away, as it looking into the promised day again, with all its horror and tragedy.
"According to alchemy, I am defined as a homunculus. A..." he gulped. "...monster with a Philosopher's Stone core. But I'm not. I didn't choose this. I won't be it."
The red marks really itched. Especially his shoulder. The rate's he going he might tear a hole into his clothes. Freaky, isn't it? Well that's what he is anyway, a freak.
"No. No, Ed," Harry said firmly, trying to slap away the hands. The metal was so cold, so hard, how could it be bearable?
"They're..." Ed swallowed thickly, really looking away now, to anywhere, the ceiling, the walls, the shattered silver ornaments. "They're all in here now." He took a shaky breath. "I'll never use it. They'll be destroyed if I do. I won't let that happen."
"That's what makes you human," Harry assured. "You're a good person, Ed. So you're human."
Ed laughed bitterly. You have no idea, Harry. No idea. No one could hate me more than me.
"That guy, the guy who did that, he's the monster."
Ed finally turned to look at him, eyes grateful and lighted up like golden ambers.
"We both battled out demons today," Harry said. "And won."
"We sure showed them." A grim smile formed on Ed's face. "But there's still a whole war out there."
Harry grinned back. "We both have our enemies. And we'll beat them. Together, alright?"
No longer alone. The bastard's voice repeated over and over in his head. He couldn't get rid of it, right? He'd just have to bear with it. Ed laughed.
"My brother will like you, Harry. You're like his favourite kind of cat, black fur and green eyes."
Still warm and fuzzy while wet with rain, those cats were.
Soft chuckles floated through the room. The shattered silver ornaments just begun self repairing, little sparks of magic surrounding them as the cracks knitted together, making them whole and beautiful once again.
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"Well, Harry, Edward," Dumbledore said as the emerald flames retreated back through his robes into the fireplace. "I'm glad to say that none of your friends will suffer lasting damage from the night's events."
"Good," Harry said. Ed glared, first at Dumbledore, then at Hohenheim just standing at the doorway, then at Dumbledore again.
"Madam Pomfrey's patching everyone up. Sirius is currently in custody as investigations proceed. He will be cleared of all charges soon. But I'm afraid to say that he is at St. Mungo's in a coma."
"He will wake on his own," Ed said before anyone could exclaim. "Your magic will not do anything." He added hastily, "And make sure that Veil is destroyed or I'll see to it myself."
"Ah the Veil is a very mysterious magical artefact..."
Ed snorted. "It is a gateway to death, Grandpa. Destroy it."
Hohenheim cleared his throat. "I'll see to it." He made his way to the fireplace with much urgency, smiling weakly before disappearing into green flames. Ed blinked and looked away. The relationship between him and his father evolved from distant to slightly closer but very tense in a span of minutes. He might not feel as volatile as he did but still he feared he might do something stupid out of sheer awkwardness.
Dumbledore just had that irritating twinkle of curiosity.
"It is you that should be explaining," Ed said, suspicion and masked fury seeping into his tone.
The old man at least had the heart to look guilty. He knew how Dumbledore had been treating Harry and that avoidance and lack of guidance was a factor to what happened that night. That and pure heroic idiotism.
People could have died.
Ed listened with clenched fists as Dumbledore spoke of the connection Voldemort had with Harry that led to the dreams and the partial possession, Occlumency and the bloody goddamn Prophecy that was the sole cause of the bullshit. Ha, funny how Dumbledore doesn't trust anyone, even the supposed most trusted Chosen One who will one day save the Magical World.
His rage peaked when the blood protection was mentioned; how Harry was forced to stay with the Walrus family every summer which strengthened some magic mumbo jumbo. As he spoke of his mistakes, his care, his love, Ed snapped.
"If you cared for Harry, you will not have let him stumble into a battlefield half blind!" he growled. "Putting him under constant protection doesn't make him stronger! And you bullshit about him being the Chosen One and saving the world when he barely knows what's really going on!"
"Harry has much burdens already, all I wanted was to let him have his peace of mind..." Dumbledore replied calmly.
"Well, he's already dragged into warzone. Better spill than let him walk to his death," Ed ended cryptically.
Dumbledore sighed. "That was the flaw in my plan. An old man's mistake. I should have told you. The Prophecy, it spoke of a boy born as the seventh month dies that would vanquish the Dark Lord. That one would die in the hand of another as neither can live while the other survives."
By then Edward snorted loudly, thoroughly amused. So he wasn't lying when he insulted the Dark Lord.
"However it would seem that Voldemort did ultimately fail despite my mistakes. Not only did he lose the Prophecy, he lost his secrecy and a portion of his forces," Dumbledore said gratefully. "That is because Voldemort may have predicted my plan but he could not predict one thing. You, Edward."
Ed couldn't help but smirk. "But he knew of the Fullmetal Alchemist."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the title. "Ah he knew that there was an alchemist that could defy Equivalent Exchange long ago. And he followed that trail led to the Elric home in Munich. Hoheheim first noticed something amiss and sought my help, leading him into the magical community and the Order. Then all Voldemort knew was of the alchemist that fought for me and pursued him instead."
The expression on Ed's face was unreadable. All he could feel was the pounding of his heart and wave after wave of emotion.
"Even if he at last found out about you, you were the last thing he expected to be: a Homunculus," Dumbledore continued. "That could possibly be what he feared the most."
"They say the only one Voldemort feared was you," Ed countered weakly, staring at the fireplace as if hoping that Hohenheim would emerge from emerald flames so he could readjust the bastard's nose again and demand an explanation.
"Voldemort fears many things. The Prophecy and Harry which all stemmed from his one true fear of being beaten. He is not invincible. He knows that thus strived to ensure no one else did. He tortured, killed and even defied death just to prove that he is without weakness. But he is with weakness."
"Horcrux," Ed whispered. The word left a spongy feeling underneath his tongue.
Dumbledore's blue eyes suddenly lost its spark, widening in shock and possibly terror and suspicion. "My boy, how did you know?"
"Voldemort created a Horcrux, possibly more. The ghosts mentioned it." He swallowed thickly, rubbing his forehead with a thumb and finger. "I can...feel it. My blood...it boils for it. It craves..." He cut himself off, torn gloved hand covering his mouth like he was attempting not to barf.
"What's a Horcrux?" Harry asked.
Edward's hands sharply moved to cross, pressing into his stomach. "Fragmented soul. I don't know why they cause such a reaction. Just being near one even in its body makes me want to...eat..." Everything.
Dumbledore nodded, as if he understood the predicament, the monstrosity of the matter. "Do you know the history of the Humunculi?"
Edward thought for a moment. "Some. The library was never really detailed about them."
Dumbledore took a breath, as if preparing for a long explanation. "When Homunculi roamed the earth, they were few, two or three, maybe more but there were no signs. And nothing of magic could hurt them, and even if it did they could not be killed. So the Ministry had an agreement with them, to prevent them from hurting anyone. Dementors were first created then to serve two purposes.
"First to suck the souls of criminals to give to the homunculi as peace offerings. In return, the homunculi blended in with muggles or wizards and never hurt them. Second, they served as a warning as Homunculi's only vulnerability lied with the Dementor's Kiss. It was never confirmed that it could kill them, but it was a well enough precaution. The Homunculi lived peacefully for centuries."
"Then why did they start fighting?" Harry asked.
"Some said they got bored. Some said they were threatened or tempted by Grindelwald. They disappeared before answering any questions," Dumbledore said solemnly.
Edward's hands fell to his sides. He almost laughed. He could for once sympathise with those bloodthirsty creatures. Wrath, Pride, Sloth, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Envy. There were reasons to why they became who they were. And for once it made sense, why there was always this shred of humanity beneath their murderous shells. Their simple desire to be human, for love, companionship, worth, fulfilment.
"He was never a kind 'master'," Ed said simply. "They fought for freedom: the right to speak, the right to live and the right to die."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "I understand. Homunculi were first and foremost known to be associated with Death. They were Death's loyal servants, which in lies their duty to retain the balance of life and death. Those that tried to cheat Death would be put down by the Homunculi. Thus led to the...attraction to Horcruxes." His damn sparkly eyes shone with curiosity again. "So what are you fighting for, Edward?"
Curiosity never sated.
Ed shrugged.
Dream on.
"So where are these Horcruxes?" Edward demanded.
Dumbledore chuckled and decided to take a seat behind his desk. "I heard that Voldemort kept them hidden, protected with various spells and enchantments."
"Any clues?"
"Maybe a few."
Edward raised an eyebrow.
"Actually, Harry, you handed me the first proof that Voldemort did make a Horcrux." Dumbledore walked to his desk, opening the top drawer and pulling out a thin book. It couldn't be a book anymore in fact; someone stabbed a hole through the pages.
"Tom Riddle's diary?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore laid it on the table for everyone to see. "Only hosting a fragment of Voldemort's soul allowed it to have the power to control the mind of Ginny Weasley," Dumbledore explained. "But it has been destroyed. The soul couldn't have survived without its container."
Ed could hear the hissing. It was always there in the background, sounding as ordinary as gas leaking slowly from a balloon. Like a snake, lying in wait, fangs oozing with venom, ready to sink into an unsuspecting victim. The feeling of the Philosopher's Stone coursing through his veins was soon becoming familiar. The heat and intensity. And the voices in his head; sometimes screaming, sometimes crying. But now they spoke as one, clearly. You know what to do. You know the array.
His flesh shoulder was itching again.
Do it.
"Not dead," Ed muttered, reaching to scratch but hesitating, knowing it would be useless. "Inactive, but alive. The array..." Resistance is futile. This is your job. This is who you are now. You are the array. The circle.
"Give it to me," Ed said. He was getting urgent, it was really itching now. "Hold it out."
The array. Transmute. Do it.
He clapped his hands together, like he was in prayer.
The marks glowed and red lightning lit the book where his fingers grazed. It flared, splitting through the black cover and every bit of yellowish parchment. Ed could hear laughter. Laughter, a child's glee.
"Drop it!" Ed yelled and the old wizard did, jumping back against his chair. His skin was sizzling now, a mild, manageable pain. Because someone, Someone, was very, very pleased. As the book hit the floor, the alchemic reaction spread and the ground split like a fluttering eyelid. The eye that blinked, opening. The book fell through the pupil, disappearing into a bottomless abyss. The eye remained, its absolute blackness displaying the knowledge, the sheer, brutal Truth.
Truth's eye. The Gate's eye. The eye, its sides turned up. Extremely pleased then.
The eye closed and everything just returned to what it had been. Even the chilly breeze was gone, the room returning to its regular temperature in a split second.
Ed was the first to recover, dusting off his hands with a smirk on his face.
"Well, that's done. How many more do you have, Grandpa?"
While Harry remained shell-shocked, Dumbledore was bloody fascinated. His eyes were twinkling so brightly, he looked partially insane. He was always known as eccentric, having an unhealthy interest with the curious things. And that by far was bewitching. Spellbinding.
"Unfortunately," Dumbledore continued. "That was the only one I have found. And I wonder where it went."
Ed smirked. "Back to where it belonged." He could almost jump for joy. "He's pretty darn happy about it, probably won't bug me for a while!" He felt fired up, determination coursing through him as he finally knew what he was looking for, what direction to go, what he would do to get what he wanted. There was pure certainty that his wish would finally be granted.
"Alright, I'll start searching for the rest during the summer. Could use a week's vacation though; Alfrons must be dying to wring my neck for disappearing off the face of the earth," he rambled.
"It will be an extremely long journey, Edward," Dumbledore said gravely. "We'll need to dive into Tom Riddle's dark past to search for answers."
"I'll be out there actually looking then," Ed snapped.
"Wait," Harry spoke. "Does that mean that you're not coming back to Hogwarts next year?"
"Don't see the need to."
"What about NEWTS?" he exclaimed.
"I have no use for wizardry actually." Ed scratched the back of his head. "I came here for the library and since I cleaned it out months ago..." He cut himself off. "I am not going to be cooped up in this damn building for another year!"
Harry seemed hurt and guilt pooled in Ed's gut.
"Look, I want to travel like I did before. I need the adventure," Ed said clearly and firmly. "And before you say that you want to come with me I'm telling you that you need your education. You want to be an Auror right? You can't give up that dream just to chase around bits of a madman's soul. Mouldy is not worth that."
"What about you?" Harry retorted.
Ed chuckled. "Please. Given my undisclosed age, I should be married with children by now," he snorted. "Like that's going to happen. Besides, I quit school when I was nine because it was too stupid for me."
Dumbledore finally interjected when Harry looked like he was going to argue. "I will need someone with me, Harry. I am an old man who needs all the help he can get." Ed held back a snort as Harry backed down reluctantly. He could see the emotion simmering behind those green orbs (like how Ed had been angry when he himself was treated like a child), and knew that this wasn't the end of it.
But now Ed clenched his fists and held his head high.
"Voldemort is weak. He will never win the game. He is a coward. He's afraid of death, afraid that one might have the power to kill him. Because of the actions he took and will take, actions of a coward, he cannot win."
That was the final assurance of the night.
Truth was just laughing his head off throughout.
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Hi
Sorry for the wait! This chapter's long, but I had a few problems with it which frustrated me so I kept putting it off. Sorry! I kept seeing plot holes and stuff I forgot so I really need your help. If there's anything weird-ish or missing or wrong, please drop me a review/PM. Thanks!
Well, just one more chapter with the epilogue and that's the end of the first book. That will be up really soon.
Ok this will be a short AN because you'll see the epilogue soon. Please review! Thanks!
ssapphireangel