Author's Note: SO. I haven't updated since April, and this chapter has been mostly written for probably about a month. It's only about 3,500 words though, and I kept wanting to extend it. The problem is that I wrote myself into a very good break in the narrative arc and trying to keep the next bit as part of this chapter proved to be impossible. So, this morning I opened a new file for Chapter 23 and decided to post Chapter 22 as is.

The Writing Bug bit hard, college is finally out for summer, and I quit my job. So, with any luck Chapter 23 should be out fairly soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter. I don't make any money from the online publication of this free-to-read fanwork, even though my unemployed ass could use the income. Don't sue me pls.

The Scientist's Lament

Chapter 22

Aftermath

There was a moment, when Ed brought Eve down to the hospital wing, that Al could not bring himself to touch her. Ed placed her on his stomach, and Al's hands hovered an inch above her fur.

Avada Kedavra was bloodless, but that didn't remove the foul spot that lingered in Al's vision. He'd killed a man, and sure enough he could still see the blood on his hands. Eve, he was sure, didn't want it on her fur. She was a fastidiously clean kitten. But Eve was also a sensible kitten, and, to Al's brief horror, she responded to his reluctance by butting her head against his palm.

There was a moment where all Al could see was blood getting caught in her fur. All he could see was the inevitable corruption of everything he touched. And then he steadied himself. Literally, at least, his hands were clean. Eve was clean. She gave a dissatisfied little chirp and Al knew to refocus his scratching to under her right foreleg.

He looked up to Ed. "Thank you, brother."

"You're welcome," said Ed. Pleasantries done, he continued with a complete non sequitur. "He isn't dead, you know. Magic sucks."

"What?"

"That's what the Old Man wanted to talk about. Voldemort isn't dead. He'll break the news to Harry tomorrow."

Al looked at Harry's bed across the Hospital Wing. They were in earshot, and Harry was looking at them with worry and just the littlest bit of suspicion. Harry, at least, spoke no language but English.

Hermione, with her decent French and native English might have had the vaguest prayer of understanding some Amestrian, but she was buried in a book. From what Al saw of her eyes, she wasn't faking.

Ron was asleep. Malfoy was scowling. Luna had climbed out of her own bed and was advancing. Probably to pet the kitten. She and Eve got along very well.

"Will he break the news to all of them?"

"If he doesn't, I will. I just want to give him the chance to do the right thing."

Al snorted, torn between calling his brother mistrustful or, on the other hand, completely naïve. He settled for mistrustful. "Brother, you don't have enough trust in people."

"Oh, do you think the man-of-stupid-secrets will abruptly want to spill his guts to a collection of fifteen and sixteen-year-olds?" Ed crossed his arms over his chest, and he blew his hair antenna out of his eyes.

"Probably not," Al said. "But you never know. We managed to get out of a Death Eater stronghold without any fatalities on our side. That says something about these kids."

"No shit," Ed said. "But ostrich syndrome is ostrich syndrome and none of these wizards like the idea that children become adults if they live through childhood."

There was something about the words ostrich syndrome that snapped Alphonse's mind to attention. "Wait. He isn't dead?"

"No," said Ed, giving him a concerned look. "Weird magic soul binding shit."

"Don't swear brother," Al said reflexively before returning to the pressing issue. "Life only moves in one direction!"

"He came back from the dead once," Ed said. "We knew that."

Al looked at Luna, who'd begun to stroke the line of Eve's back then down at his hands. Had he killed a man for nothing? "I know," he said, shuddered. "But. I. I guess I assumed he'd faked his death or something. It makes sense now, why Truth would send us here."

"Truth has a shitty sense of humor," Ed said, face in a snarl. Eve flinched and hissed at his tone, and Al doubled down on his petting. Luna looked up with only the mildest of curiosity.

"She's very defensive," she said, voice and gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. "She'll bite when threatened, Professor Elric. Like you?"

Like Ed? Sure enough, but. Didn't everyone bite when threatened? Al blinked at her, ready to laugh. He switched to English. "She's like eferyone we know."

"Really?"

Ed nodded, also switched to English. "Just about. Demon cat."

"Don't be rude, brozer."

"Almost as bad as zee demon panda."

"Demon panda?" Luna said. "Is it like the pandas at the zoo?"

"I've never actually been to zee zoo, or seen a normal panda," Al said. "So, I wouldn't know. But from what Mei described, I sink? Just smaller."

Al refocused his fingers to Eve's favored spot behind her right ear and tried to superimpose the image of Xiao Mei over her. It was easier than he thought it would be, and there was something in there that was delightful.

He wondered, if somewhere in an alternate universe (literally), Xiao Mei was keeping Mei company on a sleepless night. Actually. Wait, scratch that. Mei had enough trauma in her short life and Al wasn't going to wish more of it on her just to feel a little less lonely.

No. Somewhere, in an alternate universe, he hoped that Xiao Mei was curled up on her master's pillow, tangled in her long hair. He hoped that the both of them were sleeping soundly through the night.

Yes. Much better. Al smiled at the image and looked at his brother and Luna. "She belongs to a friend and is a sweet panda."

Ed snorted. "She liked you because you didn't scream when she bit you."

Al couldn't deny that one, so he shrugged. Luna smiled her Luna smile. "Everyone has the metrics by which they judge respect," she said.

That was when Harry decided to butt in on the conversation. "Who's the friend with a pet panda of all things?" He had an odd expression that Al couldn't quite place. There was something bitter in the depth of it. Something sad.

"Someone from Germany?" asked Hermione, who'd closed the book and put it to the side.

"Yup," said Al, at the same time Ed said,

"Somesing like zat."

"Something like that? What does that even mean, Elric?" This from Draco, whose suspicious nature was frankly adorable. Al couldn't help but laugh a little, which didn't help. He searched his brain for a good alternative to saying She's from Xing, and visited A.U. Germany, called Amestris, to find the secrets of immortality. Al didn't really know much about this world, even with all the knowledge of the Gate of Truth shoved into his very soul.

Somewhere in the east. But now the silence was dragging on too long, and Harry was putting his suspicious face back on.

"She's from China," Ed said, saving the day. Which is just as well, as he was the one who got them into the mess. "From a rich family zat could afford to send a kid galivanting across zee world."

Alphonse nearly sputtered at that injustice, so in Amestrian he muttered, "That's not true, brother."

Amestrian it might have been, but something in his tone must have conveyed his sentiment. "Defending your girlfriend?" said Draco, because Draco never let anything lie.

Alphonse nearly sputtered at that injustice too. "She's like, zirteen!" Mei was a sweet girl, and he liked her a lot. But dating was a question for later, when they were older and wiser and not coming off a war. For when Ling was safely installed on the Xingese throne and Mei's family wasn't engulfed in political chaos.

Besides, she hadn't even seen him yet. Not really.

"Everysing about Germany is complicated," Ed said. "Better not to ask, if you don't really want to know."

Hermione blinked at them owlishly. "But I want to know everything."

Al laughed, because he could truly relate. Ed, he noticed, looked wistful when he said, "Yeah. I used to want to know everysing too."

Ron let out a particularly loud snore, and the conversation was over.

For Harry, that night in the hospital wing after breaking out Voldemort's prisoners was bewildering. While Ron snored, and Luna floated around Al's cat, and Draco fiddled with his thumbs, Hermione was swathed in blankets on the bed on Harry's right. He could practically hear her mind churning on the subject of Alphonse.

Hermione's carefully built character profiles for both Elric brothers had probably been thrown into turmoil. (And she said Harry was too suspicious. Honestly.) But Hermione hadn't seen him. There was something about Alphonse blowing into a room, wand raised, eyes blazing with the fires of self-sacrifice, that looked comfortable on him.

Al had done this before, Harry was sure. Not murder. No, Al's breakdown was enough to see that Al had kept his hands free from that kind of blood. But the single-minded determination to save his brother had seemed almost customary.

Of course, Alphonse would wear that expression. Of course, kind Alphonse would do anything to keep his brother alive. Of course. This might be the sweet Alphonse. The innocent Alphonse. The too-shy-to-talk-about-his-girl-back-home Alphonse, the Alphonse that patiently helped anyone who needed it. But when you put it all together, Harry decided that it fit.

Maybe it wouldn't seem to, if Harry hadn't been there. But Harry had been there, and he'd seen Nagini explode and Voldemort struck with a beam of green light and Harry almost wasn't surprised.

He would never see the Elrics in quite the same way again, but he wasn't surprised. So, he didn't contribute much to their weird and cryptic conversation about life in Germany. It was cryptic enough that it might have set off Harry's alarm bells, but instead it set off some bitter place inside him. Ed and Al had people out there who cared about them. Weird people with pet pandas, but people. People outside the realm of Hogwarts - the only place where Harry ever had anyone.

He didn't want to linger on it, even if Draco Malfoy was going to tease Al mercilessly.

When Ron's loud snore punctuated an already stilting conversation, Harry turned on his side and fell into a deep and solid sleep. It was the first night he'd had in a long while where didn't have flashes of Voldemort.

He tried to relish it, but his dreams were troubled by flashes of the Dursleys instead.

When Harry was called to Dumbledore's office the next morning, he assumed it was for congratulations on a job well done. He exited the hospital wing as cheerful as he'd been in a while. He grinned at Ron and Professor Elric, who both resented being stuck in hospital berths.

Voldemort was dead, and Harry was free, and he practically skipped to Dumbledore's office.

He sat down, and Dumbledore shattered that pipe dream. Voldemort wasn't dead. It was a solid punch to the stomach. "But I saw Alphonse kill him!"

Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. "I'm afraid there are things about Tom Riddle I haven't told you."

What.

"They aren't confirmed, but I'm afraid they've become horribly likely."

"I don't care if it's confirmed, Professor, I need to know as much as I can." Dumbledore had been more open with Harry in the last few weeks than he'd been all of fifth year combined, but damn it, Harry was sick of the lies. He was sixteen years old! He was more than ready. More than adult enough.

Dumbledore seemed to see this play out on Harry's face, and Harry averted his eyes. No need to encourage legilimency. Dumbledore's expression faltered. He said, "I know. I was going to have you do the legwork first and tell you my suspicion once I knew for certain, but young Professor Elric gave me some wise advice last night."

Harry tried to reconcile wise with volatile Professor Ed and mostly failed. Ed was loud and brash and shouted at his problems. Wise? Ed? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore shook his head and smiled. "I admit I don't know much about their circumstances," he said, "but I know that the Elric brothers have seen and done more than they let on."

More than they let on? Seriously? "They already seem like they've been through a lot," Harry said, thinking back to the look in Alphonse's eyes as he shouted the killing curse in Malfoy Manor.

"There is something about them I cannot put my finger on, I must confess," Dumbledore said. His eyes flashed, and Harry suspected it was costing him to share like this. "But Professor Elric gave me a sound bit of advice and I will follow it."

Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk, healthy hand atop the shriveled. "The Voldemort young Alphonse nearly killed last night is only a fraction of Tom Riddle's original soul."

"What."

"He tore his very soul apart for the sake of immortality."

"You can do that?"

Dumbledore bowed his head, said, "It sacrifices your humanity." There was an untold but yes, to that.

Harry swore and slumped in his chair. Dumbledore gave him a disapproving look, and he muttered an apology. "So, he's impossible to kill, then."

"Nothing is impossible," Dumbledore said. "The vessels holding the pieces of his soul must be destroyed, first. And I have collected a few memories that might help us find them."

"Memories? What do you mean by memories?"

Dumbledore smiled, and pulled a vial out of his pocket. "Shall we get to work, then?"

The Daily Prophet was oddly quiet, on Thursday morning. Hermione had thoroughly blackmailed Rita Skeeter to ensure it. The surprise was that nobody else had broken the story - Malfoy manor ransacked, Malfoy matriarch missing, son still at Hogwarts.

If Hermione was a reporter, she'd have jumped at the story. If she was a Death Eater she'd have done everything in her power to put it out there. Painted Narcissa as a kidnapping victim. Didn't Voldemort's people own the press?

Hermione owned Skeeter, of course. But the loyalty of the rest of the staff had seemed clear. She narrowed her eyes, sharply folded the newspaper shut and looked around at her infirmary-mates.

Harry was already gone, off for a not-so-secret meeting with Dumbledore. Professor Elric and Al were sitting in their beds, talking in rapid-fire German she hadn't a prayer of following.

Malfoy was scowling. Luna was humming into Eve's fur. Ron was still asleep.

Hermione relaxed back against her pillows. Merlin. She was tired. She'd slept fairly well, given yesterday. But there was something about her yearly death-defying adventures with Harry Potter that sucked the energy from her muscles and laid her flat.

Her parents always worried, when said adventure happened too close to the end of the year. They worried when twelve-year-old Hermione had come home and flinched at the sight of their brand-new fancy chess set. They worried when thirteen-year-old Hermione came home blustering about cave-ins and ghosts and nearly-dead little girls.

Each time a little sore, a little weak.

And so on down the line, worse every year. It was nice of Voldemort, she supposed, starting small and hitting them harder later. Neither of those younger Hermiones would have survived the Department of Mysteries. But sixteen-year-old Hermione had. Nearly-seventeen-year-old Hermione had walked straight into Voldemort's lair and emerged in victory.

Finally, Voldemort was dead.

"Alright kids," Professor Elric said, sliding from his hospital bed in a way that spelled trouble. "I gave zee old man a chance. But he took Potter upstairs alone, so he's fucked it. Zee Mold isn't dead."

Bloody hell, Hermione thought. For good measure, she firmly reprimanded Ron for actually saying it.

He glared at her. "He's back from the dead, 'Mione! Again!" She supposed that his reaction was fair, but she scowled at him anyway.

"He vas never really dead," Alphonse said, staring at his hands. "Bruder, explain it."

The elder Elric did. Even as he spoke, Hermione categorized the grief in his eyes and the disbelief in his jaw.

She didn't know how, and she didn't know why but coming back from the dead, for the Elrics, was personal.

It was Luna who brought her attention back to the actual conversation. "Horcruxes," she said, fixing her hazy blue eyes on Alphonse. "You know, my mother mentioned them as a theory."

Hermione's knee-jerk reaction was to call bullshit, but she swallowed it down and managed to ask, "What did she say about them?"

Luna looked at her with her blue smile and Hermione almost flinched. "Just that she suspected Voldemort of having anchors, and that the magic invented by Herpo the Foul seemed likely."

There was a pause. "Would you look in her sings?" Alphonse said, standing from his own bed. "She might haff written somesing in her notes?"

Luna nodded, the closest to serious Hermione had ever seen her. "I was nine when she died, and while she was fairly liberal with what she told me, she might have kept a few things back."

Hermione knew that Luna and her father were both nuts, but she'd read a few of Pandora Lovegood's papers. Her experiments were eccentric, and her hypotheses not always supported by the end, but she kept to the scientific method with a will and Hermione could feel the brain behind her writing.

Maybe she did have something on Voldemort's soul pieces. "How can we get you to your home?" Hermione asked. Elf? Portkey? Was a fireplace secure enough?

Luna shook her head. "I have her lab with me, Dad gave it to me when I was eleven. I always take it to Hogwarts. Her notes should be there."

"What?" said Ron. "How'd you take a whole bloody lab to Hogwarts?"

"Is it like brother's trunk? Zee one zat has all his books?"

"That's just a simple undetectable extension charm," Hermione said. "Luna. Was her lab a portable room?"

Luna nodded. "I can take a look tonight," she said. "I'll be sure to tell you what I find tomorrow."

Hermione liked to think of herself as a patient person. But right now, she wanted to march over to Luna's bed, grab her by the collar, and say, not tomorrow, Luna. Now! Do you understand me? Now!

But there were a few things to keep her from that course of action. The first being that Alphonse was standing from his bed, looking at Luna like she held the key to salvation. She might not have seen the killing curse coming from Al's wand, but she could picture it. She didn't want his wand or alchemy leveled at her.

The second thing was her own principals. Malfoy and enemy combatants are the exception. I don't manhandle people. I'm not that kind of girl. She sniffed and somehow managed to say, "Thank you, Luna."

Professor Elric was watching her with a weather eye and no small amount of amusement and Hermione belatedly realized that her inner turmoil had been plain on her face. She sighed. Well. That was a reason the hat had agreed to sort her into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. She had no subtlety.

The hat had said so himself.

Ravenclaw can teach you to be subtle. Ravenclaw can help you hone your knowledge into a sharp and powerful weapon.

Little Hermione had furrowed her brow. I don't want to be subtle. I want to be bold.

If you're sure. Well. Then it had better be Gryffindor!

Professor Elric had been little Hermione's idea of the perfect Gryffindor, she realized. She was torn between horror and delight at that thought. Though she'd met him wearing a beige work suit, as soon as he was in a room with the flamboyant Weasleys the coat had grown to his knees and turned as red as the Gryffindor banner.

He was the quintessential Gryffindor, really. He was brash and loud and utterly brave. He was exactly the sort of man that little-Hermione had adored in principle and despised in truth. She'd warmed up to his sort, after living among them for five years. Was Edward Elric the kind of adult Hermione wanted to become?

"I would love to read your mozer's notes," Professor Elric said. "We grew up on our fazer's, and I need to read some science applied to zis magic shit."

"Your father's notes?" Hermione could not help but say. Ed scowled but Al gave her a soft smile.

"We learned alchemy vrom his notes," he said. "He's brilliant."

Ed muttered something disparaging in German, and Al rolled his eyes. "Bruder's just bitter."

Desperately, Hermione wanted to ask more but Ed was giving her a look that forbade it. Even Al wilted when Ron was tactless enough to ask, "Why's he bitter?"

Hermione sent a discreet stinging hex his way and huffed when Ron glared at her.

After a moment, Professor Elric waved it off. "Why is any child bitter? Normal shit."

"And who exactly is your father?" asked Malfoy, leaning forward in his bed.

Professor Elric raised a disbelieving eyebrow, his hair antenna straightening infinitesimally. "He's a muggle alchemist vrom Germany. You wouldn't know him."

Malfoy winced, and Hermione cheered internally. She almost wanted Ed to continue about his father, if only to see Malfoy's face get progressively whiter as the he listened to the life of a muggle man. But it was not to be – Al changed the subject.

"What did your mother like to research?" Al said to Luna, who smiled and lifted Eve above her head.

"Spell creation, with magizoology on the side. I can take you through some of her equations if you'd like."

At the mention of maths, both Elric's eyes lit up. By the time Madame Pomfrey came to collect their breakfast plates, Hermione, Luna, Al, Malfoy, and Professor Elric were engaged in discussing the finer mathematics involved in Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration while Ron stared at them slack jawed.

"Save it for class," Madame Pomfrey said. "You're all free to go."

Hermione nearly ran from her bed. She had classes to go to.

Across the castle, Harry left Dumbledore's office with renewed purpose. He had objects to find, and he had to find them before Voldemort managed to regroup into a fresh body. Neither can live while the other survives, indeed.

Word Count: 3665

I couldn't even with this chapter. Tell me what you think y'all, and if you have any suggestions for how I could fix this chapter up when I go back for the final edit once this whole fic is done and before I cross post it to AO3 please let me know.