Author's Note: Camp NaNoWriMo of July has begun, and I'm working on TSL and an assortment of original shorts for it. That means I actually have to sort out the 11,000 or so words from Camp NaNoWriMo of April into coherent chapters. So. Have an unusually quick update!

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I spent my time writing things I owned, things that I can make money from, I don't. I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. I don't own Harry Potter. I make no money from the online publication of this free-to-read fan work.

Chapter 27

The Ring and the Dragon's Pulse

When Alphonse was called into Dumbledore's office after dinner, he was not especially surprised. He was enjoying a rare moment in his dormitory, reading a book on arithmancy. Gerry was in the bed next to his, also reading. The other boys, he understood, were down in the common room arguing over a chess match. Al had just gotten supremely comfortable when an owl flew in the open window and landed on the trunk at the end of his bed.

Al looked at it, not quite willing to slide from out from the covers. He'd missed about six years of sleep – he deserved to take his time catching up on it! The owl just fixed him with a tired look, before hopping onto his bed proper and walking up it. He settled on Alphonse's chest and stuck out a leg. He hooted.

"You're a sweet bird," Al said in murmured Amestrian. "So fluffy." The bird squawked indignantly and thrust his foot a little further into Al's face. Al sighed. "Alright, little one."

He sat up, carefully untied the letter and opened it. Reading it quickly, Al sat further up to scratch behind the bird's decorative ear tufts. The bird's mood changed with that, and it hooted contentedly. It nestled deeper into the covers and Al tilted his head forward to look at him. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to get up. It's for the headmaster, I'm afraid."

The owl pushed his head into Al's hand for one last snuggle before hopping back down to the foot of the bed. He sat there, preening his feathers, as Al changed.

He could feel Gerry study him from the next bed over, and Al didn't look at him. He knew Gerry's face was written with worry and genuine concern. But really, thanks to Mrs. Weasley, Al was almost a normal weight. Al mentally switched over to English as he pulled on his robe. "See you later, Gerry. Professor Dumbledore wants to see me."

"Don't stay out too late," said Gerry, corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Wouldn't want to miss curfew."

Al knew that Gerry had devised a system to stay in the library a full hour after curfew, so he chose to take the joke in the spirit it was given. Still. Al's collarbones might still protrude sharply from his shoulders, but too many people worried after him. Al gave Gerry a smile, fixed his conical wizard's hat upon his head, and left the fifth year Ravenclaw dorm.

Down the spiral staircase he went, smiled and waved at his chess playing classmates in the common room, down again and through the portrait hole. He gave the portrait a very kind greeting, allowing himself to feel the spot of pain that appeared every time he encountered a Hogwarts portrait.

The portrait waved. With that, Al straightened his robe and began his walk to the headmaster's office.

He gave the password to the gargoyles, wondered just how sentient they were. He cast them a sad glance and went up the staircase without asking them about it. With portraits and goblins and painful-looking house elves, Al was just going to have to accept that magic did different things than alchemy and that some of the lookalikes had drastically different ethical implications.

With a nod to himself, he knocked politely on the headmaster's door. He was immediately called to come in, and Alphonse wondered if that was a good or bad sign. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd been called to speak to Albus Dumbledore alone.

He cracked open the door, called, "Hallo?"

"Hello, Mr. Elric," said Dumbledore, waving him through. "Please, sit. And have a lemon drop." Alphonse eyed the candy bowl, took one. He took careful stock of the composition before popping it into his mouth, though. There was nothing alarming in it, he didn't think.

It was sour. One of the sourer things he'd eaten since getting his body back, but it was worth it for the experience. "Thank you," he said, careful of his 'th'.

"You're quite welcome, my dear boy. I'm afraid nobody ever wants to take my lemon drops." He said it sorrowfully, like it was the biggest problem he'd been facing, lately. "You and your brother have been my only takers in years."

"I like zem," Al said, deciding that it was true in a certain sense. "Do you sink younger children might prefer a sweeter candy? If you're worried about zem not getting eaten?"

Dumbledore sighed mournfully. "I'm trying to instill an appreciation for a broad palate of flavors. And these are just so very delightful."

Alphonse looked at the lemon drops, looked at his own protruding knuckles, and back at the headmaster. He wasn't sure where the headmaster was going with this, but it was somewhere. Al had a sudden feeling that he should intercept that track and take the reins of the conversation for himself. "May I see your hand, Professor?" Al asked, layering sugar on his voice.

Dumbledore's spectacles slid a slight bit further down his nose. His eyes still carried their odd twinkle and Al did his best to sparkle right back (and really, it shouldn't be too difficult. Al could sparkle even with an unchanging metal face). "My hand?"

"Brother and I know a lot about alchemy and performing it on humans. It's a byproduct of zee research I'm sure Professor McGonagall has briefed you on."

Something in Dumbledore's expression hardened, and a knickknack on his shelf began to whir. He spared it only a glance before refocusing on Al, and Al could feel the strength of his examination. "Human transmutation is the very blackest of magic, child," Dumbledore said. "I was disheartened to hear that it was something you and your brother had performed."

Well Alphonse wasn't going there for the second time in a day, even though he was certain it was what he was called in to discuss. "Oh no, Headmaster. Zat's not zee type of human alchemy I'm hoping to use. You see, zere is a sister art to alchemy called alkahestry and towards zee end of our troubles in the motherland, I was taught some of it."

"And by 'troubles in the motherland' you mean the coup d'état in a parallel universe?"

"Just so! Professor McGonagall told you zee basics, yes?" said Al. "You see, some foreign dignitaries got involved, and I had zee privilege to become dear friends with an extremely accomplished alkahestrist from Xing. As alkahestry can heal, I was hoping to look at your hand. I won't pretend to be an expert, but I learned a little."

"I suppose learning healing would be necessary in a coup d'état," Dumbledore said, trying to look amused but falling short. His expression remained predominantly guarded and twinkly.

"Exactly. And as I was in an almost indestructible body at zee time, I very often ended up zee last man standing," said Al. "I'd be happy to take a look."

Alphonse wasn't sure how he felt about Dumbledore evaluating him like a threat, but there wasn't any way around it. He simply gave his most serene smile, and after a moment, the Headmaster inclined his head. "I'm afraid that the curse is uncurable. Dear Severus has already bought me more time than I might have otherwise had."

Al wasn't going to let this opportunity slide. "Please," he said, earnestly. "I just want to help. Coming at a problem from a new angle never hurts."

"I won't have you performing alchemy on my hand," Dumbledore said.

Al felt his trap catch and contained a smile. "Good sing alkahestry isn't alchemy, zen, isn't it?" He could see Dumbledore's resolve crack a split second before he thrust the blackened snarl of his right hand in Al's face.

Professor Dumbledore had clearly been aiming for maximum shock value, but even despite an unexpected and unfortunate flash of Maria Ross's casefile, Al was unmoved. He leaned over the desk between them, laid out the headmaster's hand. He gently tried to unfurl the fingers and eased his attempt when he felt Dumbledore's arm jerk in response.

Al would bet that the jerk was caused more from some tendon misalignment than pain, though, because there was no way this hand had any dermal feeling left in it all. "Can you feel zis?" he asked at the same time he reached for the Dragon's Pulse.

While Al didn't normally sense the presence of magic, he could feel where it swirled around Professor Dumbledore's chi. Huh. But Al couldn't focus on the feeling of the chi itself for long. Refocusing his attention, he felt out the nerve endings in Dumbledore's hand. The surface ones, he could tell right off the bat, were all dead.

He followed the natural flow of chi in Dumbledore's hand – found it severely tangled. Al was pretty sure he couldn't fix that. So, still sensing through chi, he turned his attention to chemical composition and found his eyebrows rising into his hairline. Certainly, Dumbledore's hand looked burned. But if Al was translating what he was sensing into the correct equations, then. "Is your hand currently burning?"

Dumbledore sighed. "The cursed fire in this hand would have consumed me by now if Severus hadn't slowed down it's pace."

Al looked at Dumbledore's hand, ran equations through his mind. Mustang was fiercely protective of the secrets of his flame alchemy, but the basics were no mystery. "Bruder's not an alkahestrist, but I'll want to speak to him. About zee equations, you understand."

"I don't know that it's necessary to bring Professor Elric into this," Dumbledore said. "I've accepted my fate – Death is naught but the next great adventure."

Well, Alphonse was glad the headmaster was so well prepared for the worst-case scenario. "Zat may be true," he said. Al had accepted his death when he'd rubbed out his own seal, he did understand the process. "But accepting zat right now might be a little premature."

He returned his focus to the lines of chi, followed the tangled mess up the arm, trying to stick to one pathway as much as possible. He pinpointed the area where the chi straightened – just above the bones of the wrist.

Focusing back on his visual input, Al could see that the, well, char, essentially, transitioned into a burn, to minor blistering, and to normal skin at around the same point the lines of chi straightened themselves out.

Good – that meant that he could direct his repairs along the healthy lines of chi further up the arm, and poke constructively at the tangles as he gets closer to the damage. With his direction of attack decided, really, he'd just have to work out an array that would halt the oxidization process.

Both Al and his brother usually put out fires by depleting the surrounding air of oxygen – it's what Teacher taught them to do. Mustang's own most basic fire arrays involved the management of oxygen levels. But Al had a feeling that the curse – relying on the initial magic of the caster and the ambient magic of the host – wouldn't be stopped by being temporarily choked off.

"Would you consider amputation?" Al asked, meeting Dumbledore's eyes steadily.

"I'm already an old man," said Dumbledore. "And I do believe the curse would progress beyond Professor Snape's barrier if I were to try and circumvent it that way."

That was a weak sauce answer. But this world didn't have automail, Alphonse reminded himself. And even back home, taking off a limb was a drastic measure to be considered very carefully. You didn't amputate if you had other viable options.

But really, Al was going to be a little miffed if Albus Dumbledore would rather die than lose an arm. That was just dramatic. "I might not have to," said Al. "I have to run zee numbers wiz Ed. I could probably write out an array zat would work right here, but zat would be lazy. Laziness is a good way to die, in alchemy."

Dumbledore's expression had shifted from benevolently amused and all-knowing to outright confused. Good. He'd been sufficiently re-directed from whatever drama he wanted to start with Al about the alternate-universe-human-transmutation thing. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally said, "I really don't think that you should be engaging in more human transmutation."

Al gently set the headmaster's hand back down on the desk – tellingly, Professor Dumbledore did not retract it. "I swore I would never interfere wis life and death again, after mom. But zee Truth has made 'interfering' mandatory. You are not yet dead. Saving your life breaks no rules, no taboos. Using alkahestric principles, zee process is not even ethically dubious. If I were to use alchemy, zere is a possibility zat I would have to use my own lifeforce as an amplifier to save you. Zat is why healing alchemy is considered human transmutation and taboo. Using alkahestry, even as limited as my technical understanding is, I would not have to do zat." Alphonse picked up the hand again. "It is not zee same as alchemy, it does not come from zee same source as alchemy, and zee reasons zee alchemical version is illegal and ill-advised simply do not apply. What I want to know is why you don't seem to want to be saved."

Dumbledore did not say anything for a long while, and so Alphonse produced his alchemist's journal from the inside pocket of his robe and began drawing chi-flow diagrams, starting from the healthy portion of Dumbledore's arms. Even if Dumbledore insisted on dying, Al wasn't going to waste time while the Headmaster thought about it. He was sitting here, he had access to the patient, he was going to work.

After establishing a rough sketch of the Dragon Pulse, Alphonse turned his attention to the progression of the curse and established four zones: healthy, early blistering, actively cursed, and mostly dead.

He marked those zones in the chi-flow map and was encouraged to note that even the most severely damaged areas had some chi. Nothing had died off entirely, except for the epidermis of the ring finger. That finger had been hit by the curse first and worse, Alphonse could tell. He marked that on his diagram, tried to describe the radial nature of the damage. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pencil and the distant whir of a magical knickknack.

"What did you do to zis hand, exactly?" Alphonse decided that he did need to ask. Dumbledore had found out more than enough about Al – he could survive a little reciprocity.

There was a pause. "I assume your brother has told you of the horcruxes that bind Voldemort to life?"

"Yes?" said Alphonse, dread certainty piling up in his gut. "I've begun doing research on what he might have used, and what his methods might have been. Brother and I are experts on seals, you see. My whole soul was bound to a suit ov armor for about six years – it's not too much of a stretch zat you could attach fragments, too."

There was a flicker in the Headmaster's eyes, but Al did not care to analyze it. Dumbledore looked down at where Alphonse was mapping his hand. "In a moment of foolhardiness, I put one that he'd put in a ring on my hand without checking it for curses first."

Alphonse schooled his expression. While an astronomically stupid move, it did not quite rank with some of the crazier things he'd heard in Amestris over the years. He could feel a shift in the Headmaster's chi. Mei hadn't gotten around to teaching him much about how to read a person's mood in the Dragon's Pulse, but he would eat his pointy hat if Dumbledore hadn't had a deeply emotional reason for acting rashly.

He could at least see the way his chi flow tensed, almost as though in reaction to injury. "I see," said Alphonse. "Zat explains zee radial nature of zee damage." Mei would be proud of him and Xiao Mei would affectionately nibble at his finger.

"Yes. The curse activated as soon as I had the ring settled into place."

And then rather important sticking point made itself clear in Alphonse's mind. "Wait. You have one of zee horcruxes?"

"I have two, dear boy. I have the ring and I have a diary that Mr. Potter destroyed in his second year."

Alphonse could not quite deal with that statement. "I sought you said zat Mr. Potter didn't know about zee horcruxes until zis week?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I'm afraid that your brother has pointed out many mistakes in my handling of young Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley was possessed by the diary in her first year here, and Mr. Potter took it upon himself to rescue her and the school from it. I told him that it was a preserved memory."

A preserved memory. Lovely. Al did the math – Harry would have been twelve when he was deemed too young to know the truth. Brother had been aiming a spear at Fuhrer Bradley's throat at twelve. He carefully tamped down the wave of bitterness. "Do you still have zem? It might be useful to look at the state zee vessels are in once zee soul fragments have been eradicated."

That was the statement that finally got Dumbledore to pull his hand away. It wasn't a soft movement. It could not have been comfortable. Alphonse decided to follow up before Dumbledore could reply. "Zis makes you uncomfortable, despite zee fact zat I am one of zee foremost authorities on soul binding. Why?"

"I'm afraid I do not have them," said the Headmaster. But years of dealing with Amestrian politicians, Mei, his brother (the list could go on) prepared Alphonse to readily detect bullshit. He pondered his next move. He could call the Headmaster on it, but that would not be the most subtle approach. He could probably pretend to take Professor Dumbledore on his word and send Eve to steal them, but Alphonse was firmly against putting his familiar in danger for his sake. Just no.

He could break in later – he was certain that Ed would agree to join him in that shenanigan. He was a new wizard, for sure, but maybe he could find a way around the wards? And worst-case scenario, he could fight his way out.

The scenarios only got more ridiculous, so Alphonse stopped himself before his mental pictures could reach Mei-levels of fantastic. "You're lying," he said, simply. "You simply do not want to share zem wiz others. I'll need to know why, if zee reason has anything to do with preserving zee health of zee investigator, but would you feel better if you could monitor any work I do with zem? Zey would not have to leave zis office."

"I'm afraid I'm not lying, dear boy. I didn't want to be holding onto deeply cursed materials."

Alphonse steadily held his gaze and decided to lie through his teeth himself. "I can tell you're lying – while alchemy utilizes tectonic energy, alkahestry utilizes something called zee Dragon's Pulse. It's an energy zat flows in all living things, sometimes called chi. I've been examining your chi-flow through the last half hour, and in it, I can read when a person is lying."

Dumbledore met Al's eyes, and something in Alphonse told him to calmly think of nothing but the wide white open expanse of the gate. Of Truth's wild grin and his forbidden knowledge. He smiled serenely and carefully whitewashed the outer surface of his thoughts.

The Headmaster averted his gaze. Al wasn't quite sure what had happened there, but he rather thought that he'd won. He did not let the serene smile drop even as he examined Professor Dumbledore's expression. Characteristically, it gave nothing away.

"They are dangerous artifacts, Mr. Elric. And you are but a boy." Something in his composure slipped, the twinkle in his blue eyes became distinctly less than merry.

"I am," said Al. "I'm a boy who's performed human transmutation and spent six years wis my consciousness split between zee physical and ethereal planes. I'm a boy who, despite not even being in zee military, helped a military coup. I vas fourteen and fifteen at zee time, but it was what was right and necessary. If zere is any boy capable of doing what is right and what is necessary, Professor, it is me. And my brozer."

Alphonse had watched Ed grow progressively antsier under Frau Weasley's motherly eye. Al had soaked up the attention, reveled in it. He hadn't realized that he himself was growing deeply uncomfortable with the parental lenses of the wizards until just this very moment. He hadn't realized that he was angry.

Why was he angry? It was a question to revisit when he was curled in his bed and Eve was settled comfortably against his stomach. Whatever the reason, Alphonse realized that he was. He was angry. He was growing angrier by the minute.

And here, anger would not help him. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. Zat was uncalled for."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I think you have a right to be feeling deeply frustrated with your change in situation. It's not every day that a young man goes from having very much personal and political autonomy to being a student at a private boarding school for teenagers who are very much still children."

Alphonse felt his temper flare again, tamped it firmly down under a layer of serenity. "Even zee most coddled child here lost a classmate to murder not two years ago, if I've heard rightly."

"Traumatized children are still children, Mr. Elric," he said.

"Was Harry ever a child?" said Alphonse, suddenly determined to be pettier than Ed in a meeting with Colonel Mustang. "He doesn't talk to me much, and it is clear zat I'm not yet in zee in group of his friends. But even what little I've heard about his upbringing is disturbing."

"Perhaps you are right, but there are compelling reasons why Mr. Potter's situation cannot be changed."

That was when Alphonse realized that he'd been willfully distracted from the matter at hand. "Harry aside," he said. "I will need to see zee former vessels you've kept, and I'll need to see zee item zat cursed you. It will probably help me cure you."

Dumbledore looked abruptly lost and Alphonse wondered how often Ed saw this expression in every person who ever felt remotely responsible for him. Probably often. Alphonse didn't know how he felt, comparing his own behavior to Ed's. But in this instance – when in an Ed situation, maybe he should just do as Ed would do. But. You know. Politely.

"Keeping secrets from zee people in your corner is never zee greatest idea," Alphonse said. "We had an intelligence officer, back home. Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, he was zee best in his field until he was killed. Despite managing Colonel Mustang's intelligence, he was one of the most vibrant and open men I ever knew. And unlike many people? He never hid anything from Ed zat Ed needed to know."

"Is that what killed him?" said Dumbledore. "Because in my experience, secrets are vital to effective plans."

The anger was bubbling up under Alphonse's surface of tranquility again. He tamped it back down and focused his eyes sorrowfully on the table. "He died trying to get vital information to Colonel Mustang and to Ed. But definitely not because he overshared. All of Amestris would have died we hadn't managed to uncover zee information he'd tried to get to us. He knew to leave a failsafe."

"All of Amestris," said Dumbledore. "Is that your country, in your other world? Never mind that. I've already made a failsafe. I've made a few of them."

Now Alphonse knew that saying the entire country would have died sounded like hyperbole, but in this case, it was entirely true. "And if you show Ed and I zee vessels, if you show me zee one zat cursed you, you may never have to rely on a failsafe. We literally cannot go home until we've brought Voldemort to zee Gate. Of anyone involved, you can probably trust our motive zee most. I want to go home, Professor. I miss our friends. Zee Colonel. Zee Hughes family. Winry and Granny Pinako. Mei. I want to explore Zing and really learn Alkahestry. If it isn't too presumptuous, I want to be Mei's ally in zee courts as Ling ascends to zee throne."

"You're in love," said Dumbledore. Something in his expression eased, as though love was a motivation he could understand. Alphonse leaned forward onto his elbows, not quite certain how to respond.

"I'm almost sixteen. Mei is almost twelve, if zee timeline is running parallel. We're just coming off a really high-stakes and traumatizing situation. I don't sink either one of us is ready to be in love." It was the complete and honest truth, but something in Al's chest ached at the words. So he said, "But we'd like to find out in a few years, when we know zat our bond is made from more zan trauma. When we're a little older."

The Headmaster placed his healthy hand on Alphonse's forearm. "That's probably wise of you. Merlin, but I've jumped too fast into things without thinking. Just. Don't let a good thing slip away, either." Dumbledore paused, tilting his head. "Does this mean that the 'master alkahestrist' who taught you was only eleven years old at the time?"

Alphonse was indignant for her. "Look. Mei had her reasons to learn early. She's a younger daughter of zee Emperor of Zing srough one of his lower ranked concubines. If she wanted to wield any political power whatsoever, she had to bos earn it and be on zee constant lookout for poison in her tea and a knife in her back. She chose zee study of alkahestry to set her apart from her very many half-siblings and as a defensive tool." Professor Dumbledore was growing more wide-eyed by the word, but Alphonse stopped himself from continuing on the realization that the headmaster had derailed the conversation by talking about his love life, of all things. He shook his head. "So, you see. To ever find out if Mei and I have somesing real, I have to get home. I'd help you anyway, but I have a soroughly selfish reason for it also. I'm not going to betray you."

Dumbledore let go of Alphonse's forearm, slipped his hand into his robe and brought out his wand. With a flourish, a hat floated down from a shelf. Alphonse's own hat flew off, landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. Professor Dumbledore then placed the new one on Al's head.

Belatedly, Al realized that it was the Sorting Hat. Hello little Alchemist, said the hat, somehow speaking Resembool Amestrian and sounding almost disturbingly like the Truth.

Hello, said Al, always polite even in the strangest of circumstances. Is there a reason you've been placed on my head?

You tell me, said the hat. Albus didn't mention anything – ah. I see you've been talking about Tom Riddle's horcruxes. He must be having trouble performing his usual legilimency on you and wants to know if you're trustworthy.

Performing what, said Alphonse, indignant for perhaps the fifth time that night.

You know what, child, said the hat. Ah – here we are. Your motivations. The hat fell into a contemplative silence, and Al realized how deeply the hat could read his mind. He was horrified and also horrified to realize that the Headmaster was a legilimens. So that was what the eye twinkle was about.

Take me off your head and reach inside me, said the hat. Alphonse did so, hand grasping in the fabric. Abruptly, he felt a hard edge where there hadn't been one before. He wrapped his fingers around what he recognized as a corner of a rectangular prism. He tugged and out came a box that was rather heavier than the hat had been.

The alchemist in him shivered at the casual violation of the laws of physics. Magic. Dumbledore looked at the hat, looked at the box, face trying at careful serenity but falling short of the mark. Why was he so afraid of showing the former horcrux vessels?

Alphonse could not even pretend to know, so he carefully placed the box on the desk brushed his fingertips along the edge of the lid. He glanced at Professor Dumbledore for confirmation, gently lifted the lid at his nod.

In it lay a plain black diary with a hole pierced through the center and an unassuming ring. "He made the diary while he was still at Hogwarts – I think the ring, too," said Dumbledore. "I'm hoping Harry can get Professor Slughorn to confirm that for me along with a few other things."

"Harry who you only told about zee horcruxes zis week?" Al wasn't going to let the Headmaster forget that detail. Dumbledore looked at Alphonse reproachfully, and Alphonse sighed inwardly. No need to pick a fight when Dumbledore was showing him the vessels. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself morphing into a taller and more attractive copy of Ed. "Sank you for zis."

He picked up the diary first, deciding to go in sequence of their destruction. The wizard in Al could tell there was no active magic tied to it anymore. But it didn't change the traces he could feel, all the same.

Putting it under alchemical analysis, he could feel the makeup of paper and leather. As he examined the wound itself, he recognized traces of a potent toxin. He hadn't been planning on outright touching the torn-out center of the diary, but now he had some empirical evidence that it would be a bad idea.

Alchemically, it was just a diary that had been pierced through with the fang of a massive snake. He switched from tectonic energy to the Dragon's Pulse. In this way of sensing, Alphonse could feel something off about the item's chi.

Now paper and leather only have a little chi, anyway. They're only parts of a once-living being, nothing still sentient about them. But even in the item's small amount of chi, Alphonse could sense that something had once been deeply wrong. The source of the disturbance was long gone, but the chi still feebly twisted around where it once had been. Desperate to avoid it. Alphonse took his hand off the diary, shuddering.

"Horcruxes are no laughing matter, Mr. Elric," said Dumbledore.

"I can see zat," said Al, subtly shaking out his hand. He put the diary aside, reached for the ring.

"Be careful with that," said Dumbledore. His voice was sharp, panicked.

"I sought zee curse was removed," said Al.

"It was."

Alphonse could see at a glance that the Headmaster was forcing his shoulders to settle, forcing his face into a semblance of serenity. Well. He supposed that was normal, facing an object that had so severely wounded you. "I will be careful, Professor."

And he was. It was only gingerly that Alphonse brushed his fingers over the surface of the ring, seeking out its component elements. Again, through a completely alchemical lens, it was a normal ring. He found the metals; he found the stone. He once again found traces of the venom of a great snake. This ring, however, did not have damages consistent with a fang. Instead, it had only a slender split down the middle of its engraved carving.

He wondered what had changed, in the delivery of the horcrux's demise.

Once again, Alphonse switched from alchemy to alkahestry. And it was here that he found something he was absolutely not expecting to see. Unlike the diary, which held only the traces of the cow that went into its leather and the tree that went into its paper and the effort that went into its construction, the ring had a pulsing and vibrant chi of its own.

Alphonse was sure that Mei could have sensed it from across the room. He looked back up at the Headmaster. "What is zis? Why does it have its own chi signature?"

Dumbledore's eyes grew cold. "Because the ring is not only a horcrux. What it is bears no meaning on your business here, so focus on what is necessary for your research."

"What it is could have amplified zee curse, Professor. I should know what it is."

"No. It's too dangerous."

Alphonse felt a piece of his soul shrivel up in anguish. "Too dangerous – so I shouldn't know exactly what it is I'm handling? What if I trigger it on accident?"

"Be careful," said Dumbledore, like that was viable advice. What an asshole. Alphonse was, in fact, ready to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Gently, of course. The poor man was dying.

"Be careful," said Alphonse, looking down on the ring and wondering what on earth it did. Maybe a master Alkahestrist could tell from its chi signature, but Al was no master Alkahestrist. He just wasn't. For the millionth time since arriving in this strange world, he wished Mei was with him.

Sometimes that desire was because of how good she was at navigating foreign countries, with or without significant skill in the local language. Sometimes it was because he just desperately missed her. Right now, it was because he would bet five pounds that she would know exactly what to do with this strange ring. That she would be able to guess at its purpose and its level of sentience with a quick examination.

He wanted his friend and he wanted his teacher. (Not Teacher, mind you. That would just be chaos.) He looked back at Dumbledore. "Can you tell me why it has the chi signature of a mildly sentient being, then?"

Dumbledore's expression was filled with a meaning that Alphonse could not determine. It was a deep feeling – the old man's eyes seemed to be brimming with it as he looked at the ring in Al's hands. "Is it sentient? I did wonder."

"And why was such a powerful artifact turned into a horcrux at all? Zat seems like a recipe for disaster."

"It belonged to his grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt. I don't think either of them even knew what it was, Mr. Elric."

"So, he zought it was just a ring?"

"An old and expensive ring, perhaps. But yes. Just a ring."

Alphonse did not think the ring looked expensive. Its materials, as far as he could tell, certainly weren't expensive. It was a simple stone, smooth and round as though tumbled by a violent river. Just a river stone. It was set in gold, certainly. And perhaps that made it expensive enough, but it wasn't especially pure gold. Alloyed generously with other materials, he suspected that the band was mostly gold only to ensure longevity.

And sure enough, despite the ancient look and feel of the ring, it showed no signs of having experienced the march of time. There weren't telltale dings in the metal, no sign of any sort of wear. It was almost as though the ring had just been made, then brought forward in time. Alphonse shook his head – he knew from his reading that magical artifacts sometimes protected themselves. Other times they were carefully protected by charms and wards – there were plenty of mundane (well, magical but not outrageous given Al's shifting baseline for incredulity) explanations for why wizarding artifacts could be so incredibly perfect.

"Right," said Al. "So what did you say it was again?"

Dumbledore did not look amused. "I didn't."

Never in his life had Al so deeply wanted to channel Ed. But that would be a mistake, he knew. Whether or not Ed's methods were effective, they weren't Al's. He looked away from the professor, examined the ring. "What's zee symbol on it? Zat zee crack bisects?"

There was a stretch of silence. "Today it's mostly known as the symbol of Gellert Grindelwald, the dark lord that terrorized Europe when Tom Riddle was still a schoolboy. They have similar rhetoric in a lot of ways, which always made me wonder why the purebloods of England rallied behind Tom just after they'd vocally eschewed Gellert. I suppose he must have been too foreign for their tastes."

Alphonse wondered at the sudden sad softness in Dumbledore's voice, but with so many secrets to find out, Al decided that this one was none of his business. "You say that it's known as his symbol today. What did it used to be known as? Given zee age of zis stone, I wouldn't reckon zat it was made with today's understanding of zee image."

Professor Dumbledore tilted his head to the ceiling, suddenly looking heartbreakingly frail. "Well, Grindelwald took the symbol from an old legend about three brothers and their meeting with Death. The symbol represents the three artifacts Death gave the brothers, in return for foiling his trick. Of course, the legend is supposed to be a lesson on hubris, for two of the brothers ended up dying directly because of the gift they received." He stopped himself abruptly there, and Alphonse felt sure that Dumbledore was compelled to say more on the subject, so he waited. But he did not.

Alphonse turned his attention once again to the ring, deciding to mark down the symbol carved into its stone. He labeled it 'Three brothers and death,' before absentmindedly asking, "May I see your hand again, Professor?"

Dumbledore started in his chair, settled. "Of course, dear boy." He brought his hand back to the desk, and Alphonse gently took it in his left hand. The headmaster craned his neck – presumably to get a better look at what was in Alphonse's notes. Al decided not to obscure them. Dumbledore looked almost resigned by whatever he saw in them. Given how reticent he'd been about sharing any sort of information at all, Al decided that it probably meant he was on the right track.

Dumbledore flinched when Alphonse brought the ring closer, but he did not pull away again. Alphonse closed his eyes, seeking out the Dragon's Pulse once again – by Merlin, he'd return to Amestris a better alkahestrist than when he left it, even despite a distinct lack of alkahestrists to learn from. Maybe Mei would be proud.

Al shook his head. He wasn't helping anyone by getting distracted. He focused on the ring's chi signature, found that it too avoided the injury that had killed the horcrux, as though it could not stand to be near its parasite. Al compared the overall size and shape of the ring to the writhing knot of chi at the base of Dumbledore's ring finger. They did seem to be about the same size. Alphonse could feel sure that Dumbledore had not handed him a red herring. That was good. (He was nearly assured at the revelation that the ring was also some sort of deeply magical semi-sentient artifact. Still. It never hurt to double-check.)

"I won't put it back on you," said Al. "I promise. I also sink zat uncurling your fingers enough to do it might break zem off. Please be careful about zat, Professor."

Dumbledore did not seem astonished by that news, and Alphonse was relieved.

"You know, my sister called me Al when I was young," said Dumbledore. "We're a sort of name-twin, you and I."

Alphonse smiled at the headmaster absently, most of his attention still on the knot of chi in his hand. He'd flipped his journal back open and was sketching out the relative sizes of the chi malfunction and the ring. "I didn't know zat," he said. "I'm glad we are."

He shifted from the size issue to the ring itself. Of course, the Dragon's Pulse didn't only flow through all living things, it also connected them. Even so, the ring seemed to radiate chi into the world at large in a way that was unusual for both a typical ring of its construction and for its semi-sentience. He didn't know how to feel about it. He could see already a sort of bleed between his own chi and the rings, and while chi was always exchanged, Al decided that he didn't like the nature of this particular flow. He did his best to render it in pencil as exactly as possible.

Drawing out precise diagrams had always been Winry's thing, but meticulously chalking transmutation circles had made Alphonse a dab hand himself. Once he'd drawn it out to his satisfaction, he took one last look at Dumbledore's hand, trying to get a better read on that tangle of chi. He knew better than to try and fix it now – he wanted to run the oxidation issue by Ed before he tried to heal the flesh. And if he tried to straighten out the chi without also fixing the flesh, the healthy line wouldn't have anywhere to go.

"I wish you'd consider amputation," Alphonse said, snapping his journal shut. "Admittedly, we don't have Winry here to build you an arm and you're older zan most people who undergo automail surgery anyway. But, I'm most optimistic about zat mesod." He gingerly placed the ring back into its box, gave the diary one last inspection before doing the same.

Dumbledore gave him an dismissively amused look, brought his shriveled hand back to himself. With his left hand, he took the horcrux box from Alphonse and placed it back in the Sorting Hat. The merriment twinkled through a layer of exhaustion; Alphonse realized the time. It was well past curfew. He looked at the Headmaster of Hogwarts carefully, stowed his journal back in the inside breast pocket of his robe, put his own pointed hat back atop his head.

He didn't appreciate just how violently it had been thrown to the floor. Al was new to this whole wizard thing – he wanted to take the associated symbols seriously! Standing from his chair, he said, "I sink we're at a good stopping point for zee night, do you agree?"

Dumbledore nodded graciously and gracefully. "Good night, young Mr. Elric."

Alphonse gave him a well-crafted smile in return. "You as well, Professor. I will run zee equations wis Bruder over zee next few days. Professor Snape's stasis charm hand should last while we work out a safe and final solution."

"Of course," said Professor Dumbledore. "Take your time. I appreciate you looking at all."

The man was certain he was going to die, wasn't he? Well. That was one way to manage your expectations. Al extended his left hand for a shake, was gratified when Dumbledore took it. "Good night."

He straightened his hat one last time before setting off back to Ravenclaw Tower. It was well past curfew, but no one gave him any trouble. And that dear Mrs. Norris even gently butted her head against his leg about halfway through the walk! As much as the meeting had been unsettling, unexpected kitty-love alone was worth it.

With any luck, Alphonse had made some ground, too. That was also good.

Word Count: 7206

Posted 7/2/2020

Thanks to Guest for reminding me about the teacher dueling tournament I was gonna write for this fic. No lie, I forgot all about it. Because you reminded me? It's on its way!

Review to point out other plots I may have dropped along the way! And also to tell me what you think about Alphonse's surprisingly long conversation with his fellow "Al." (Why on Earth do conversations end up being such long scenes?)