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Chapter 8: Obliviate

Harry's hands were clean. He hadn't touched anything apart from Winry, after all. There wasn't a sign of blood, no stink, no… nothing. Harry's hands were simply clean.

And still, he felt all the mud and grime that was stuck to them, cursed by the soul of every single person murdered in Risenbool, every man, every woman, every child… and Winry was walking just a step behind his right shoulder, supervising him and what he did with the bodies, as though to ensure that he would be respectful towards them. He was. As much as transfiguring them into gravestones and levitating them to the graveyard allowed him.

Every time he turned around she disappeared – there only was the odd movement he caught through the corner of his eye while he was concentrating on some kind of magic. She did not say a word and after a while he was sure it was only his conscience haunting him… his conscience and him were the only entities present in the dead village. And so he walked through it as an Augurey, a wand held in each hand and chanelling a flow of magic which didn't seem to cease…

And in the end there was no one but Winry left. He didn't know why – maybe because he knew her name – but he made the effort of burying the girl properly. It was a rare show of sentiment from him, but he could imagine that should Edward ever want to visit her grave, it better be worth his friend.

When it was done he went back to the house and took what Winry wouldn't have given him, but Edward was going to need. The plans for his prosthetic limbs – 'the Automail'. Clutching the rolls under his arm, he Apparated back to 'Central'.

This time he crossed all the distance in a single Apparition and actually arrived correctly. In front of Edward's house. Dreading the grim duty that was awaiting him inside, but not allowing himself to stall, Harry resulotely walked towards the entrance. There was a dead cat on the street – overrun by a car – and he couldn't help but shake his head at it. A death so… vain. There was a war – he gathered enough information to put together that the place they were in – 'Amestris' – was in war, too. And that it somehow concerned Edward more than an average citizen. He didn't pry further… Point was, there was a war, and people were being killed. And someone drove over a cat. Ridiculous. Pointless.

'I've got to stop that…'

o

Edward was used to the front door being slammed shut, but when the droning of the blonde boy about his parents and food and clothes and some weirdos that were his schoolmates or something (of which nothing made much sense) was the only sound for so long, even the quiet click was enough to alert him to the other presence in the house.

Just as he anticipated, a while later the bedroom door slid open and a head popped inside. A pair of green eyes skimmed the room and stopped on Malfoy, who was sitting on the floor next to Ed's bed.

There was something very, very wrong.

Ed had already opened his mouth to speak, but Potter disappeared from the doorway and left him to suffer Malfoy's presence on his own. He wished the boy an immediate physical harm and returned to sulking, which the infuriating loony in his room didn't mind at all.

Fortunately for Potter (and for Edward as well, though he refused to acknowledge it), the man returned a while later.

The trouble was that now, in the daylight and having the chance to look at him properly, Ed could see that… that Potter was no longer dark-haired. His hair was the same mess as it had been before, with stray locks obscuring his eyes, it just was… white. Not grey as by old people, it was the pearly white of snow only the eldest of eldest ever reached. It contrasted obscenely with the seventeen-year-old face and the emerald green gaze.

Ed was so shocked that he couldn't find words. Somewhere in the corner of his mind he was aware that he should have probably started a rant by now, but the dread – for he knew something terrible had happened to affect Potter like this, even though there was nothing in his behaviour that pointed towards that – within him paralysed him.

Potter was carrying a small bowl of porridge. Ed knew well that there had been nothing in the house of which even a semblance of porridge could be created… maybe with Alchemy, but these two were no Alchemists. It was suspicious… the next suspicious thing he noticed was that his clothes fit Potter, even though he could have sworn that the man was much taller than himself.

Not even the ache it would elicit could stop him from shivering.

"He says you should eat a lot to regain your strength, but you should eat it slowly…" Malfoy's words this time actually reached Ed's brain, and he nodded to Potter as he crossed the room and put the bowl on the table. He was helped with sitting up and it didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have. Ed's anger slowly dissipated, and he actually half-smirked – if only to mask his fear – accepting the bowl. He was used to eating with his left hand.

Potter didn't smirk back.

"Were you aways mute?" Ed asked and put the spoon in his mouth.

"Potter? He used to talk waaay too much. That's before they blasted his tongue." Malfoy stood up, took the other boy's jaw in his hand and jerked his mouth open. Edward got a glimpse of an empty cavern before squeezing his eyes shut. It wasn't exactly something he would like to see.

"I never used to speak a lot…" sitting down, he received a glare from the white haired man.

"Ok, so I did, but not as big lot as I do now. Got to speak for the both of us, you know." He sighed.

"Still, it's a shame they blasted it. Kissing him now isn't nearly half the fun it used to be… he was talented from the beginning and learned from the Master – that's me… Are you a good kisser?" The question caught Edward by surprise and before he could think of an answer, the Malfoy kid scrambled to his knees, leant over the edge of the bed and french-kissed him. Apart from feeling very uncomfortable in the situation, the action caused a pressure on the remnants of his automail and sent a wave of agony through his already numbed nerves. He didn't sense anything but the searing, white hot pain.

"A fairly good kisser," stated Malfoy after pulling away. Edward forced his eyes to open and caught a glimpse of Potter leaving the room.

"Doesn't it… hurt him?" he asked quietly. Malfoy bethought it.

"Yeah, I think so. But he does a lot of things that hurt me – letting his tongue be blasted's the least. After a while you can get used to it. I can train you. You could be one Hell of a kisser, a lot better than Potter ever was – just don't tell him-"

Potter re-entered the room carrying another bowl of porridge and waved his hand dismissively. Ed was sure that the man didn't give a damn about which one of them was a better kisser. In fact, Edward didn't either. Someone had two hands, someone a tongue.

They shared a glance over the kneeling blonde and understood what each other had to say, without speaking, writing, or gesturing. Someone kept his sanity. Though Potter undeniably intrigued Edward, it was obvious that he loved the rambling boy. And was going to love him even if that rambling boy was reduced to a stuttering heap on the floor.

Potter passed the bowl to Malfoy and gestured him to eat. The blonde nodded, didn't give the porridge a second glance, but put it in front of himself.

"So, Edward, do you want me to train you?" Potter raised an eyebrow.

"Not… now…" Ed wasn't keen on another agonising shot of pain like the one a while before.

"Maybe someday…"Malfoy concluded. "I dunno how long are we staying… Potter, how long are we staying?" He didn't wait for a response (it was a shrug, but he, being turned in the opposite direction, couldn't see it), stuffed a disgustingly gigantic spoon of porridge in his mouth and continued rambling.

"Uh eih ure oungh eough." He became momentarily distracted by the food and eyed (who Ed supposed was) his boyfriend just to receive another shrug.

o

Finally.

Ed had already started thinking he too was going to say farewell to his sanity, when Malfoy simply fell asleep in the middle of a word. Potter, alerted probably by the sudden silence, walked in the room and took in the scene. He winked at Edward, gathered the slumbering blonde in his arms and with unsuspected ease carried him away.

It was only a slight bit of surprise when the white-haired man returned a while later and sat on the side of Ed's bed. A steady, warm hand pulled the covers down to his middle. For a while he couldn't decide what was it he was afraid of most.

"What happened out there?"

Potter ignored the request, just as he ignored the pad and pencil on the table. He pushed his bangs out of his face and captured Ed's gaze. Behind those green eyes there was such a sharp mind that it could cut through your soul if you weren't cautious enough.

Cautiousness was never Edward's thing.

"Tell me what happened-"

'I was in Risenbool.'

Edward gasped and jerked, and then bit his tongue to stiffle the outcry of pain. Those words… they hadn't been spoken aloud! It was like… like… as if Potter pressed his thought inside Ed's had and… then the true implications of what he said hit him.

He frowned, trying to process it, but unsuccessfully. He wanted to believe that Potter was lying, but Potter wasn't lying. Hell, Potter wasn't even saying anything – of course he wasn't, he couldn't say anything!

'You must not speak to anybody about what I am going to show you,' Potter stated mentally, and though it wasn't more than a thought Ed could tell it was quiet yet resolute.

"W-what are you-"

'Promise.'

"I-"

'Promise!'

Potter's scowl on the poor, already freaked-out Ed had much the same effect as Mustang's glare would have had.

"I promise."

Potter relaxed, though not as much as to allow himself a smile.

'You will have to be patient, because I'm starting at the beginning- no! You will be patient.'

Ed shut his mouth.

'We – me and Draco – are wizards. That is how we were able to get lost in the spatio-temporal continuum in the first place.'

'Right. Wizards.' Ed's mind just accepted that the same way he would accept a fairy-tale. Something he had to refer to so he wouldn't be confused about the storyline, but not a part of reality.

'We were supposed –I was supposed – to destroy a guy that was trying to terrorise and rule the world. I won't bother you with deails. He's a wizard too.'

Ed cracked a grin that had nothing to do with happiness.

"When you say 'wizard', you mean...?"

Potter sighed and rubbed his temple.

'That I can do magic. Erase your pain. Talk to you in your head. Travel to Risenbool and back in a few seconds.'

The mention of Risenbool made Ed decide that he didn't care what the Hell these two were, he had to know what happened. But when he tried to ask, he realised he was unable to produce any sound.

'Ed…' Potter's – and consequently Edward's – mind filled with pain and disgust and self-loathing, 'I failed. He still… lives. And he's here.'

'How do you-' his eyes widened 'Winry-'

The white locks entwined around his fingers as Potter hid his face in his hands.

'Where's Winry!' Ed ignored the pain and launched himself on Potter, wringing the fingers of his only hand around his neck…

…before he blacked out.