Wow. Now that I've neared the 10K words mark, it seems a lot of you have gotten serious. Some of these reviews are amazing. It feels great that you all like this story enough to care about plot holes and stuff. As such, I've decided to work on this chapter much earlier, and reward you all for your enthusiasm. While I don't agree with the practice of holding stories hostage for reviews, I am motivated to write more by your reviews, and will not deny that there is a direct relationship between how many reviews I get and how much I care about writing the next chapter.
Enough of my blatant begging.
On with the story!
Albus Dumbledore turned quickly away from the Mirror, silently cursing his stupidity. It was one thing to dream, but another to have said dream shoved back into his face, mocking him for what he could never accomplish. It was a moment of weakness that made him look, nothing else. He'd have to be more careful in the future. Now, where was he?
Ah, yes. Moving the Mirror of Erised down to the Third Floor Corridor. A call for Fawkes, a flash of phoenix fire, and one more thing was crossed off his to-do list. Now if only he could get rid of the niggling doubt in the back of his head, telling him he'd forgotten something. Oh well. Lemon drops could calm his soul, and soothe his worries.
Edward blinked, momentarily blinded by the burst of light outside his cell. It had looked like the entire room was on fire, but that wasn't right. Old Man was still standing there when he'd disappeared, and not panicking. Must be another illusion. A trick, like making yourself invisible. Instant transportation. That was a problem for another time.
This new room was-surprise!- stone. It was completely bare, except for the doorway on the opposite wall, which seemed to be filled with black fire. Edward shrugged off his new surroundings and turned back to his most recent book- a dictionary of the English language. He felt he might be needing it.
It was a few months later that Edward had another visitor. The man was thin, wore a turban of all things, and very pale, as if he'd been permanently scarred by some horror. But his eyes shone with the same greed as all the others.
Then something happened that Ed had never expected. The pale man, instead of staring straight ahead, turned and looked directly at him. It was almost as if he could see him. The man turned to the glass, pulled out his stick, and muttered some long string of words. He obviously didn't get the result he was expecting, as he stepped back with a frustrated look on his face. He swiped his stick, and a jet of purplish-black light issued forth, before impacting the glass. It, too, had no effect.
Edward was having a great time watching the man expend himself trying to break the glass. He knew the effort was futile, and so took great pleasure in visually mocking the man whenever his latest attempt failed. It started off with a small grin here, a snicker there. As he noticed the anger becoming evident on the man's face, he began to blatantly insult him, with hand gestures and facial expressions universally insulting, no matter where in the multiverse one comes from. Pride helped him, offering suggestions whenever his imagination began to run out. All in all, it was the most fun he'd had in years, and in the back of his mind, he hoped to infuriate the man to the point where he actually did break the glass, if such a thing were possible.
But for now, he'd settle for laughing maniacally as the man in the turban went for another round.
Harry Potter was not as brave as everyone liked to think. While he was no Ravenclaw, he wasn't about to charge into a room where a Dark Wizard was lying in wait. And so he stepped lightly through the black flames, ready to duck and roll at the first sign of a spell.
As he exited the fire, he could have been at a dead run for all the attention he attracted. The figure in the middle of the room was standing in front of what seemed to be the Mirror of Erised (So that's where it went) and trying his best to blast it to smithereens. As Harry examined the scene closer, though, he realized that the man in front of him was most definitely not Snape.
His gasp was timed, according to his luck, with one of the breaks Quirrel took in trying to blast apart the glass, and as such he was heard quite clearly. Quirrel, belying his previous air of incompetence, whipped around and fired off an Incarcerous before Harry could blink. As he had learned nothing of shielding all year, the poor boy could do nothing but be bound up and lie before his captor.
Quirrel started off into a diabolic speech, waxing eloquent about how evil and clever he was, how perfect his cover, and on and on. Harry tuned him out for most of it, having heard much of the same thing when listening in on Dudley while his fat cousin watched the telly. He did, however, pick up some important bits, such as
A- Voldemort wasn't quite dead yet
B- Snape was actually a good guy, and
C- Quirrel was having a bit of trouble getting at the Stone.
These facts, when presented in megalomaniac speech form, took about ten minutes to communicate. In his boredom, Harry twisted his neck, trying to see into the Mirror where Dumbledore had supposedly hidden the Stone.
True desire is a funny thing. While the specifications on removal that Dumbledore put into the Stone's sealing said that one couldn't want to actually use the Stone, they said nothing about beings who had incorporated the Stone. And desire being such a malleable, transient thing, changing so often, what Harry saw while bound and helpless was not him hiding the Stone. No, he was quite sure that if Quirrel hadn't gotten to it yet, it was quite safe. The only thing young Harry wanted was for somebody to come get him out of this mess.
The Mirror happily, if such a word can be applied to an artifact, obliged.
Edward was watching the scene before him with not a little mounting concern. He had no idea why Scrawny had shown up, but by the fact he had been bound up and was being spoken at by the other man with anger issues, he was guessing that mortal peril was on the menu. Then he saw the boy twist, and stare right at the glass.
For the first time, the room shifted without Ed's intending it to. The chair he had been taunting turban man from heaved, and threw him directly at the painfully indestructible window. Right before the imminent, head-bashing impact, the glass shimmered and disappeared.
And that is how Edward Elric, after over fifty years of imprisonment in the Mirror of Erised, tumbled out of the glass face first in an undignified heap.
Dumbledore sighed as he entered the main ICW chamber. Politics were, while he was good at it, very tedious at times. He silently hoped that the meeting would end quickly so he could get back to running his school. He settled into his chair, bracing himself for hours of politicking and posturing.
"Albus!"
He turned to see his friend, the German Minister of Magic, striding towards him. At least he'd have a decent conversation.
"How are you doing, my friend?" Albus inquired. The serious man brightened briefly.
"Oh, very good. Those blasted reparations from Grindelwald's war are almost completely paid off!" he replied. "Ten billion galleons, I ask you!"
Dumbledore smiled and nodded vaguely, knowing that the subject was still touchy with the German. Then he stopped smiling as his friend's words caused several memories to surface. Especially one memory in particular.
The normally dignified Supreme Mugwump leapt to his feet, and near-sprinted out of the room. The German Minister sat in his chair, internally sulking.
"If he wanted to stop talking, he could have just said so."
Harry watched as the strange man from the mirror slowly stood up, talking to himself in a language Harry couldn't quite make out. He started to walk towards Harry, straight past Quirrel, who seemed to be stunned and enraged, and was currently trying to form a word.
The golden man crouched next to Harry, and asked him a question in his not-quite understandable language.
"I'm sorry, I can't understand you," Harry apologized. "Can you speak English?"
The man immediately scowled.
"Only a little," he said in heavily accented English. "You are alright?"
Harry nodded. The man relaxed just a bit. He opened his mouth to respond, but then Quirrel reminded them both of his presence.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The spell streaked across the small space between its caster and its target. Harry watched, horrified, as his rescuer managed a half-turn before being struck, and slumped forwards, clearly dead.
"You killed him…" Harry whispered. Honestly, he didn't know why he was so surprised. After all, the man had been trying to off him most of the year.
"Of course, you stupid boy. Now, with that little worm gone, how to get the Philosopher's Stone,,,"
The body of the once-dead man stirred. His shadow shifted, twisted, and rose up with him, showing countless violet eyes and mouths with far too many teeth. Harry suddenly experienced the same sort of feeling as when he had met Fluffy. This was the primal fear of prey in the face of a much more powerful predator. This, in front of him, was raw power.
"And who," the thing asked, "Are you calling small, turban man?"
Quirrel turned to face the new threat. Either the man was insanely stupid, or he just didn't get how dead he was.
"What in the Dark Lord's name are you?" he demanded. "I killed you! I saw you die! The Avada Kedavra is absolute!"
The shadowy being seemed to pause for a moment. Then it began to laugh.
"Oh, but that's the best part, mortal, "it said. "I did die. And it wasn't fun. And so now I'm going to return the favor and kill you. How's that sound, hm? Equivalent Exchange and all that."
Lances of shadow shot out from the ground, tearing through Quirrel's hastily conjured shield like hot knives through an overused metaphor, and then Quirrel. His broken body was tossed to the side as the thing turned towards a still-bound Harry.
"You alright, kid?"
Harry distantly observed that it spoke with the same accent that it had before. He was snapped out of his daze when the question was repeated.
"Yes, I'm fine sir," he replied quickly. Rule number one of living with the Dursleys: Always be polite to those in power.
"Good." And with that, shadows sliced away the ropes. As Harry stood slowly up, the shadows receded back towards their owner, and his eyes switched back to gold. Gold and violet eyes. How strange.
"Sorry about Pride," the man said. "He's a little…"
He trailed off, obviously describing the effect of having a murderous entity within five feet of you.
"Anyway," he began, "I'm Edward Elric. Mind telling me where I am?"
"Hogwarts," Harry said. "What was that?"
Edward grimaced.
"That was Pride. Think of him as my worse half." The tone of the man's voice clearly stated that line of conversation was over.
"Do you mind telling me what a Hogwarts is?" he asked, silently judging the name of anything called Hogwarts.
Harry was confused.
"How do you not know what Hogwarts is? It's the only Wizarding school in Britain."
Edward's eyebrows shot up.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, disbelief obvious. "Wizards? As in magic? Which doesn't exist?"
Harry's response was cut off by a black mist rising from Quirrel's body, which then rushed out of the room, shrieking like Peeves and fast as the wind. Harry stared after the spirit, wondering if something should be done about it, before turning back to his newest friend.
"Of course, magic. How else do you make shadows move? Headmaster Dumbledore-"
His inquiry was cut off by Edward swearing very loudly and angrily in his own language.
"Dumbledore?" he asked, eyes wide and furious. Harry nodded, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. More swearing was to be heard, before Edward turned and rushed to the entry, where the black fire was still burning.
Only to be blasted backwards as Dumbledore swept through, wand drawn and eyes blazing. The wizened wizard leveled his weapon at the smoldering heap at the back of the wall. Harry felt like he was missing something.
"Sir, what's going on?"
Dumbledore spared him a glance before turning back to Ed, who had gotten dazedly back to his feet.
"So that's your game, demon?" he asked. "Using the desperate hopes of a child to escape your prison?"
Edward frowned, both hurt by the accusation of using anybody and confused as to who the man in front of him was.
"Demon is a little harsh. If you want to insult me, at least do it right. And, I'm sorry if I missed something, but who are you again? I lose track of the people who want to kill me."
"He's Dumbledore," Harry supplied helpfully.
Ed grinned at the aged man. For once, he could see the perks of outliving everyone. In his moment of satisfaction, he decided to torment his former jailer.
"So this is the man who put me in that damned prison. How's mortality treating you, gramps?"
With that remark, he clapped, and, handspringing away from a barrage of spells, slammed his palms on the stone floor. The room sprang to life, hands launching themselves at Dumbledore, shields popping up between him and his target.
Dumbledore countered the assault with ease, blasting the grasping fingers to shrapnel, and transfiguring fists into feathers. Shields were reduced to rubble under blasts of chain lighting, and Edward found himself once again dodging and running.
He clapped again, spreading his arms in front of him, and red lighting arced towards Dumbledore, who stopped his spell chain to conjure a shield. When nothing seemed to happen, he resumed his attack. Edward clapped, and sent a small spark into the enormous cloud of oxygen he had just transmuted.
An awe-inspiring gout of fire swallowed the wizard whole, along with half the room. Harry ducked for cover, all but forgotten as the battle raged. When Ed had finally blinked the last spots from his eyes, he immediately ducked and rolled to dodge a nasty-looking yellow jet of light, which sizzled against the wall behind him.
A wary standoff ensued, in which attacks were exchanged but no hits were scored. Just as suddenly as his last offensive had ended, Dumbledore launched into another attack sequence, this one mostly consisting of jets of flame and explosions, hoping that the wide-area damage would be harder to dodge. Edward resumed his ducking and blocking, until he found a pause in the chain. He clapped, and dropped to the floor, shielding himself behind a pile of rubble. Pressing his palms to the pile in front of him, he closed his eyes tight as the whole pile exploded into a cloud of very fine dust, which rapidly expanded to obscure the room.
Edward waited in the semi-gloom, grateful for his break. Suddenly, a gale of wind blasted a hole through the cloud, and revealed a wand directly in front of Edward's nose. He grinned.
"Well played, old man. Well played. I'll have to admit, you're even better than the Bastard was at this. I'd love to have a rematch sometime."
As he spoke, he surreptitiously touched his hands together behind his back, then pressed them against the wall. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. For such a vicious fighter, the demon was giving up far too easily. And so as the wall opened up in front of him to swallow his opponent, he launched one last reducto before the being disappeared.
Dumbledore heaved a sigh, and stood, surveying what had once been a nearly empty room. There were half liquefied piles of rubble smoldering around the room, and every bit of floor that hadn't been warped or blasted was covered in an inch of the fine dust. The Mirror of Erised was in ruins, apparently having taken quite too much punishment in too short of a time. He supposed it was for the best. The artifact had been nothing but trouble. He turned towards a shell shocked Harry Potter.
"Come on, my boy," he said. "Let's get you to the hospital wing."
And Edward is free to roam once more! Yes, Harry might seem a little bit OOC from the books. I call this poetic license. Edward only now recognizes Dumbledore because it has been fifty years. It's like re-meeting someone you met in high school after years. You don't make the recognition because they have changed. In the same way, Edward doesn't connect the strong, young leader Dumbledore to the creepy grandfather he's become. Yes, I get that learning English out of a dictionary is far-fetched. However, Ed learned Alchemy solely from his father's notes. This is an art that takes fully grown adults years to wrap their minds around. He did it when he was what- five? If he can do that, he can learn a language out of books. Get over it.
WARNING: The next bit is just clarifications for the questions I know you all will ask. If you're just an uncurious person who wants to get on with their life, feel free to skip the rest of the Author's note.
As for the Stone, I'm slightly altering its mechanics. Instead of using up souls to do philosopher's stone stuff, it uses the energy in the stone. The souls are just there to keep the otherwise volatile stone stable. Think of it like a battery. A highly powerful nuclear battery created through mass genocide. The effects of this will be made clear soon.
About Germany's reparations:
After WWI, Germany was forced to pay the Allies cash reparations for the damages it had caused, even though it wasn't even responsible for the war in the first place. These amounted to about 500 billion US dollars. If we apply the conversion to Galleons, we get a tidy 10 billion galleons using the handy (and sensible) conversion rate I found on Faery Heroes by Silently Watches. It makes much more sense than JK Rowling's estimate of 5 pounds per galleon. While this sum might seem unfair, it did to a whole lot of others, too. The reparations were one of the main reasons Germans were bitter enough to start a Second World War. History lessons aside, I figured that the magical world was going to be just as unforgiving as the Muggle one in terms of treaties.
In response to your reviews:
Ed himself can't control Pride's shadows. Pride and Ed take turns controlling Ed's body, which basically means that when anyone gets the drop on Ed, Pride comes out to play.
No, Ed won't be able to hide. At least, hide for long. After this, everyone's going to be on a demon hunt. Except for Harry. He isn't going to somehow sneak out of Hogwarts to hunt for what he's been told is an incredibly powerful evil demon. He's not stupid, if that hasn't been made clear.
And now that I've bored you all to death with my clarifications, I'll be bidding you all a very happy Easter!
-Ambiguity