Hi, everyone! New chapter! Yaaaaay!

A quick word before we begin, as this is something I want to clear up beforehand. At no point is there going to be a different text for somebody speaking Amestrian. You know the types, italics for this, bold for that, etc. If Ed is speaking Amestrian, it's going to be blindingly obvious. The only exception to the no-different-speak rule is Pride and Ed conversing in their head. (Head or heads? Not sure about that one.) As you have noticed, Pride when Ed is in control is in bold. Only Ed hears him. Same the other way around. That out of the way,

ON WITH THE STORY!

Edward panted heavily as he crouched in the semi-gloom of his self-made cave. He barely had room to stand up, not that he was in any condition to. That last blast, the parting shot, had hit him. Dead center. He had discovered that being immortal did not spare one from the agony of having a hole punched through one's torso. Nor the pain of re-growing half his vitals. It was, on a scale of one to automail surgery, a solid eight.

Wait a second. That didn't make sense.

He shrugged, red sparks shining their last as his stomach became no longer see-through. That meager light source gone, the little hideaway was plunged into complete darkness. Pride, apparently occupied with healing them, decided to give commentary.

"Why on earth did you run away?" His voice, though mentally the same volume, had all the same force as if he was shouting. "We had him, he was right there, and you chickened out! It's like you don't even want revenge!"

Edward frowned deeply.

"It's not my fault. He would have blown us to bits," He paused a moment to glance down at his now much less messy torso. "Still did. And that was a lucky shot. If I had stayed, he could have caught us again. Stupid old man. Calling me a demon. It's like he's never heard of a Homunculus before!"

Pride was not to be distracted.

"You still ran away." It was a statement, albeit an angry one. Edward's eyebrows shot up as he realized what the sin really was getting at.

"Does retreating hurt your sense of dignity?" The question was asked with heavy disbelief. "You'd rather stay true to your 'nature' as a proud idiot than live to fight again?"

He received no response. It would seem that nobody had introduced the homunculus to hard truths. Ed sighed, exasperated with his stubborn… companion? Tagalong? Hitchhiker? It didn't matter. He had research to do.

Dumbledore steered a shell-shocked first year through the maze of corridors towards the Hospital wing. The poor boy looked slightly battered, and the edges of his robes looked singed. He hadn't spoken a word the whole way, just walked along, staring straight ahead. The venerable Headmaster knew a case of shock when he saw one, and was impatient to get his student to care.

Not too quickly, though. Even a mind as quick as his still needed time to sift through the events of that afternoon. What to say, what to hide, what to hint at? It wouldn't do to tell the boy he had set loose an unimaginable horror upon the world. Not at all. That sort of thing would kill the boy. Not to mention what the press would make of it. The Prophet would eat him alive.

Not to mention the questions that would inevitably come from certain media elements as to why a demon was sealed in the school in the first place. As distasteful as it was, he had only one option. They were at the exit of the secret passage leading to the sick bay now. Dumbledore turned to Harry, and looked into his half-present eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my boy. Obliviate." The green eyes darkened, and the boy collapsed into Dumbledore's arms. There. All the loose ends cut. Except for the demon itself. He mentally resolved to get to that later, as soon as he explained to an irate Madame Pomfrey why three of her most frequent visitors were back for another round of healing.

Harry woke slowly, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows and stared around. How on earth did he end up in his bed? Wait, not his bed. Hospital wing bed. He frowned in concentration, trying to figure out how on earth he'd gotten here. He remembered walking through the fiery doorway, into the room, where he'd seen-

"Quirrell!" he gasped. What had happened? He obviously hadn't been killed, so maybe Dumbledore saved him? Had Hermione's letter reached him in time?

The wizened wizard in question arrived in the Hospital wing the same time as Harry finished his train of thought. The old man was by his bedside in an instant, twinkling down on him with concern.

"How are you, my boy? Feeling alright, I hope?" The Headmaster sat down by the head of Harry's bed, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

"Fine, sir." Harry answered. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

At this, Dumbledore chuckled.

"It depends on who you ask. At breakfast, I heard you had suffered a tragic death protecting the Stone to your last breath. In the halls, the most interesting rumor was floating around, something about taming a dragon and using it to battle the late Professor Quirrell. At lunch, most of Hufflepuff was convinced you'd vanished, to wander the world under the alias Mr. Grey or some such name, vanquishing Dark Wizards wherever they could be found. And then, this afternoon, Minerva came to me, demanding to know if you had actually been apprenticed to Nicolas Flamel." The old man chuckled, obviously taking enjoyment in the absurdity of the Hogwarts rumor mill. Harry was not to be deterred.

"But what actually happened, sir?" he pressed.

His headmaster sighed, obviously deflated that Harry did not share in his amusement.

"No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I rushed back, to find you lying in the same room as the Mirror, and Quirrell… well, I think it's enough to say that he won't be hurting anyone else."

Harry was astounded.

"But how?"

Dumbledore's twinkle turned up a few notches, as he looks thoughtfully at his pupil.

"I am of the opinion that the sacrifice that your mother made for you, to save your life from Voldemort, still lingers. Her love protects you, and that is something that an evil being cannot touch."

That did nothing to clarify Harry's confusion. Love saved him from Quirrell? That made as much sense as some dimension travelling hero coming to his rescue.

A few miles away, Edward sneezed violently.

Dumbledore was still sitting by Harry's bedside, and cleared his throat quietly, startling Harry out of his musings. It would seem that the conversation wasn't over yet.

"I do have one question for you, my boy. Do you know what happened to the Sorcerer's Stone? It was not in Quirrell's possession, and I am quite sure that you do not have it. Thus leaving me to ask- Do you know what happened to it?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Professor. All I remember is walking into the room and seeing Quirrell, and then it all goes fuzzy."

Dumbledore cursed inwardly. He shouldn't have been so hasty to wipe the boy's memory. Now he had no idea where the Stone could be. Well, there was one, but it was the least appealing idea he'd had in the last ten years.

He stood, smiling once more.

"Thank you for your time, Harry. I must be taking my leave now."

And with that, he left, hurrying back to his office as quickly as possible. There were calls to make, and contacts to warn. He had a demon to hunt.

Edward made his way down the long road, searching for any signs of civilization. After a few hours of tunneling with alchemy, he had finally managed to make his way out of the castle. Who even runs a school inside a castle? It was ridiculous.

After freeing himself, his first order of business was to repair his clothing, which, unfortunately, did not regenerate with his body. He made a mental note to never get set on fire or otherwise completely destroyed. Pain of regeneration aside, he'd be running around stark naked until he found something to wear or transmute. He had done so with some of the plants growing near the edge of the forest close by, and then set out to find a town. Or any place where he could get information. If he could find a library, he was set.

Half an hour later, he found himself standing in the middle of a mostly empty street, shops on either side. Nobody had yet screamed or run away, so he figured he was set as far as blending in. It seemed that the town- Hogsmeade, if the signs were anything to go by- was mostly empty. It made him wonder how the various shops managed to keep open. Surely they didn't sell only to those living in town. Maybe the students were allowed a day or two off, to spend in town?

He shook his head. Focus, Ed. Focus.

So. Library. Scanning the storefronts as he walked by, he spotted a bookstore. Almost as good- he didn't have any money, but there weren't any rules against reading while in the store. Or so he hoped.

Closing time saw Edward sitting among a pile of history books, sifting through the events of the last century. By his guess, basing off Dumbledore's apparent change in age, he'd been put away for a good half century or so. This theory was supported by the books, which said that the last war the old man had actually participated in was around that time frame, and Ed had most definitely appeared on a battleground. So, fifty year time gap it was. It made him wonder why Truth had bothered to send him somewhere half a century early. The being had obviously chosen to toss him in at a specific point, but it made him wonder. He chalked it up to insane God powers. And being a bastard.

Another thing confusing him was these people's version of alchemy. They honestly believed they were doing magic, going so far as to referring to themselves as 'witches' and 'wizards'. They were in hiding from the rest of the world, which apparently didn't have 'magic'. It seemed it was a natural gift, unlike teachable alchemy, which most considered to be a lesser art. Turning lead into gold was their primary aim, and they couldn't even do that! It was shameful. If he wasn't so busy, he might have taught a class. Knock the ignorance out of them.

Nah. It would take years.

Everything now seemed to center on the events of the last decade and a half. It seemed a second war had been fought up until eleven years ago, when it ended suddenly with the death of the 'Dark Side's' figurehead. Accounts differed, but apparently he'd been taken out by a baby of all things. Since then, except for a few isolated terrorist attacks, everything was quiet.

As far as finding out what Truth's ambiguous 'imbalances' were, he had made no progress. That was still the state of his research when the shopkeeper finally noticed him and tossed him out with a few choice expletives. Edward made a note to look that up later. It was one thing to swear in Amestrian, but nobody understood that here, and he needed to insult people properly. To their faces, while they could understand him.

He turned and walked down the road, towards where he had seen a pub. After a day like this, he needed a stiff drink. That is, if Homunculi could get drunk. Pride chose that moment to stop giving him the silent treatment over their previous argument, with a philosophical answer to his mental question.

"I've got no idea if we can get smashed, but here's to finding out. Transmute yourself some gold, and let's see if these people make some good alcohol."

That, at least, was a sentiment he could agree with.

Dumbledore stood in front of the assembled first responders who had made it to his office. He frowned gravely, and everyone in the room shivered. Dumbledore frowning was an evil, evil omen. Something terrible must have happened.

"My friends, I would like to thank you for responding to my request on such short notice. I realize that you all are curious as to the urgency of my message, so I shall make this brief."

He stopped, swallowed, and blinked a few times. For once, it was neither dramatic effect nor toying with his audience that made him pause.

"We face a threat that has the potential to be lethal on the level of a rouge dragon. I anticipate that we shall be faced with the same circumstances as with the end of the last war."

That announcement got their attention. Suddenly nobody was tired, and every ear in the room was hanging on his words.

"This afternoon, as I'm sure some of you are aware, a failed attempt was made to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from Hogwarts. The perpetrator, the late Professor Quirrell, is dead. However, his attempt has loosed something much more powerful."

Mutterings were heard, and Alastor Moody spoke up.

"Well, then, Albus, what is this threat? Stop beating around the bush and tell us!"

Dumbledore's gaze fell upon the man.

"In due time, Alastor. In due time."

"I am sure you are all aware of the history of the Wizarding war before Voldemort's crusade. The cleanup from Grindelwald's war was messy, and extensive. One of the operations which I personally took part in the ending of was the summoning and binding of a demon."

Nearly everyone in the room gasped. A demon was unheard of! There were no actual recorded accounts of one, only vague legends from Merlin's time, of men who summoned great beings, which inevitably destroyed them. Dumbledore continued over the alarmed murmurings.

"The demon, was, thankfully, still weak, and was bound and sealed away before any harm could come to anybody. I regret to say that age has made me foolish, and it was not guarded as it should have been. It has escaped, and I believe has taken Nicolas' stone with it."

One of them fainted. The rest were very pale, having gotten the implications of what he was saying. An immeasurably powerful being with an immeasurably powerful artifact was loose. Dumbledore didn't wait for them to recover. He had another important announcement to make.

"In this time of emergency, I am reinstating the Order of the Phoenix. As school is out for the summer holidays, meetings will be held here, every week on Saturday. For now, go home, get some rest, and find your contacts. We need to establish a search network as soon as possible. It takes the form of a young man, maybe in his early twenties. He has golden eyes and hair, and is on the short side. If you must engage, do so with caution. He has what I believe to be very advanced elemental magic, and is an extremely adept fighter. Whatever you do, do not tell the Ministry. With their measures, they'll be arresting every blond werewolf in the country, and panicking too much to do anything properly if they find the real deal. Same for the Prophet, for obvious reasons."

With that said, he sat back down in his chair.

"I thank you, and good night. I have paperwork to do, and a Defense teacher to find."

The stunned members filed out of the office, heading their separate ways out of the castle. Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody walked out to Hogsmeade down the main path. He'd need to double, triple his wards. Buy a new foe glass, another scrying bowl. And then contact his resources for this demon hunt. But first. First, he was going to get a pint to soothe his nerves.

It was going to be a long night.

Edward Elric sat back in his stool, downing his fifth Firewhisky. After fifty-something years of forced fasting, the stuff was the best thing he'd ever tasted, fire breath or no. It also seemed that Homunculi could get drunk. At least, a little tipsy. He mentally wondered if the Stone would let him die of alcohol poisoning before regenerating him. The other bar patrons were staring at him in mild amazement. This stranger was well on his way to beating Hagrid's record! It was unthinkable that someone of his size would compare to a giant of a man like Hagrid.

Then, all attention was redirected as the door banged open and one of the Hog's Head's rarer patrons strode in. All criminal activity going on in the corners of the room ceased as Mad-Eye step-clunked unevenly up to the bar.

"One Firewhiskey."

"Coming right up."

As Moody drank the volatile beverage, his eye continued to rove around the bar. It paused on a man sitting a few stools down from him, who seemed to be on his sixth pint. Impressive.

He froze as the eye caught a glimpse of the man's face. Golden hair. Golden eyes. On the smaller side. Just his luck.

Moody turned casually towards the heavy drinker, slowly unsheathing his wand. In a sudden flash of movement, it shot out and the next moment the man was stunned and bound. Moody stood up in the now completely silent bar, stepping over to his victim.

Who didn't seem to understand that being Stunned meant being knocked out. Dark, angry violet- why were they violet?- eyes glared up at him as the floor surrounding the captive sprung to life. Blades of shadow cut him free, others propelling him up to stand.

Glaring at the man in front of him, Pride snarled. He knew it was stupid to let their guard down this close to the castle, but they'd been overconfident. And now someone had found them.

"There's a right way to introduce yourself, you know," he began. "Attacking someone isn't it."

He snuck shadows around their feet, ready to slice at his attacker's prosthetic and break his real leg. Moody growled back.

"And what are you, monster?" he asked. "Certainly not human. Definitely powerful. And in possession of the Stone, to boot. I've fought ones like you before, and I'll do so again."

Pride raised an eyebrow.

"I very much doubt you've ever seen something like me before. I'm something a little more…" he trailed off, searching for the right word in Ed's limited English. "Unique."

A flash of movement was all the warning he got before the man's stick- wand- flew up to his face, letting off a vicious line of purple on its way up. Pride staggered back as he was sliced from hip to mid-chest, bleeding profusely from the wound. The man stepped back, apparently mildly surprised that his curse had worked. By this time, the bar was empty except for the two of them. Nobody else wanted to get caught in this type of barfight.

Pride steadied himself, red sparks flashing as he straightened, the mortal wound closing. He grinned.

"That the best you got, wooden leg?"

He threw his arms up, shadows obeying as they wrapped around Moody's peg leg, attempting to smash it into kindling. Attempting. The years of runework and enchantments served Moody's prosthetic well, reinforcing the wood far past its breaking point. At Pride's momentary confusion, Moody took the opportunity to cast a spell he thought he'd never use in a fight.

"Lumos Maxima!"

The blast of light wiped away Pride's shadows, momentarily blinding him. The hardened Auror twisted, and Apparated away just in time to avoid being skewered. He'd been at a disadvantage before, and didn't intend on walking blind into a fight with this particular opponent again.

Pride raged in the abandoned bar, smashing chairs to splinters in his anger. The man had gotten away! He'd been stupid, trying to cripple instead of kill.

"Not that I don't agree with the stupid part, but killing him wouldn't have done us many favors either."

And there was Ed. Trying to be the moral one.

"And as stress-relieving as I'm sure smashing this place is, we should probably get out of here before he gets back here with someone to help him. We might have taken him on one to one, but against a group, I don't like our chances."

Pride's face twisted.

"We can take them. I can take them. I'll show them all why they should fear my name, and why nobody can get the drop on me. I'll send them cowering back to their castle, and I'll twist the information we need out of whoever we manage to catch. Nobody beats me. Nobody."

Ed was shocked by the poison in the Homunculus' words. It seemed he hadn't quite gotten over the loss earlier that day. But this… This was beyond that. This was a flashback to the older Pride. The homicidal, mass-murdering, evil Pride. This called for drastic actions. He'd have to appeal to common sense.

"Pride. Stop, and think. If you try to fight them, you might win at first. Hell, you might send the majority of them running. But we still don't know everything they can do. You saw some of the stuff in those books. I guarantee that there's more where that came from, and numbers will get us even if nothing else does. Think, dammit! Do you want to be locked up in that place again, or killed?"

The shadows abruptly stopped swarming, and receded back to their owner. His host had a point. Pride reluctantly agreed.

"Fine. But we are going to severely beat the next person who points a stick at us. And if you don't, I certainly will."

Ed, finding no fault with the terms, returned to control. He ran to the side wall, and transmuted a door into a back alley. No sense going out the front door with the whole town stirred up as it was. They'd probably attack him on sight. Better to lie low until he could figure out what was going on. For now, he needed to disappear.

He turned, and with a clap and a flash, the alley was empty again, with the wall at the end just slightly cleaner than would be expected.

A shadowy figure leaned over his desk in a warmly lit office. No sense in going blind over a sense of drama, after all. He peered at the informant in front of him. It was highly unusual to leave one's post- normally, a report would be filed. That the agent had reported to him in person meant that whatever he had found out was guaranteed to be of interest.

"Sir, at about seven this afternoon, there was a disturbance in the Hog's Head." The shadowy figure waited for the report to continue. Drunken brawls were routine. Not of their interest.

"This one all but leveled the building. As it is, most of the furniture in the bar was smashed, and every bit of floor and wall is ruined."

Not as usual. Aberforth had protection charms on his furniture, having long gotten tired of beer-soaked wizards destroying his tables and chairs. Still not worth reporting in person. There was something left to the story.

"The nature of the fighters might be of interest to you. Alastor Moody quite suddenly and unexpectedly stunned and bound the wizard sitting next to him at the bar. It was a shame, too. He was two Firewhiskeys away from winning me a few galleons…" The operative trailed off as he realized he was getting off topic.

"Anyway, this wasn't one of Moody's regular catches. Shortly after being hit, the unknown displayed a resistance to the stunning spell, as well as what appears to be umbra kinesis. The agents down in Intelligence are of the opinion it's either Dark Magic or a high-level possession. Long story short, whatever it was didn't take kindly to being shot at and trashed the place. Moody actually had to run away."

Oh. Now that was interesting. Resistance to a Stunner could just be runed clothing, maybe a bit of enchantment work. However, umbra kinesis was something worth paying attention to. His hood twitched in a manner indicating approval.

"Good work. Send in a parchment report, and then get back to your shift." The informer nodded and left.

Notifications would have to be made. People to be told. Plans to be set in motion. Searches to start, and, most importantly, a person to be found.

Ooh, mystery! And suspense, and sinister well-lit offices! The plot is picking up now, and I'm glad to note that I have a semi-clear idea of where it's going!

As you may have noticed, I've been avoiding the issue of, well, my lateness. I started writing this chapter after Lhurgoyf started threatening me with bodily harm. That was a month ago. You can thank him it came this early. As it is, this chapter was written in the brief spaces in between correspondence on my Engineering final project, my English paper, and day-to-day homework. Not to mention two hour long track practice.

It's inexcusable, I know, but there it is.

Before you all freak out, Dumbledore is not evil. He is not going to try to manipulate everyone to a grand machination of his own. I'll leave that to others. My Dumbledore is a well-meaning, but misguided individual who has been told of his own importance one time too many. Dumbledore is brilliant, and powerful, and benevolent. But sometimes, the Greater Good makes him do things that are morally reprehensible. There it is. Do not leave me a hateful review arguing against my logic, as I will ignore it. I normally do not ignore criticism, but unless you can solidly argue one way or another, Dumbles is grey.

Again apologizing for my lateness, I bid you farewell until sometime in June.

-Ambiguity