And so the story continues… No AN this time. Nothing to excuse, nothing to explain.
On with the story!
Owning the gateway to Magical London meant Tom saw all kinds of types pass through his pub. There were the bright-eyed, eager young Hogwarts students, on their way to buy supplies for a new year. There were shady types who always were hiding something under their robes, glancing shiftily from their dimly-lit booths. The old biddies who came to drink whiskey-laced tea and play poker. The occasional being, passing through and looking for a place to sleep for the night. He'd dealt with goblins, Death Eaters, and drunken patrons able to pronounce far too many curses while inebriated.
But the man in front of him was a whole different matter. He gave off the same feeling as the rare vampire who wandered in. This man knew his place, and it was at the top. Just being close set the barkeep's nerves on edge.
Of course, Tom had made his living for years off of dealing with whatever walked through the door, so he pushed down his nervousness and stepped up to meet the man at the bar. Violet eyes gleamed from under a dull red hood. A gloved hand slid a large pouch across the bar top. That clinking was unmistakable- gold.
"A room for the week."
Tom nodded amiably at the surprisingly human voice. Sure, he talked with the same attitude as a Pureblood of the highest order, but a patron was a patron.
"Of course, sir. Will you be needing any… special accommodations?"
The customer's head tilted in question.
"Accommodations?"
Tom worked over his initial nervousness.
"Do you need anything other than a bed? We have rooms equipped to deal with our more… unique customers, you know. Larger fireplaces, coffins, and so on."
The man grinned. Tom immediately decided people like that should never smile.
"No, just a room."
Gulping, he slid a key across the counter.
"Room forty-two. Breakfast is on the house. Enjoy your stay."
The newest guest nodded once, took the key, and strolled up the stairs, and Tom sighed in relief and went back to polishing a glass.
Pride found room forty-two quickly. The letters stood out against the wood of the door, unlike some of the other rooms down the hall. Opening the door, he stepped in and took in his new abode.
It was plain, wooden, and dimly lit, but at least it was clean and warm. There was a bed in one corner, a small writing desk with an oil lamp on it, and a few chairs. Not the fanciest, but he'd stayed in worse. It didn't matter to him that he was essentially wasting the couple hundred pounds he'd spent on the 'muggle' side of London; it wasn't his money in the first place. Edward had been given control to pull a bit of gold out of the ground. Traces of it were everywhere, but only an alchemist could really collect gold efficiently. Another transmutation making use of all the carbon in the air dyed their hair black. Pride had then wheedled his way back into control, with the argument that a little intimidation meant a lot less questions.
"He still suspected something, though. The way he looked at you, he could tell we weren't just some patron."
Pride mentally shrugged.
'So what? He's not going to do anything about it. Did you hear him, though? A coffin! He thought we were a vampire!'
Pride paused in mid-grin to realize what this meant.
'So vampires exist… huh. Learn something new every day.'
It was too bad that all the shops were closed for the evening. He could have gone and gotten some more books to read. It looked like he was in for another long night.
Nicolas Flamel burst into the doors of a room that looked like a cross between a Muggle laboratory and a battlefield. Several heads turned to watch the famed alchemist rush past a few ruined lab tables, one of which was still sizzling and melting.
"Fermier!" Flamel grabbed the nearest technician. "Where is Fermier?"
The man, instead of reacting with the usual indignation and shock one might express at being forcefully manhandled and questioned, simply blinked. Not surprising, given who he worked for.
"Lab five. Might want to be careful though. Boss's got some kind of new curse being tested, and-"
KABOOM
The enormous explosion was followed by the back wall of the lab blowing inwards. Everyone in the room seemed quite used to this occurrence, and simply transfigured shields out of the tables, or cast shield charms. From his vantage point, Flamel saw seven variations of the common Protego, and four shields that seemed to be completely unique. The man in front of him had his wand out, all the debris having been diverted to either side by a well-timed blasting curse. Turning back to him, the man continued.
"That'll be him. Just follow the blast holes, and you'll get there. Now, if you'll excuse me, the lab head wanted me to finish this batch of Immolation Philter by Friday. Good day."
Flamel ignored the man's rather abrupt dismissal and walked quickly towards where he assumed was the epicenter of the blast. Finally arriving, he took in the remains of 'Lab Five.' All four walls had been blown out, and only the corners retained their structure. In the center of the room was a man in a long lab coat, an oddity among the robes. His greying hair was thick and unkempt, reaching down almost to the tip of his nose, covering his eyes. All six of them were covered head to toe in soot.
"Fermier, a moment of your time!"
Fermier turned to face Flamel, waving the others aside.
"I think the problem was with the seventh iteration of the wahdi rune in your calculation. Run it back through with John's group; I have a feeling I'm going to be busy for a while."
The researcher grinned at Flamel.
"So, what can I do for you today? Finally got those pictures analyzed? I swear, half a dozen certified geniuses, and another ten who aren't and we still had nothing." Before he could begin to rant, Fermier caught himself and directed his gaze back to Flamel.
"But you. You have something. And you're worried about what it means. And if the Master Alchemist is worried, then us mortals are definitely in danger." Noticing the distinctly uncomfortable look on Flamel's face, he nodded. Theory proven.
"So what is it?"
Flamel took a deep breath and spoke a single word.
"Alchemy."
It really was disconcerting to only be able to see Fermier's mouth. Eyes were the window to one's soul, and without a clear view, Flamel had no clue what was going on in the other's head. And with the head of Research, it usually involved things of ethical questionability.
He appreciated warnings about things like that.
The inscrutable scientist's mouth twisted into a smile. Happiness? Doubtful. Satisfaction, more likely.
"Ah. That makes tracking down our mystery man much easier."
Flamel's eyebrows came together. Sure, he was a whiz at Potions and Alchemy, and no slouch when it came to Transfiguration, but he couldn't think on the same level as somebody like Fermier. Most of the time, he considered that a good thing.
"How so?"
Another smile, this one little more than a smirk. Satisfaction, superiority.
"Well, my esteemed colleague, let me explain a few things to you. During our analysis of his actions via the interviews with the cell guards, the defeated Auror squads, and a few extended hypotheses, we've gotten a basic profile. Number One," He stopped abruptly and held up a finger. Flamel barely managed to avoid flinching.
"He isn't familiar with the government, or at least criminal justice. Upon arrest, he asked for a lawyer. Meaning either he expected one as a matter of course, i.e. defendant's rights, or as a matter of privilege. The former implies Muggleborn, as only on the Muggle side of the legal system are lawyers automatically guaranteed to defendants. The latter implies he was a pureblood who expected a lawyer because he's superior and can afford one. We've searched for his general features through every Pureblooded line in Western Europe, but we've come up blank. Combined with what you've just shared with us about his knowledge of Alchemy, that means he's familiar with the Muggle sciences, ruling out Pureblood altogether. Therefore, Muggleborn without an arrest record or training in law."
"Number two. He isn't from around here. Besides the obvious accent and stilted English, the last Auror team that went after him got beaten up for information. He attracted and attacked them, and forced the location of The Leaky Cauldron out of them. Meaning he didn't know the entrance to the main center of magic in the UK. Every child goes there, even if they are homeschooled. It's a rite of passage even the most backwards of Wizarding parents wouldn't ignore. And if he is Muggleborn, as we have already deduced, he still would have been taken there by whoever introduced him to magic. This of course means he isn't from around here."
Fermier stopped his lecture, pausing midstride. Somewhere along the way, he'd started pacing, his stained and sooty lab coat billowing behind him in his brisk turns. A small frown was visible on his face. Confusion, perhaps? Frustration, most likely. He could never get over the unsolvable puzzles.
"And finally we have the most peculiar part of this whole mess. His limbs. They are not only made of metal, for crying out loud, but they're about a century ahead of what the Muggles are currently producing. If his clothes hadn't been torn during the battle to bring him in, they never would have noticed. The right arm, and his left leg. Both working as smoothly as if they were flesh. And both, despite their apparently electronic nature, seem to be fine around magic. He's got some sort of power source on him that ignores the normal overload a magic-saturated environment causes."
Flamel's brow creased in consternation. Not that it didn't puzzle him too, but he couldn't see how this was relevant. Fermier noted his confusion, and explained.
"Let me break it down. This Muggleborn wizard of unknown origins has obtained himself two highly advanced Muggle-made devices that can ignore magic. Not deal with it, not put up with, as in the case of EMP hardened materials, but ignore. Somewhere, a Muggle not only knows the Secret as an extension of knowing him, but knows how to work around the limitations Magic places on his or her tech. Do you understand what this means, Flamel?"
This time he gave no time to respond. Even the dullest wizard in the division could figure it out
"This means a Class-Two breach in Secrecy. Not some little Class-One spellfire in a Muggle Area, but active knowledge of the Wizarding world by one or more muggles. And we have no clue who they are or where they are."
Even in his clinically precise tone, Flamel could hear the panic underlying his colleague's words. Fermier spun on his heel and walked briskly away.
"Now, I have to file a report. And push Contingency Delta up a few years. Goodbye, Flamel. I'm sure you have work to do."
It was a very shaken Alchemist who returned home that evening.
The shadowy figure's well-lit office was seeing quite a bit of use today. First Flamel had dropped in to talk about the pictures, and had been redirected to Research. Then Fermier himself drags himself away from the labs to report in. Highly unusual.
The scientist stood, ready for an indication to continue.
"You may start."
"We have a Class-Two breach."
A sharp intake of breath.
"Class Two? Are you sure?"
"Eighty percent. The other possibilities are that it's a fluke his tech can ignore magic, or that he built them himself. Best to plan for the worst case scenario. There are a few others, but none of them are at all feasible."
The leader sighed.
"There is good news though."
"Really? You found a bright spot in a Class-Two breach that we can't locate?"
Fermier frowned at the sarcasm.
"Well, these limbs of his are like nothing else the Muggles are producing. In other words, whoever is making those limbs is keeping it quiet. For whatever reason. Blackmail, respect, foresight for the chaos of a Class Three. Who knows."
"You do realize that we still need to close the breach."
"Of course. I'll notify Espionage. He's obviously doing something in the London district, given his line of questions at the last group of Aurors. They're looking over those memories now for any extra tidbits we might've missed. If you'll excuse me, I have a curse to work on."
Pride strolled down the streets of Wizarding London. Really, these people had a bit of a thing for wordplay. Diagon Alley, Knocturn Alley, Hori-Zont Alley, Vertic Alley, Latter Alley, Litter Alley, and so on. Most of those seemed specialized to serve a particular… clientele. Diagon was for the children, Knocturn for the shadier sides of society, Vertic for the 'elite', Horizont sold food, and so on. It was conveniently organized, and made Pride's mission a lot easier. It was the same thing he'd come here for the past three weeks to do.
Research.
In that prison, his host had spent most of his time reading Alchemy tomes, learning the techniques and uses for hundreds of types of alchemy styles. One piece of particularly exciting information were the composition of the gloves of a man Ed only referred to as that Bastard. He got a hint of a smirk and lots of fire before Ed turned his attention to the next subject. It really was a shame they didn't look up on their new dimension, but hindsight is 20/20, and all that.
It was funny how their system of knowledge worked. Pride could look at a page for a couple of seconds to imprint it in their memory. Ed could then go through their collective memories to review what Pride 'read'. Whoever wasn't on 'body duty' had the job of assimilating the information while the other acquired it. It helped the alchemist had such an organized mind to begin with.
He came to a stop in front of a rather large bookstore, Flourish and Blotts'. From his experience, the larger a bookstore, the more books. And the more books he found, the better. So far he'd worked his way through the history section, and had come upon only one hint of anything Truth wouldn't like so far.
Voldemort.
A mass murderer who had appeared and then disappeared within the span of a few decades. Led a group called the 'Death Eaters', fought for 'pureblood supremacy'. He'd found a lot on that second topic, but it sounded mostly like the propaganda in Ed's memories declaring the all-powerful nature of the State alchemists. Very little substance armored by impenetrable layers of tradition and bullshit.
Voldemort had disappeared somehow after an attack on the Potter family on Halloween of 1980. Only the son of Lily and James Potter survived what was widely assumed to be a Killing Curse (Pride made a mental note to look that up later) and was rocketed into instant fame… only to disappear for ten years. He resurfaced at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last school year, and disappeared again for the summer. A picture of said celebrity was alongside the piece.
'Isn't that the scrawny kid from the castle?'
Huh. And here he thought Truth was screwing with him, putting him down where it had.
Well, maybe it was. But he'd also met the only lead he had on what was going on with Voldemort. Because there was something in that room, after he'd killed Quirrell. The chances of another incredibly powerful being – himself excluded –also happening upon Harry Potter were incredibly small. This place didn't see many 'Dark Wizards' of that magnitude often. So it was likely Voldie was still alive, in whatever ghost form he'd seen.
And if there was one thing Pride knew pissed Equivalence off, it was bringing back the dead.
Bingo.
Soo… a few things.
Ouroboros tattoo- A few of you have wondered where Ed/Pride's tattoo is. The answer- Pride doesn't have one. Seriously. Check the anime. And the wiki. Thus ruining the credibility of any Pride!Ed fics that say he has one. You're welcome.
Reviews- I love getting them. No question about it. But when you people review as a guest, I can't respond to your questions in person. It breaks my heart.
Either you people just don't read the same stuff as me, or I need to be a lot less subtle. Nobody's commented on all the references I'm dropping. Oh well.
Fermier is an OC. Get over it. He won't have any huge roles in the story beyond his already obvious role as head of the mysterious Research Division. Unless it wasn't obvious, he's a borderline psychopath with an obsession on the scientific. Think Stein, but magical and less crazy. For those of you who don't know who Stein is, read some Soul Eater.
This is the last update before the summer draws to a close. That is all.
Also! For those of you who assumed I would be solely working on this story, you are sadly mistaken. I am also posting random one-shots, so if you haven't read Comrade Dobby's Report, you should. More will follow.
Bye for now!
-Ambiguity