Upon further review, I have concluded that I am, in fact, an asshole. However, I hope to earn back some of my karma, one delicious word at a time.
ON WITH THE STORY!
The last time Edward had seen the Truth, it had torn off his arm, separated him from his brother (again), and tossed him into another dimension with the vague instructions to "correct imbalances".
It could be understood, then, that he was less than pleased to meet the deity again.
Truth's silhouette—plus Ed's arm and leg—flickered and vanished as, yet again, he came centimeters away from planting a metal right hook into its face. A face which, while starting out amused at his antics, had grown progressively more exasperated.
"Alchemist," Truth began. "All time is relative, and is made even more meaningless when we are sitting in the space between moments, but even this is getting ridiculous."
Edward's response consisted of a diving tackle that, yet again, passed through Truth's immaterial form.
"Fine. I've followed your human terms of civility long enough." The Truth raised a single silhouetted hand.
"CEASE YOUR NOISE, MORTAL."
Edward froze in place. His mouth, previously emitting half-articulated curses and accusations, was frozen in a snarl, his fist cocked back as he paused in the moment before a strike that would never come.
"Good. Now that I have your attention, I'd like to tell you just how abysmal your performance so far has been."
Edward unfroze, his unprepared muscles collapsing under the sudden load as he tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap. Pride snickered in the back of his head.
'Oh, sure, cheer me on when I try to beat the stuffing out of him, then laugh at me when I fail. Real supportive.'
"I sent you to that universe to do a very simple thing. I set it up for you, picked the exact time when you would be poised to best complete your task. All you had to do," Truth continued, its voice growing steadily more agitated, "Was collect the fragments. It was right in front of you, and yet you still somehow managed to get trapped in a mirror of all things for fifty years, let out by circumstance!"
Something in Truth's scolding caught on Ed's mind.
"Wait. You mean to say that I was supposed to be years before this Volde-whatever got started?"
Truth waved its hand dismissively.
"That was never your job, you idiot. I had a prophecy, all laid out. There was no reason at all to send a Homunculus in to kill some petty dark wizard with a pretentious pseudonym, that's like swatting a fly with thermonuclear detonation. Effective, but also tending to damage things. Important things."
"Your job was to collect the fragments of the Gate that had fallen into mortal hands. Individually, they are powerful. Together," And here, the Truth actually managed to sound slightly worried—"Together, in the hands of a properly skilled wielder, they could force open the Gate."
Edward recalled the last time the Gate had been opened. There was a lot of screaming, and fire, and an entire country had temporarily been murdered. Some people had been permanently murdered. Oh, and he got turned into a Homunculus and coerced into being God's errand boy.
"How about we avoid that, then."
Truth was unable, due to a lack of a face, to glare at Edward Elric for his impudence. It was, however, more than capable of dissociating all of his electrons from their respective atoms.
Which it did.
After the alchemist had finished reincorporating himself from the resulting explosion, the deity spoke again.
"It was a very stupid thing you did, alchemist. You very nearly didn't survive, and if your body had tried to reform with the energy left in the Stone, you would have certainly run out."
It grinned wider, and answered Edward's question before he could ask it.
"When the body dies, the mind and soul go to the Gate. Homunculi, when their bodies are destroyed, are no different. Your physical body isn't here, but I'm holding your soul until your Stone has the opportunity to acquire enough energy to regenerate you. This also has the benefit of allowing me to inform you of your stupidity, of course."
Well, that was awfully nice of it.
"Be aware that I'll be adding this service to your debt. In addition to the information I'm about to give you."
Or not.
"Better hurry, alchemist. The clock is ticking."
Ed frowned.
"What do you mean? If these things are at least as old as I've been in that universe for, then shouldn't there be no rush?" After all, if they lasted fifty years without being 'gathered', then they could keep for a decade or two more, right?
For a fraction of a second, the deity looked decidedly shifty.
"I may have—possibly—set up the defeat of Voldemort in such a way that the unification of these three pieces is directly implicated in his demise. But that's not important. What is important is that you get your hands on the Hallows in the next five years or all of reality could possibly fracture and decay. Better hurry!"
The Gate split down the middle, ponderous doors swinging open on silent hinges. Dark, grasping arms flew out to seize the alchemist where he stood, dragging him into the ether before he had time to protest the unfairness of it all.
"Goodbye, al-che-mist. Do try not to make me call you back here again. That would be…unpleasant."
The doors slammed shut and Truth was left alone in his void. All there was to do now was watch.
And wait.
And, of course, smile.
Fermier was a knowledgeable man. Without even leaving his lab, he knew the goings-on of the outside world. The reports from Espionage, the field tests of the equipment he provided Operations, and, of course, good old-fashioned monitoring charms on every square inch of Research and Development.
This was why he was perfectly prepared and completely unsurprised when a more than slightly distraught Nicolas Flamel stormed through his lab doors.
"Put it on the table over there, I cleared some space."
The offhanded remark caught the alchemist off-balance for a second, before he remembered what he was carrying.
"Really, Fermier? Your little pet project was just KIA on a mission you strongarmed him into taking, less than a year into his work for you, and that's the line you greet me with when I bring you his remains?"
Fermier stopped working on whatever meaningless calculations he was running as he looked up to meet his longtime compatriot's eyes.
"He burned." It was not a question.
"Yes. I assume you read Susan's report the moment she filed it."
"Painful way to die," the wizard remarked, striding around a lab table to view the 'remains' of his most recent loss.
A pair of twisted, half-melted limbs, some scraps of an incinerated red coat's pockets, a pocketwatch in remarkably good condition, all things taken into account, and a single red stone the size of a man's fist. Regarding the miscellanea dispassionately, Fermier swept everything but the Stone off of the table with a wave of his wand. Flamel, who long ago had grown accustomed to his colleague's eccentricity, was taken aback.
"What the hell do you think you're you doing? This is all that's left of the man you all but sent to his death, and you're just—"
"Not quite."
Flamel was taken aback, having lost the momentum he was building.
"What?"
"He's not dead yet."
"Fermier, there's nothing left but ashes and metal."
"And a Philosopher's Stone. Tell me, Flamel, you've worked with Horcruxes, correct?"
"Yes, but I don't—"
"And you've seen what happens when the energies driving them are removed. The magic dissolves, and the soul is released. Tell me, then, why this Philosopher's Stone, which, for all intents and purposes, is quite similar to a massive Horcrux, remains intact."
"…Because there's still energy inside it. And if it's still intact, that means it's still absorbing energy, then that would mean that—"
"Elric's soul hasn't quite shuffled off the mortal coil yet," Fermier finished with a satisfied smirk. Flamel tagged him with a Stinging Hex.
"Stop interrupting me, brat."
The two stood in silence for a moment, contemplating the not-quite-dead-yet Philosopher's Stone, before Flamel spoke again.
"So, how long do you think it'll take?"
"I thought you were the expert."
"I am, but I've never used up my Stone to this degree before. All my data suggests that absorption rates are inversely related to the amount of energy present, but by that measure, and given the amount of time he's been like that, what with Susan's escape from the compound, the Portkey back, and the time he's spent in the Department, there should be plenty of energy by now, but something's stopping him from—"
The Stone crackled, red lightning flashing out in thick lances, grounding into every remotely magical object nearby as it rapidly drained power from its surroundings. A lattice of red sparks danced around the Stone, forming first a ribcage, then the rest of a human skeleton. Muscles and tendons sprouted from joints and veins filled with the Stone's liquid state coiled themselves around the body.
Flamel, looking slightly green, stepped outside the lab while Fermier looked on in interest.
As Edward Elric sat up, his freshly-regenerated face still sparking, he wore an expression of confusion and anger. This shifted to surprise, then embarrassment, and then back to rage as he realized both where he was, and his current state of dress.
Flamel opened the door just in time to run into Fermier.
"You might want to give him a few moments," the scientist said. "It would seem that his regeneration is indeed limited to only his body."
The aged alchemist took a moment to parse that statement before his mind flashed back to the charred scraps that were all that was left of Elric's attire.
"Ah. Yes, that might be best."
Albus Dumbledore was more than slightly irked. Yes, that was a good way to put it. Given his generall genial personality through the most stressful of crises, it took quite a bit to penetrate the feet of steely control he kept over the volatile anger he once held as a youth.
Today, however, had been exceptionally trying.
It had started with an incident at the breakfast table in the Great Hall. An otherwise uneventful meal was interrupted by a prank performed by the Weasley twins. In a rather ingenious display of Charms work, they had pranked the entire Slytherin table with a modified Color Changing Charm. If that had been the end of it, he would have held no issue. After all, it had been a rather excellent little bit of spellwork. However, the modifications they had made caused the students affected to randomly strobe through colors and patterns at individually pulsing intervals, all in an eye-blinding neon.
The headache he had garnered from that morning was only exacerbated when Severus threw an apoplectic fit in his office, his demands ranging everywhere from the immediate expulsion of everyone named Weasley from Hogwarts to express shipping the entire Griffindor house off to Azkaban. He had been forced to leave the issue unresolved, and Severus an eye watering shade of pink, as he received an emergency firecall from Alastor and was obliged to meet the man in person.
He then was told that, for the past several hours, a pair of individuals had been laying waste to the Russian Ministry of Magic's lower levels. Apparently the entire country had been tuning in to the special broadcast as his Potions Master was busy throwing tantrums. What Moody had to add, however, was that his contacts within the Ministry identified one of the two as a rather familiar looking fellow with golden hair and a red coat. Dumbledore had no clue why the demon had waited nearly half a year before restarting his terror spree, but he wasted no time in contacting the head of the MKGB, who refused his politely phrased offer of assistance in dealing with the pair of dangerous terrorists demolishing their way through his workplace. When Dumbledore asked in a less friendly, more son-I-fought-Grindelwald-and-won tone, the man promptly refused a second time, and then ended the call, forcing Dumbledore to listen to the aftermath of the siege on the Wireless as the remainders of the complex collapsed, no survivors found. He had then returned to his office, bemoaning the loss of the only lead he'd had.
All this led up to his current state of mind, staring down at the Ministry flunky who'd arrived not minutes after he'd stepped out of the Floo. The man coughed slightly, then under the Headmaster's expectant gaze, pulled out a scroll of parchment bearing the official seal of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.
"Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, due to your concerning inaction in this time of peril and your displayed inability to prevent such serious events from occurring, you are henceforth erk"
The man choked on his words as the pressure in the room seemed to triple. Behind his desk, Dumbledore's face remained impassive, even as his eyes elevated their twinkling to a steady shine and the air suddenly smelled of ozone. Several small silver trinkets began subtly vibrating in place, and though the light never changed, at the same time its source seemed to grow farther and farther away.
Dumbledore reached into his candy jar, pulled out a Sherbet Lemon, and popped it into his mouth.
A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of how loud his heartbeat was. Every slight shift in his weight brought ripples of tingling sparks across his skin, invisible yet all too tangible. A spindly looking instrument rattled off of its precarious perch and shattered on the floor. Neither man bothered to look down, for very different reasons.
Dumbledore sat.
And as the most powerful wizard in the world waited patiently behind his desk, the Ministry official shakily raised his crumpled missive, fingers twitching with nerves and slippery with sweat.
"H-henceforth disbarred and dismissed f-from y-y-your post as Headm-master of Hogwarts, effective i-immediately." The words tumbled from his lips, catching slightly each time he glanced back up and remembered who he was giving the boot to.
And as he finished his proclamation, the last syllables dying in the charged air of the office, the atmosphere held all the delicacy of a tempest contained within a soap bubble. If he so much as moved, if he broke eye contact, if he dared to even draw breath, the fragile calm would be broken and terrible things would happen.
Slowly, not even risking to turn his back, the portly man backed to the door, turned the knob, and slipped out. Only when it was gently shut, containing the terror and the power in that office room, did he turn and run.
As soon as the door swung shut, Dumbledore let out an immense sigh as all his anger left him, replaced by regret. He had expected the Board to act sooner or later, but he'd been so close. Just a few more weeks, and he was positive he'd be able to pinpoint the source of the attacks and bring the one responsible to justice. But Hogwarts did not have weeks, but rather days, and the Board knew it. He wouldn't be able to catch the Heir from afar, but there were a few things he could leave to whoever the Ministry sent in to deal with it.
After making the necessary preparations with Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, Dumbledore packed up his office after nearly half a century as Headmaster. All his possessions flew into a dusty, tattered trunk, and he absentmindedly repaired the instrument he'd broken earlier as its pieces joined the rest of his things. Shrinking his trunk and putting it in his pocket, the Headmaster of Hogwarts walked down to the Great Hall and out of his school. At least his headache had gone away.
"Ah, Cornelius. What brings you here today?"
Pride had not been having the best day. He'd woken up (naked) on a cold lab table just in time to see Fermier's quickly retreating back. So much for his dignity.
The clothes, thankfully, had been repaired prior to Fermier leaving, and his pockets (and by extension everything in them) had fortunately survived the fire. His automail was a complete wreck, but after twenty or so agonizing minutes he'd managed to get Elric to fully repair that, too. That was where his relatively good mood had ended.
After being subjected to every psychological test under the sun, he was handed back to Fermier, who proceeded to conduct even more tests. Edward was unavailable for moral support, as he was too busy analyzing whatever knowledge it was Truth had stuffed into their skull. Something about a stick? There was definitely some weird triangle-eye symbol, but he was a little too busy being naked to pay much attention.
He'd met Susan, who after a brief moment of absolute silence in which he'd worried she'd gone and broken on him (humans were so fragile) had grinned, slung an arm around his shoulder, and steered him unwillingly to meet Fleming, who she had just come from visiting. They made some small talk and Ed's questions were finally answered. Apparently Fleming was something they called a Metamorphmagus, and that meant his…her…his appearance was flexible. Good talent for Espionage, Ed had noted.
Just when he might have started a decent conversation, Fermier had shown up to drag him off to the head honcho's office, which had led to the heated discussion currently taking place in front of him.
"You want what?"
"To send Elric as part of the Hogwarts team. I would think, given the high number of missions you've personally recommended him for, that you would be agreeable to the idea."
"The last time Elric went on a mission, an entire seat of government was turned into a sinkhole and he nearly killed himself."
"Fermier, all but one of our Operatives are out on missions, and this is a time-sensitive thing. We can't wait for anybody to come back, and we can't jeopardize another mission by pulling anybody away. Elric's the only logical choice. And besides, his partner should be able to keep a handle on him."
"Who is it?"
Unspeakable Operative John Doe was back from his vacation and feeling excellent. His contacts within the department had informed him of the unfortunate demise of…certain parties…and he was glad to be able to come back to a Department free of soul-devouring shadow monsters.
But before he could meet up with his partners down at the Dueling rooms, he had an appointment. To be personally summoned by the Department Head was a rather big deal, after all. He couldn't wait for whatever mission the Head Unspeakable had in store for him. It would be just like before that fateful training exercise. Just him and one of his old buddies, tracking down the evil wizards and making them pay in exponentially creative ways. With a broad grin on his face, he pushed open the door to Unspeakable Croaker's office and stopped dead.
"You."
There are no cliffhangers this time, so I feel that I can be slightly less guilty about the update period. Writer's block was hitting for the longest time, and even when I managed to get something written, it usually ended up being scrapped and rewritten two or three times. But now we're back on plot, and the next chapter should take less time to write.
Fingers crossed!
But seriously, you all have my sincere apologies for that four-month period of silence. Dick move on my part, I know. On a better note, I am in a college and midterms are mostly done, so things (should) be getting easier. Hopefully.
One last thing—urs-v caught an error in Chapter 13 in which Fleming is referred to using both male and female pronouns. This is due to an earlier draft in which Fleming was an Unspeakable named Mary, but that was changed because it was a stupid name and a stupidly indirect joke. However, Lhurgoyf and I obviously didn't catch everything. So now Fleming's a metamorph, the plot hole is patched, and urs-v gets my undying gratitude.
As always, if you want a question answered, or an omake request done, drop a review and I'll get back to you!
-Ambiguity