"Wizards, huh?" Ed said disbelievingly staring at the half-burned butter soaked excuse for a toast Mrs. Flamel had presented him a moment ago. Mr. Flamel, who had opted for porridge, gave him a pitying look and quickly whispered "You don't really have to eat it, she wont notice anyway" across the table.

Dumbledore gulped his porridge down with a huge glass of milk, which made Edward eye him suspiciously.

"Well, I suppose there is no point in hiding that," he said then with a small sigh and meaning look directed at Mrs. Flamel, who just smiled and said "I can make pancakes too, you know," to no-one in particular.

"You've got to be kidding me?" Edward blurted out before he managed to stop himself. "You actually mean you can perform magic? You're not in league with those Thule Society nutters, are you?" he continued, suddenly wary. If they were, he'd get out of there even if he had to crawl. That was once group of people he had most certainly had more than enough of.

Dumbledore looked rather puzzled at Edwards exclamation.

"Thule Society? My boy, I don't think that society has even existed in the last fifty years."

Edward blinked.

"But I just met them. They were the ones who opened the Gate." This whole situation made even less sense with every passing moment. Dumbledore frowned slightly and looked at Mr. Flamel, who muttered:

"I suppose it's possible that you didn't only cross space, but time too… I've never heard of anything like that. I wonder how it happened, makes me almost feel I had more time for proper research…"

"Well," said Dumbledore. "I might not know how this Gate works, or much else on the matter, but I can most certainly assure you that we have absolutely nothing to do with the Thule Society." A twinkle appeared in his eyes again. Edward nodded slowly.

"So what year is this?"

"1892, dear" Mrs. Flamel answered the question and gave Edward's hand a small pat. Edward blinked at her.

"Nelle, 1992, not 1892. You always get your centuries confused," Mr. Flamel pointed out and received a fond smile from his wife.

"Oh, that's right dear."

1992? That was 69 years after he had left Germany. The thought made him feel slightly dizzy. A thousand questions came to mind. If this was real, and not some strange dream, there was so much he needed to know…

"I suppose I should explain my previous question about alchemy," Dumbledore said abruptly. Edward snapped back to focus, scolding himself in his mind. This was no time to let his mind wander.

"You see," the old man continued, pushing his half-moon glasses to a better position on his crooked nose. "Before you appeared so suddenly, Nicolas and I were in the act of destroying a very strong alchemical object. Only it didn't go quite as we had predicted.

"Well, that much is obvious, after all we most certainly didn't expect you, but there was something else too. Nicolas had just started to prepare the object when it suddenly pulsed with a bright blinding light. When the light faded again, there where these strange symbols covering every wall of the room we were in. Nicolas has told me that these symbols where a highly sophisticated form of alchemy. And after that, the light pulsed again and when it faded, you were there. Now, I'd like to ask you again, what do you know of alchemy?"

Edward stared at the old man, processing the information. Had the Gate he destroyed and this object those men had destroyed somehow reacted with each other, pulling him to this time and place? But in order for that to happen, these two occurrences should've taken place at the same time. And how was that possible when he had destroyed the Gate 69 years ago, according to the year these people claimed to be living in. Unless of course this was yet another parallel universe. Or he had spent 69 years inside the Gate, but that was a thought he preferred not to pursue.

The question that was more pressing at the moment was could he trust these people?

"How about you prove me this magic of yours exists, and then I'll tell you what I know about alchemy?" he said finally. Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Yes, I suppose we can do that."

In the end professor Dumbledore had to float almost every object in the kitchen up in the air, starting with Edward's juice glass and ending with Mrs. Flamel, turn the kitchen table into a piano, wardrobe, and a rather surprised sheep, and let Edward carefully examine his wand before the young man was satisfied, and even then Edward was almost certain there was some secret or trick to it. How could they turn one thing into another so easily, just with one flick of the wand? Why didn't they have to pay the price? Or change an inanimate object into a living being? He had to confess that the sheep had upset him, for some reason he even felt offended by it. Who could a table turn into a sheep?

"If you want more proof," Dumbledore panted, clearly exhausted by the demonstration he had put up. Edward felt a bit ashamed of himself for demanding such tasks from this old man. "Just look at yourself. When you appeared at the floor of the cellar room, you were covered in wounds. Like you had just been mauled by a wild animal."

Edward looked up from the wand in his hands, eyes wide. He had forgotten the blood. The memory of the floor and the stench of blood filled his mind, but he pushed it aside.

"I fixed you," Mrs. Flamel told him, beaming. "I used to be a nurse, you know." Edward gave her a vague smile. Apart from the automail acting up, he was fine now. Could this magic even cure wounds?

"Now, if you'd be so kind, Mr. Elric, and answer the question?" Dumbledore said with a steadier breath. Edward looked at his hands, not knowing were to begin. He owed the answer to these people; after all they had answered his. But how could he explain it? Mr. Flamel appeared to have some knowledge in alchemy, and he supposed Dumbledore must know something too. And he didn't even know if his alchemy worked here. After all it hadn't worked in Germany.

"Where I come from," he began after a long pause. "Alchemy is a strict science that works in three steps; analysis, decomposition and reconstruction. Alchemists abide by the rule of equivalent exchange – in order to get something, you must give something first. In that sense it differs from your magic, as far as I can see, you receive results without paying the price…" Edward's voice trailed off. Mr. Flamel was nodding and professor Dumbledore looked thoughtful.

"Are you an alchemist, Mr. Elric?" Dumbledore asked then, startling Edward.

"I was," he replied finally.

"You were?"

"Well, I wasn't able to use alchemy in Germany. And if I can't use alchemy, I can't really be an alchemist, can I?"

Dumbledore nodded at Edward's explanation.

"I take it you're not really from Germany yourself?" he asked, giving Edward a keen look over the half-moon lenses. Edward shook his head slowly.

"No."

Dumbledore looked at him with a questioning look on his face, clearly waiting for him to continue. Edward hesitated. How much of his secrets was he willing to give away?

"Originally I come from a country called Amestris. I worked there as an alchemist," he left it at that. Maybe he would tell them about his life, but not just yet. He's head felt heavy with everything he had learned in the past few hours. He just wanted to close his eyes for a moment.

"Are you alright, dear? You seem tired?" Mrs. Flamel said suddenly, with a surprisingly sharp look in her eyes. Edward gave her a small smile.

"Maybe you should get some sleep? After all, you were badly injured, and it has hardly been two day since I healed the wounds. You really should get some rest."

Two days? I was out for two days? Edward rubbed his neck. Ugh, this really was too much. At least in Germany, there had been that bastard of a father to help him adjust. And later Alfons, Edward thought with a small pang. Alfons was dead now. As was Hohenheim.

Edward struggled to his feet with some difficulty. It felt like the automail was pulling him down. His head was spinning.

"I think…" he began before a darkness surged up from the floor to surround him. The last thing he saw was Mrs. Flamel saying something, stepping forward with worried look on her face. After that everything went black.

//AN:

I know I said there'd be a time shift after this chapter, but I think I'll have to write yet another chapter before that. Sorry about all the talking, but I thought it would be best to get the exlaining out of the way. I promise there'll be a little more action once we get to the Hogwarts part.

On Mrs. Flamel; sorry about making her such a goose, but you see, Mrs. Flamel is my deus ex machine. Without her they'd never get past the point of whether to trust each other. Also, she's modelled after my own grandmother, who unfortunately has Alzheimer. Mrs. Flamel here's just naturally ditzy.

Have a nice weekend everybody, and a big thank you to everyone who has bothered to review. It's so much fun to know that, even if it's just a few people, someone has actually bothered to read my boring little story 

I'll update again on Monday, by for now!