Ch. 4- Scry For the Truth

Half an hour later, after another uncomfortable ride on a Portkey, Edward slumped onto his bed in his new quarters and pulled out his journal. This entry he focused mostly on how strange this world was and how short of a leash he'd been put on by the Ministry of Magic.

Now that he had some time to think, all the wonders of magic swarmed through his mind. It was irrational; how could magic even exist when it went against the flow of life? Ed couldn't see how it connected with his teacher's 'all is one, one is all' philosophy and was greatly perturbed by the lack of logic and science. Didn't the students think it to be the least bit strange that a word could summon an animal from thin air? Was it advanced alchemy or something entirely different? Was it merely ignorance—a misunderstanding of the universe?

'I don't suppose I'll ever know,' he scribbled at the bottom of the page.

Alphonse was curled up next to him on the bed, purring his little heart out. He returned the notebook to its place and took out his wand. Ed waved it but got no reaction so he tried a variety of flicks. Still yielding nothing, he concentrated on his brother's new face and waved it again; still no response. Frustrated, Ed tried verbal abuse next.

"Show me Alphonse," he ordered; still nothing. "Show me my brother. Show me my home! Show me Winry!" He flicked the wand harder but it still ignored him. "Show me Mustang!" he yelled. If the wand had a brain, it would know Ed was getting desperate. "You stupid piece of rotting shit. Show me something—anything—you worthless son of a bitch!"

Disgusted, Ed chucked the wand across the room where it hit the wall and fell to the floor, not caring it'd just royally pissed off its owner.

"I should break it in two…" he mumbled, but almost immediately he remembered the pile of coins it'd cost.

He retrieved the innocent piece of wood guiltily, deciding the best exchange for its value was to try and learn this magic. 'Besides, I'm not allowed to leave, and even if I did I'd never be able to concentrate on rocket science after this,' he thought reluctantly.

He felt defeated, as if his entire life he'd been working for nothing, almost killed for nothing, searching for nothing. It was such an empty feeling that Edward was overcome with sorrow, so much so his heart ached to be home with his brother and friends, even that bastard Colonel.

Before he knew it he was sobbing into his hands, his body racking due to his disrupted breathing, the tears streaming down his face in torrents. Alphonse tip-toed over and mewed, rubbing his head on Ed's leg as if feeling his master's pain and trying to console him.

To take his mind off his feelings, Ed began reading the four years worth of textbooks he had yet to catch up on. He remembered all of what he took in, however his brain stored it in the 'gibberish' section of his mind.

By dinner he had read through years one and two of the textbooks, but had yet to get any sort of reaction from his wand, or the key to doing so. Halfway through his turkey leg he decided to ask Dumbledore on the matter; he didn't know why, but he was anxious to learn magic now for the sole purpose of returning home, or, if that would take a significant amount of time, to learn how to watch his brother with his wand.

The experience, however much he had enjoyed it, had left him with naught but a deep longing. So, with this on his mind, Ed finished dinner quickly and caught up to the headmaster as he was exiting the Great Hall.

"Excuse me, Sir," he called out.

Dumbledore turned around and his eyebrows rose to meet his hairline once he saw whom it was.

"Ah, Edward, how are your studies going?" he asked.

"For the most part, good, I suppose, however I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the wand shop today."

"I'm guessing this isn't about the number of wands you went through," Dumbledore jested. Edward shook his head.

"I haven't been able to do that…thing…my wand did since this morning."

The old wizard smiled and his ice blue eyes twinkled in the dim light of the Great Hall.

"Why don't we continue this elsewhere?" he offered.

Once the pair were concealed in the headmaster's office, Dumbledore faced Edward seriously and began to explain what had transpired.

"The feat your wand pulled this morning was quite amazing. It's what wizards call 'scrying': a technique where the performer can look into the past, present, or future of someone, somewhere, or something they've already been acquainted with."

"Can you teach me?" Edward asked eagerly.

"The technique is very difficult," the headmaster informed him. Ed straightened in his seat, looking determined.

"I'd still like to learn," he said.

"What about the principle of alchemy—your law—equivalent exchange?" reminded Dumbledore.

Edward bowed his head in defeat; he knew he had nothing to offer the man in front of him.

"Sorry, Sir," he said after a moment.

"About our previous deal," said Dumbledore, changing the subject, "Are you ready to tell me your complicated story yet?"

"No," Edward replied softly, his golden eyes cast downwards.

"Then in exchange for scrying lessons you must tell me your story now, despite being ready," Dumbledore said, catching the teenage boy in front of him by surprise.

The proposal seemed reasonable to Ed, however manipulative, so he nodded and took a deep breath to begin.

"My brother and I started learning alchemy when we were very young. Our father had been an alchemist and our mother praised us, so all was well, even though father left us when Al was just a baby.

"Then one day…everything changed. Our mother got sick and died, so we vowed to bring her back. It was a foolish idea, but we were blinded by ignorance and grief. We trained and learned alchemy from a professional and studied human transmutation day in and day out. We never told anyone though; we knew it was forbidden, that no one had ever successfully brought a human back to life.

"Still, we tried, and we failed...miserably. I lost my left leg and Alphonse lost his entire body. I sacrificed my right arm for his soul and attached it to an empty suit of armor in the corner. What should have been our mother was something completely different. We created a monster…scientists call them homunculi: shells of humans who are inherently evil and who only strive to be human. While my brother and I searched for a way to regain our original bodies, they led us into their trap.

"I became a State Alchemist at the age of 12 in order to gain restricted information on our target. Finally we found what we'd been searching for, the Philosopher's Stone, only it turned out to be something completely evil. Sure, it could bypass the law of equivalent exchange, but the only way to forge one was to sacrifice human lives…a lot of them.

"We found a whole stone, but the homunculi and their leader were after it as well. I died in a fight for my brother's life. He used the stone to bring me back, but the Gate took him as well. I…didn't know what to do. I had my arm and leg back, but it didn't matter; Al was gone.

"I was willing to die to bring him back—I was ready to die. It hadn't been that bad the first time. However, when I transmuted myself I subconsciously sent my body and mind to this side of the Gate to cheat death. I'd been here before for a while, so I knew I could make it. Since then I've been trying to find a way home."

Edward finished in a whisper. His face was wet and he realized he'd been crying. Dumbledore looked grave and seemed to pity the one in front of him.

"What about your limbs?" he asked after a moment, "You seem to be intact at the present…"

"My childhood friend, Winry, the blond girl in the vision, is an amazing automail mechanic. She fixed me with metal limbs in exchange for a lot of pain and money." Edward removed his left glove. "When I crossed over to this world, I had to get these." He showed Dumbledore the prosthetic limbs and then swiftly covered them again.

"Well," the headmaster said to lighten the mood, "shall we begin?"

Edward nodded eagerly; the weight of doom was now off his shoulders. He felt relieved that his story was over and that Dumbledore hadn't been disgusted by his past. Instead, he seemed to accept it; Edward realized he had probably seen much worse things in his life, to the point where death and tragedy were not uncommon. He leaned forward on the edge of his chair and listened attentively.

"As I stated already, scrying is the power of seeing what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen. The person performing the art must know the person, place, or object they are scrying. It is broken up into three parts; one for the past, present, and future. The present is the easiest whilst the future is the most difficult, with past falling in between. It takes energy and will instead of an incantation or spell; perhaps this is the reason wizards find it so difficult.

"In the Wizarding community, we are used to channeling our power through our wand and causing a reaction with the spells we cast. For some reason, I have a feeling this should come naturally to you because of the fact you aren't a wizard. Granted, you hold magical power in you, but you don't think of yourself as a wizard because of your background."

Edward nodded, amazed at how easily the old man could read him in such a short acquaintance and explain magic in a way he understood.

"Now then, the key to scrying is to learn to channel the emotions inside you that correspond with the person, place, or object you're trying to scry. In this case it is your brother, Alphonse."

"But that's what I was doing before in the dorm room!" Ed blurted, "The blasted thing wouldn't work no matter how much I concentrated on Al!"

"What were your feelings at the time?" Dumbledore asked wisely, as if he knew more than Ed did.

"I was pissed! The damn thing wouldn't work!" Edward yelled in rage, "It's worthless."

"Does your brother make you angry?" the headmaster pressed on.

"No, of course not," Ed replied, still not understanding.

"Then that is precisely why it didn't work," the ancient mage continued, "Your feelings did not correspond with the image of your brother."

"Oh," Edward said, in a quite unintellectual way.

"So what do you feel when you think of your brother?" Dumbledore asked next.

"Love," Edward answered almost immediately, "The two of us share an unbreakable bond of brotherhood from all we've been through. That's why—being separated for even an instant—hurts...so much."

Ed could feel the tears resurfacing as his voice cracked and his chest compressed. He was left with an ache—a deep longing—as if part of him was missing without his other half to fill the gap.

Wordlessly, Dumbledore handed him his wand and bade him to try scrying. He might as well have yelled it for the deafening ring his silence administered. This time when Ed lifted the wooden rod, the sensation was different; subtly at first, then growing.

A silvery mist flowed out of the end of his wand slowly and then faster as time progressed. The glowing cloud then projected an image of Alphonse on its translucent surface.

The ten-year-old alchemist was sitting at a desk, hunched over a thick leather book. He read fervently, as if his life—or someone else's—depended on it. A few minutes passed and another presence appeared, taking the shape of a thin, blonde-haired girl.

"Alphonse," she said quietly, worry and sensitivity pouring out from her words, "Are you ever going to bed? It's nearly two in the morning."

"A little bit longer," the boy replied, never looking up from the ancient tomb.

"Alphonse, you're going to kill yourself if you keep this up." Winry sounded hurt as she continued. "You hardly eat, you hardly sleep, and you're constantly shutting yourself in your study for hours—days on end! I…I don't think Ed is coming back…it's been over a month."

"Brother is coming back!" Al protested in anger, looking up from his book for the first time, "I know he is. Brother is looking for a way home so I have to search as well. He's helped me so much; now it's my turn."

"You mean…you—remember?" Winry asked in astonishment, "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday afternoon, when I returned home," Al replied, "I felt a rush and then…it just suddenly came back." The boy looked distressed, then returned to his book.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Winry asked. She sounded hurt again. Alphonse sighed and closed his book, knowing it'd be a while before he'd be able to return to it.

"It was…overwhelming. There was so much information, memories—and it happened so fast I felt as if my brain was going to explode. I needed some time to think." Al explained this, all the while avoiding Winry's eyes.

"But…how do you know Ed is okay?" the blonde's voice was weak again, trembling.

"Because…I remember meeting him briefly before the Gate took him and I lost my memory. He told me, 'I promise I'll find a way back', right before he disappeared." Winry looked taken aback.

"Do you really think there's a way—?" she exclaimed.

"Brother found it, so I will too."

The vision melted back into Edward's wand and he collapsed in exhaustion. His feat had taken almost all of his already limited energy, considering a good ten minutes had passed within and outside this world.

"That's enough for today," Dumbledore said kindly yet sternly, handing Ed a piece of chocolate, "Here, eat this; it'll give you enough strength to return to your bed."

Ed did as he was told and then bowed deeply before he left for his dorm, all the while his mind spinning on what he'd witnessed. When he arrived he decided to write down the experience and then, very tiredly, he sank into bed and pulled the covers up and over his shoulders. He fell asleep instantly, his dreams consisting of his brother and him, finally reunited, embracing each other and laughing their hearts out. Subconsciously, Edward smiled in his sleep and whispered, "Al…I'll find a way back…I promise…"