A/N: Once thanks for the awesome support! That includes guest reviews and those that have their PM turned off (if it wasn't off I would reply). It means so much to me! T.T There is one guest review that I'd like to answer:

cheshirecatgrin: I completely understand what you mean! A lot of times, a reunion between the two isn't all that grand - but I promise that I have a heartfelt one planned! I have a soft spot for their brotherly bond, after all. (;

**I'm using the appearances of the HP cast based on descriptions I found on Harry Potter wiki. I've noticed that they tend to vary from story to story, so I'm trying to find something constant. I've noticed Harry's eyes are sometimes described as blue and sometimes green in fics. Very confusing.

*Also, this takes some of the story from the book and movie and combines them. Everything is definitely more fleshed out in the books - but it would take a ridiculous amount of time to write with the plot I've got planned. In the book, Hermione spends a lot of her summer at the Weasleys, yet in the movie, it comes across as Harry spending time there and doesn't really explain it. A little bit of both is going to happen.


3. Aluminum


Alphonse sits quietly at the kitchen table, golden gaze curiously taking in the sights around him. It doesn't take him long to decide that the Weasleys need to invest in a garage or extra storage room, because it's overly cluttered and a bit messy. But on a positive note, it does have its charms. For instance, he's learned that Molly and Arthur have seven children, all based on the various photographs in the living room (where he woke up a few hours ago), there are trinkets and postcards out that give the house a homely vibe, and the atmosphere is filled with nothing but joy and love - something he's not experience in a long time.

Of course, this experience is tainted by one thing: his discovery of magic. He had been skeptical at first, but when Molly and Arthur conjured a table out of thin air, he couldn't help but drop all preconceptions and believe them.

There's no equivalent exchange - and all the laws are bypassed with a wave of a magic stick and a few odd words. It's unlike anything he's seen before, and his mind can't even begin to theorize how it's possible. Even with his vast knowledge of the truth, the multiple times he's passed through the Gate, and it's as if he just can't comprehend it - and he can't.

Molly suddenly halts what she's doing - preparing a late lunch - and turns towards Alphonse. "It might be a lot to ask, but you wouldn't mind meeting my children now, hmm? We have a seven, but only four are currently living with us."

The young alchemist shakes his head. "No, of course not," he says, "this is your house, after all! I'm just a guest!"

The woman chuckles. "That may be true, but we didn't get off on the right foot - and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable meeting more strangers so quickly and on such short notice."

"It's fine!" Alphonse insists with a weak smile, his eyes involuntarily flickering to the stew that Molly has nearly prepared. He almost can't shake the happiness that stew is going to be the first thing he eats after finally regaining his body, but, he also can't swallow how sad he feels that it isn't Winry's apple pie - it had always been on the top of his list of foods he wanted to try first.

Molly gives him a skeptical look, but eventually accepts his words as the truth and yells loudly (nearly causing him to jump from his chair): "Come on down kids! We have a new guest I'd like you to meet!"

Immediately loud stomping from the upper level(s) of the house can be heard - vaguely reminding Alphonse of a herd of cattle running - and five redheads invade the room (one of which is Arthur, whom is the only calm one) and nab a seat around the table. Alphonse ends up in the middle of a boy about his age and another that's probably a year or two older (his brother would lament the latter's height).

"Don't smother him!" Molly scolds, waving her wand. The chairs on either side of Alphonse scoot over a few inches, a gesture he's thankful for. Molly gives a pleased nod and motions towards the boy on the opposite side of the table. "Everyone, this is Alphonse Elric, please be nice to him, he's a guest here," she then commences with the introductions.

The two on the other side of the table, facing Alphonse with curious expressions, is George - a tall seventeen-year-old with shaggy hair and dark eyes and no doubt the twin of one of the boy's sitting beside him - and Ginny - the girl from when he first woke up; she's cute: thin, but not overly so, long, red hair, and brown eyes.

Beside him, the boy about his age, is Ronald - Ron for short and his preferred name - he's a pale, freckly fourteen-year-old that seems a little bit sarcastic, but overall, someone Alphonse will get along with. The other boy beside him is Fred: the twin of George (he should have known) and the two are identical in appearance.

After the introductions, he's bombarded with questions:

"How did you just pop up like that?"

"I've never seen an apparition spell quite like that -"

"You're scrawnier than my best friend Harry -"

"Where are you from? Because you have some really cool looking eyes -"

"Almost like a were -"

"ENOUGH!" Molly screeches, successfully silencing her children, levitating bowls of stew before each person at the table along with silverware. "Leave 'em be, it's none of your business, anyhow."

Alphonse sighs with relief. She's a lifesaver.


"What are ya doin', Ed?" Hagrid inquires, poking his head into the living room where Edward is sprawled across the couch, legs kicked up, a large map clutched tightly in his hands. Edward peeks up at him and sighs.

"Just studying some of the roads, towns, landmarks," he mumbles, eyebrows knotting together in pure frustration. This England place is huge - not to mention the fact the map looks completely different from the all the ones in Amestris - it's as if he's on a different planet! It's frustrating and makes absolutely no sense.

He wouldn't be so upset if it didn't remind him just how difficult it will be to find his baby brother. He grits his teeth in frustration. He wants nothing more than to kick, scream, and pull all his hair out! He's nothing but a failure - his brother, the only person he loves more than life itself, the only person he can truly rely upon, is out in the world somewhere - that much he's decided is certain in the past few hours, he's mulled it over and determined that since they both walked through the Gate, Alphonse is out here somewhere, too - malnourished and his muscles atrophied. He'll be lucky if he can walk at all.

Which means that Alphonse is a sitting duck, vulnerable and defenseless.

He momentarily panics, hopping from the couch, pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath, a tirade of scenarios where Alphonse gets hurt or dies plaguing his mind like a disease, devouring him. Hagrid can only watch, confused.

"Is something the matter?"

Edward stops and glares at him. "Of course there's something the matter, you mountain man! My brother is out there somewhere - and I need to find him! But this place is so damn big it's going to be difficult! Can't we use magic to find him?"

Hagrid sighs, a sympathetic expression adorning his hairy visage. "I'm afraid not."

"What's the fucking point of having this all-powerful magic if you don't even have a spell that can help you locate someone?!" Edward rants, stomping around the room, irritated with his inability to help Alphonse.

Really, it always comes down to that. How many times has Alphonse stuck his neck out to save him? When he was a suit of armor, he always took hits to help Edward, pushing him out-of-the-way, protecting him, and then - before this - he sacrificed himself to give Edward back his arm. He's never felt such pain before, knowing that there was a possibility that his brother died - that he would never see him again.

Now, he's facing the same situation again.

If Alphonse wasn't in such a horrible state, he wouldn't be as concerned, but concerned nonetheless. If he wasn't so thin, so weak, he would find some solace in the fact that Alphonse could at least defend himself. But he isn't getting that benefit - and it's eating him up.

But . . . what can he do?

Where can he even begin?


"You think he's a threat?"

Ron glances up from a magazine in his hands, eyebrows raised in his sister's direction. She has a distant look in her eyes as she peers discretely across the study to where Alphonse is, reading a book - and completely indulged. They had tried to talk to him a few times, but he's completely managed to drown them out. If Hermione were there, she would commend the boy on his ability to get lost in a book, much like herself. Bloody bookworms.

"Nah, he seems normal enough, other than his eyes, that is," Ron answers in a hushed whisper - just in case Alphonse decides to listen at some point. "He's got those werewolf eyes. You never know when he might turn."

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Now, you're just making hasty assumptions," she admonishes. "If he wanted to hurt us, he would do it right now," she adds, leaning in closely, "because, according to mum, despite his size, he was able to break out of her hold earlier and knock her back."

"Oh," Ron begins dryly, clearly not amused, "that certainly doesn't scream 'threat'."

"Don't get fresh with me," she hisses, plopping back in her seat with her arms crossed. Ron shakes his head and goes back to reading his magazine, only to be interrupted again when the door to the study opens and in walks Molly with cup of steaming liquid; another potion for Alphonse, no doubt.

He turns out to be right when his mother goes to the boy's side, offering him the drink. He thanks her and takes the cup, cringing when the steam goes up his nostrils. Ron resists the urge to laugh - most potions smell and taste awful. His mother urges the boy to drink it.

"It's not poisonous?" Alphonse questions, looking up at Molly, unconvinced. She places her hands on her hips and gives a menacing look in return. Ron and Ginny both shiver, hating to be on the receiving end of that look. Alphonse, on the other hand, seems unfazed, but still uncertain about the cup's contents.

"Of course it's not poisonous!" she seethes, "I'm trying to help you, not kill you!"

Alphonse peers down at the warm liquid, face tense. "Um, but what is it? It doesn't look like the other drinks you've given me."

"I've given you strengthening potion for the past two days. Now, it's time to give you a different one," Molly answers, "this will restore the nutrients in your body - help you point on weight and grow."

That's something that Ron would like to see for Alphonse - he's far too thin, obviously. He can still recall the way he looks without clothes, his hips unnaturally jutted out, his ribs protruding, his stomach sunken almost to his spine, and his skin deathly pale. He's never seen such a sight before and he hopes to never again see it.

Again, it makes him wonder just what this boy has went through.

"I guess, I need that, huh?" Alphonse chimes with a soft chuckle, "Thank you, Molly."

Molly seems pleased with the answer and smiles. "You're welcome, now drink up! You'll be drinking that for the next few days and then we'll start you on a muscle regeneration potion."

Alphonse bobs his head and sips on the potion, shivering at the grotesque taste. Ron clamps a hand over his mouth to suppress his laughter at the sight; he knows how bad potions tend to taste, but seeing someone else's face while they drink one is hilarious.

After downing it and handing it back to Molly, Alphonse looks up at her with an apologetic smile. "Um, do you have any idea how long it will take before I'll be in good enough shape to leave?"

"I'd say in about a month and a half."

Alphonse looks disappointed at the answer, something that confuses Ron. Shouldn't he be happy? If he were to heal via muggle techniques, it would take almost a year for someone in his condition.

He really doesn't understand this boy at all.


Edward is beyond frustrated.

Over the course of two days, he's went to local towns, asking around if anyone has seen Alphonse - using a well-drawn picture of him (self-made) and verbal description, even saying his name (his brother always has been overly friendly), but no one, absolutely no one, has.

The old fart, Dumbledore, hasn't been of much assistance, neither has Hagrid, and he's gradually becoming more and more concerned, frustrated, irate, and restless.

He has just gotten back after visiting another town and is exhausted from the lengthy train ride. He's learned that they have technology that they don't in Amestris (which he's beginning to wonder if Truth has pushed them through into the future) and that the train's are a lot nicer. He's also noticed that cars go faster, look different, and function different. It's strange - overwhelming - and it pisses him off!

"Nothing here is familiar!" he snaps to no one in particular (Hagrid's out back feeding some strange-looking animal that he had mistaken as a chimera earlier) and throws his coat (Dumbledore gave him money to buy a few things) on the back of a chair at the dining table. He trudges towards the guest room that he's staying in and collapse on the bed, eyes clamped shut and his fingers rubbing circular motions against his temples.

If he doesn't figure out something soon . . .

No, he can't think like that! For Alphonse's sake - and for his own. His little brother is his life - without him, he's nothing - has no purpose or anything. He will be alone, even though he has Granny Pinako, Winry, and Mustang's team, because they're not Alphonse.

"There has to be something I can do . . ." he murmurs, rolling onto his side and clutching at the sheets strewn haphazardly across the bed.

Then, without warning, there's streak of light and a crackled - and the old man is standing before him. He jumps, startled. "Fuck, old man! Don't do that!"

Dumbledore chuckles. "I apologize, Edward," he says, "I've just come to make a suggestion. One that you may not like."

Edward frowns. That doesn't sound very appealing to him. "Well, don't keep me waiting: shoot."

Dumbledore seems to hesitate a moment, as if contemplating whether or not he should continue, or perhaps he's surprised that Edward is interested in listening. The sixteen-year-old scoffs. He doesn't know him enough to make such assumptions - they just met two days ago!

"There's a spell that will allow me into your memories," he finally says, "I may even see what happened to your brother."

Edward scowls. He knows what happened - they were separated at the Gate. He won't find out anything new. "No. That won't work."

Dumbledore looks at him with raised eyebrows. Edward's already counting down the seconds until he asks why it won't work - when he says: "Very well then." He gapes at the old man. No prying? That's a new one - and yet, it ups his respect for Dumbledore - he's so used to others prodding for answers out of him. "Something wrong?"

"No," Edward says, "I'm just impressed, old man." He crosses his arms. "I didn't have to tell you off to get you off my back."

"I don't like to think myself difficult to get along with, young man." Dumbledore laughs. "You certainly are interesting. I only hope we can help you reunite with your brother. If you can't do you have any idea where you'll go?"

Edward feels the corners of his lips pull downward. "I'll never give up on looking for Al." He glances down at his emancipated right arm - the arm that he had sacrificed for his brother, the one his brother bravely gave back to him, not knowing whether or not he would survive, a pain rippling deep in his chest.

Dumbledore must sense this, because he gives Edward a heartfelt look, one that reeks of pity, sadness, and understanding all at the same time. But neither Elric brother has appreciated pity - they've never wanted it.

"Don't give me that look," he tells Dumbledore coldly, "I don't want your pity or anyone else's for that matter."

His words, while harsh, wipe any traces of pity from Dumbledore's face completely, leaving him pleased with himself that he got his point across so easily. He's noticed that most tend to argue with him, try and cheer him up, but he's never needed that. Edward and Alphonse have always set a goal before themselves and focused on it; it gets them through the hard times. Why fix something that's not broken?

Dumbledore seemingly mulls something over - something that Edward would really like to know - and raises a hand to stroke his beard. "I must be on my way then," he says, "I will check in with you again very soon."

Afterwards he pulls out his wand and disappears with another crackle and poof.


"I'm finally here," Hermione Granger mumbles to herself, her eyes glued to The Burrow, hands tightening around the suitcase in her grasp. She takes a deep breath through her nostrils, her chest puffing out, and exhales with exuberance, nothing able to quell the elation she feels as she practically glides to the front door.

She's spending her last month of summer with the Weasleys - with one of her best friends, Ron - and will be attending the World Quidditch Cup Final between Ireland and Bulgaria near the end of August. She's been looking to it for the past few weeks, her and Ron, despite a few sarcastic remarks and banters, enthusiastically writing back and forth until today.

The fourteen-year-old bounces on her toes as she knocks on the door, waiting patiently for someone to let her in. When Ron opens the door she flings an arm around his neck and nearly knocks him down. "Gee, 'Mione, just take me out while I'm not expecting it!" Ron admonishes without any bitterness in his voice.

"Well, you deserve it," she retorts, pulling away with a smile. "Now are you going to invite me in or not?"

"You've kind of already let yourself in!" He gestures to her feet which have already crossed the threshold without permission. Not that she exactly need as such. She is always welcome - for the most part.

The two exchange sarcastic sentiments a moment longer, before Hermione's attention is drawn elsewhere - to a thin, golden-haired boy on the couch that is looking at the two curiously. She blinks. "Ronald," she says, clearing her throat. He stops in the middle of a decidedly rude comment and looks at her. She gestures towards the boy. "Are you going to introduce me to your new friend or what?"

"Oh, right, sorry!" Ron grabs one of Hermione's wrist and guides her to the couch to where the frail male sits, a smile flashing on his face at her. She decides, that if he weren't so thin and his hair not so long, he'd be attractive; straight teeth, unique hair and eyes color, and a nose that isn't hooked or overly curved. "Hermione, this," he gestures towards the boy, "is Alphonse Elric; Alphonse, this," he sweeps his hand in Hermione's direction, "is Hermione Granger."

The boy, Alphonse, extends a bony hand in Hermione's direction. Her lips curve and she gladly accepts. "Nice to meet you, Alphonse!"

"Likewise," he chimes, "but you don't have to be so formal - please, call me Al."

She bobs her head. "Okay, Al, when did you and Ron become friends?"

"Well, we don't really know each other," he admits, rubbing the back of his head, "I just kind of showed up four days ago."

"It was pretty amazing! There was this weird spell, a flash of light, and next thing we knew, this bloke fell from the ceiling! Landed on the table - naked!" Ron elaborates, flailing his arms frantically. "I think Ginny is traumatized for life."

Hermione's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, her eyes shifting from Ron to Alphonse and back again. "Do you know how you got here, Al?"

Shock and pain riddles his expression, but he quickly hides it, shaking his head. Strange, Hermione thinks to herself, he's hiding something. "No . . ."

"Does you have a way home? Relatives?" she presses - when a sharp pain in her side snatches her attention. She hisses and looks over at Ron with an accusing gaze. He gives her a look that she understands: she's crossed the line. Which means, that family must be a sensitive topic for Alphonse. She blushes at her ignorance. "You don't have to answer that, I apologize for prying."

"Eh, she has quite a knack for sticking her nose where it doesn't belong!" Ron chortles wholeheartedly - only to receive a slap on the back of the head, courtesy of Hermione, of course.

"Ronald!" she seethes, glaring daggers at him. The redhead merely grins while Hermione focuses back on Alphonse. "Really, I am sorry."

"No, it's okay," Alphonse replies, "you didn't know."

TBC


That's all for now!

Honestly, I had an additional scene in the process (this one is a little shorter than the others), but realized that it would work much better in the next chapter and in different context. The next chapter is one that I've thoroughly been enjoying writing and I hope you like it as much as I do (I can't wait to post it)!

Anyways, please tell me what you think! I'd really appreciate it - and reviews inspire me to update! *Wink* *Wink* ^w^