A/N: Once again, thanks for the support! I wasn't going to release this chapter until a later date, but since school starts on Monday and you all have been so awesome, I thought it would be a nice little treat (since the next chapter might take a while longer).
The QAS: For starters: thanks again for the review! I always love what you have to say. I'm glad that you noticed where I mentioned the letter problem, because it was bugging me after you said something about it (which I'm glad you did or it never would have been brought up). I hope you enjoy this new chapter!
**This chapter is primarily focused on Alphonse because of how BIG this scene is (probably going to be my longest chapter yet). It's pretty detrimental to the HP movie, so yeah. xD
(!)(!): This chapter time skips a few days. In fact, this chapter and the next will be a little faster paced. Hope you don't mind!
(!): Before anyone even asks: NO, this will not be an Al/Hermione story - or Ed x anyone. I really just like Al and Hermione's interaction as I see her being someone in which Al can become comfortable around and confide in. Nothing more, nothing less.
6. Nitrogen
"Alphonse! Wake up already!" Hermione growls at the blonde snuggled warmly in bed. The bushy-haired witch groans and places her hands on the rounds of her hips, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Why is it so difficult to wake boys?!
"No . . . five more minutes, Ed . . ." Alphonse murmurs sleepily, his head burrowing itself under one of the stray sheets that has somehow managed to work itself up to the headboard. Hermione sighs, exasperated after having just won the horrid struggle of waking Harry and Ron up and now having to put up with another.
"Ugh! I'm being serious!" she hisses, only for the boy to mumble something else in response. At this point she has already had enough and decides to use more physical methods to get the self-proclaimed alchemist up. She reaches over and pulls down the sheet his head is under and flicks him right, square dab on the nose. She doesn't attain the response she wants -
Alphonse's eyes shoot open at blinding speed and one of his hands snatches her wrist, throwing her on the opposite side of the bed in the floor with little effort. Hermione grunts, the air knocked right out of her lungs, before a weight rests atop her. When her eyes focus, she realizes that Alphonse is straddling her, his amber irises on fire, hot blood quickly rushes up to her cheeks (he is rather attractive now, having filled out, his muscles lightly toned, and that's excluding his charming haircut - wait, what?!) - but then he jumps up, gently taking her with him.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione!" he says frantically once he has her stabilized on her legs, his eyes darting up and down her frame for injuries. "I - I didn't -"
Hermione cuts him off by laughing. "It's quite alright, I'm not hurt, a little startled perhaps, but that's about it." Alphonse relaxes and heaves a heavy breath.
"Sorry, I'm a bit jumpy in the morning!" he confesses with a chuckle. Hermione waves him off.
"Don't worry about it," she clucks, walking around to the other side of the bed where a nightstand is. She snatches the neatly folded clothes that Molly had given to her out in the hall that lay there and promptly returns to Alphonse, offering them to him. "These are for you to wear - we've got to be going soon."
"Thanks, Hermione," he chimes, giving her a wide smile that she returns. She quickly conduces that this boy's smiles and laughter are both equally contagious.
"Don't worry about it! Just get dressed." She thrusts the clothes into his arms and adds: "Quickly now!" before leaving the bedroom, making sure that the door is shut behind her.
Alphonse yawns and focuses on changing out of his pajamas and into the new clothes Hermione brought him. He ends up in a pair of dark jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a blue zip-up hoodie. It's a far cry from the fancier clothes he'd wear back home, but they will make do - and plus they're comfortable enough. He rushes to the door and slips on the black and white trainers that Ron gave him before heading down stairs to the bathroom.
Unfortunately the house is like a zoo.
Ginny is hogging the bathroom up, which in turn, is holding up the twins, Ron, Harry, and Alphonse himself. Alphonse huffs while George and Fred continue hatefully banging on the door.
"Come on!" Freed screeches.
"Quit trying to put make-up on to impress -"
The door slings open at an impressive speed - slamming right into George's face, silencing him. A redhead whirlwind twirls out, wand in hand, mouth about to spew an incantation, when Molly stops her and ushers her off. Ginny protests, but doesn't get the chance for much else before being herded into the living room.
"Even though I feel bad for you, it's still hilarious!" Fred chortles while helping his twin up. George sways a moment, slightly disoriented, but soon regains his wits and stumbles into the bathroom along with Fred and Ron. Harry and Alphonse decide to wait outside the tiny room for their turn.
"Give me my toothbrush -"
"Move OUT of the WAY -"
"Your elbow is my face, eejit -"
"When was the last time you showered -"
"About the last time you put deodorant on -"
Alphonse shakes his head, amused at the tangled mess of heads of red hair and freckly arms trying to gain access to the bathroom sink and peers over at Harry. "Are they always like this?"
Harry sighs as if irritated, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise, and slowly nods. "Unfortunately: yes."
"Oh, for God's sake, boys!" Molly snaps from behind Alphonse and Harry. "Fred, George, let Ron get his toothbrush!"
"Fine, fine," the twins mumble, moving out of their younger sibling's way. He quickly snatches his toothbrush and applies toothpaste on its bristles. A moment later he is out of the way, standing out in the hallway to brush his teeth.
Pleased, Molly turns to walk off. "Be sure to hurry, your father is getting impatient."
Eventually, everyone gets their turn in the bathroom before snagging a quick breakfast on the way out the door (which, getting out the door turns out being just as difficult as getting into the bathroom due to the fact that everyone - minus Alphonse, Harry, and Hermione - tries shoving their way through the small frame at the same time).
"Finally," Ron mumbles with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head, "I can't wait to finally get there!"
"We've been waiting all summer for this."
"I hope they have plenty souvenirs."
"I'm just hoping to get Viktor Krum's autograph."
"I'm just hoping to pull a few good ones on some poor unexpecting lads."
Hermione rolls her eyes. "You two are always hoping for that, regardless of where you are. Try being a little more original."
Alphonse sighs, drowning out the small chit-chat between the five, his golden stare focused on the scenery: a beautiful forest with sparsely spread trees. The grass is a little high and the air bitter with a chill, but other than that, it is truly a sight to behold. In a way, the hills remind him of being back home in Resembool, the valleys and mounds rolling, houses a good distance apart. He has a sinking realization:
He misses home.
He misses Granny, Winry, Roy, Riza, his father, Mei, Ling, Lan-Fan, Fu, Armstrong - but most of all, he misses his brother - Edward. His brother is his best friend, his rock, his role model, the only stability in his life - and to be separated for four weeks, with no contact, has taken its toll. He's hidden it well, but he is concerned (what happened to his sibling?). Surely Truth didn't take him or trap him.
No. Alphonse shakes his head.
He and Edward stepped through his Gate together. Alphonse was even holding onto his brother before they got pried apart and sent in opposite directions. That's proof enough that Edward at least went through the Gate. However, the only problem is that Alphonse doesn't know where he ended up at. Hell, Alphonse doesn't even know where HE is himself.
It's a disconcerting thought.
"Amos Diggory!" Arthur's voice booms, starling Alphonse. He blinks, startled (Teacher would be so disappointed), and glances up, only to see an oddly clothed man, roughly in his mid-forties, wearing an overly stuffed backpack. He grins and waves before his eyes land on Harry and a strange expression crosses his visage.
"You must be Harry Potter?" he inquires, appearing awed. It reminds Alphonse of the times when he and Edward would run into people that have heard of some of their more notorious actions - "The Elric brothers? Wow . . ." - and makes him wonder if he should be aware of Harry's exploits.
Harry looks uncomfortable, but nods, forcing a smile onto his face. "Um, yes," he says, albeit gingerly, "nice to meet you."
Suddenly, branches from a tree directly to the left of their current position, rattles and a boy with dark blond hair and about the same height as Alphonse lands on the ground. He gives a wide smile at them. "Cedric Diggory." he introduces himself. They quickly explain who they are and the group, with the two additions, start walking up the worn path again.
"How are we getting there?" Ron questions with a huff.
"Portkey." Amos answers just as they get to the base of a rather steep hill. He motions to the top where a trashcan lid is visible. Alphonse knots his eyebrows together, confused. Apparently, the Weasley children, Ron, Harry, and Hermione feel the same way, because they all look at him with the exact expression.
"What's a portkey?" Ginny asks.
"They're another form of transportation for witches and wizards - usually gaudy objects that a muggle wouldn't put their hands on." Amos explains as they reach the trashcan lid. He bends over and picks it up. "Alright, now - everyone hold on tight and don't let go until I say otherwise."
"This is weird . . ." Alphonse mumbles to himself, grabbing the metal lid tightly as instructed. I wonder what will happen?
Suddenly everything begins to spin out of control, a strong pulling sensation resonating deep within Alphonse's naval. It's the oddest sensation he's ever felt - and he's certain he is going to be sick if it doesn't stop anytime soon, which won't be good for anyone.
"Let go!" Amos commands.
Alphonse does - and the next thing he knows is his face harshly meeting the ground. He groans and sits up, not surprised to see Ron, Harry, and Hermione beside him doing the same. That hurt.
Once they've collected their wits, they focus on what's in front of them: a large group of people weaving in and around tents and booths, all talking loudly. The only festival Alphonse can think of back home that can even relate is the annual one in Central. It's a celebration for the day that Amestris became the nation that is today.
All he can say is: "Wow."
"Pretty amazing, huh?" Hermione chimes, coming up beside him. He nods.
"Yeah, I've never seen anything like it." he admits, eyes trailing to the large stadium in the distance. "I'm guessing that's where the game will be?"
Hermione rolls her eyes. "How'd you guess?"
Alphonse gives a lopsided grin in exchange. "Uh, strong intuition?"
"You're hopeless!" she laughs, nudging him in the side before motioning towards the others and starting to jog. "Better hurry!"
They push their way through the crowd, eventually separating from Amos and Cedric, while Alphonse is sure to glance at and comment on a few of the booths along the way. The eventually pause outside a rather tiny tent. "This is ours." Arthur announces, earning a few bewildered stares in response. "Go on, the match doesn't start for a while - get settled in."
When Alphonse gets to enter he nearly chokes on his own saliva.
The place is huge!
There is a living room with furniture, a dining room, and a few other rooms off to the sides, all decorated brightly. "You can share a room with me and George," Fred says, dragging Alphonse with him, not even giving the boy any chance to protest (not that he would).
They enter a decently sized room where, like much of the rest of the other rooms, the grass is covered by rugs. "You can use that bed." George declares, pointing towards a set of bunk-beds on the left side of the room.
"Thanks." Alphonse heads over to the bunk and takes a seat. "What time will we head to the stadium?"
"In a few hours." George answers.
Fred nods in agreement. "We came early to enjoy the festivities beforehand. We're going to buy merchandize to support our favorite team." he says, cracking a smile when he catches a sly look on his twin's face.
"And maybe a few other things . . ."
Alphonse sighs, eyebrows twitching. "I guess you mean that you're going to look for things that can help you two prank people?"
Fred and George glance at each other, both wearing shit-eating grins. "Isn't it obvious?"
Edward takes a deep breath, sweat puckered along any visible bits of his flesh, and slowly opens his eyes - then, without warning, he springs forward, his right foot leaving the ground to execute a perfect roundhouse kick. The moment the appendage touches the ground he twists his body to the left, his left foot following suit as he hunkers down to perform a sweeping kick followed by a swift lung to the right that turns into a somersault. When he raises up, he thrusts his right fist forward - only to accidentally put too much force into the blow and for him to topple over.
"Fuck!" he grits out, having hit his knee on a particularly sharp rock.
He's only recently realized how off-balance he is without his automail after practicing martial arts. Of course, he is more agile now - and his shoulder and neck don't ache like they used to - but his hits aren't as hard, nor are they as accurate. He's always over aiming, having had to in order to accommodate the weight of automail (it's basically become habit out of necessity for survival).
Still yet. He runs his hands through his greasy hair.
Thanks to Madame Pomfrey his right arm has recovered muscle at a staggering rate and has finally caught up to his left (for the most part), meaning that he can now push both to the limit during a workout, but still it isn't going to be easy to adjust. If he wants his punches to be as effective as when he had automail, he will have to work hard.
Sigh . . .
If only he still had his alchemy! He glances down at his shaking hands, his body jittery after a tedious workout, then slaps his palms together and touches the ground: nothing happens - not that he expected anything but.
"Worth a shot, I guess," he murmurs to himself, leaning against the tree beside him.
He doesn't feel as effective without his alchemy, but it was well worth the sacrifice (he keeps telling himself that Alphonse is home, while, due to Father, he is stuck here). Not that he's going to take anything laying down though. He still has his hand-to-hand combat, even though his style will have to be altered to suit his needs.
Dumbledore had taken him to some place the other day - Diagon Alley - to purchase a wand so that he may learn magic, only to discover that he can't use it either. He assumes it has to do with him sacrificing his Gate, and it probably does, meaning that he's made an important discovery (if the Gate is connected to magic as well, that is): witches and wizards pull from the Gate. But that leaves him with another unanswered question: 'How does magic bypass Equivalent Exchange?'
It's a lot to think on.
Since that didn't work as well as they would have liked, Dumbledore decided that it be best that he learn how to make potions - "You never know when one could come in handy!" - under Snape's tutelage (not that either were particularly enjoyed to be spending time with the other after Edward had nearly killed Snape with his poor cooking - it's now a joke amongst the staff that if something from the kitchen tastes bad they say "it must be Ed's cookin' again!").
Nevertheless, in the past few days, Edward has excelled in potion making - in fact, it puts him in the mind of alchemy considering that it mainly requires a good memory. He's learned how to make a potion that petrifies people (literally freezing them in place), one called polyjuice potion that allows him to alter his appearance (reminds him of Envy's ability), another called girding potion that gives the user extra endurance (that should be handy), and many more. Eventually he'd like to sit down and concoct his own potions. Should be simple, really.
Edward's quickly decided that potions will play a large part in his new fighting style. Without alchemy - or the ability to learn magic - he will need to rely on another means besides just hand-to-hand combat and his innate ability for coming up with fighting strategies on the spot - something that will give him an edge - and he's found that in potions.
With a belt and two sturdy pouches, he will be able to keep potions on him at all times. He's already invested in said items, the left being used for potions that will improve himself, while the right will be used to capacitate any enemies (which he's hoping he doesn't encounter, but he has a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that says something is just off about this place).
His next goal is to conquer the power of flight, or in his case: learning how to fly on a broomstick without being upside down or embedded in the side of Hogwarts' impressive framework. And yes, he's that bad. He's already ended up in the infirmary due to a flying accident twice today.
"Are ya alright, lad?" Hagrid calls from the house, his voice saturated with concern. "Do ya need me to come n' carry ya?"
Edward waves his hand dismissively. "Nah, I'm fine - I can walk on my own legs."
Hagrid doesn't seem convinced but shrugs nonetheless. "Alright then, dinner is almost finished."
"About time . . ." Edward responds, pushing himself up on his feet and dusting his clothes off. "Make sure to save me some this time!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The blond arches his eyebrows while he approaches. "That means don't pulverize the whole damn table before I even get there!"
"Then don't be wastin' any time! I've got a hefty appetite." Hagrid chortles, rubbing his round stomach. Edward rolls his eyes.
"That's an understatement." he mutters as he reaches the door. Hagrid steps to the side to allow him in. "It's like you inhale and everything's gone."
The large man slaps Edward hard on the back, causing the shorter male to stumble forward. "I can't help it!"
"For fuck's sake, mountain man!" he snaps his hands flying back in an attempt to rub his sore spine. "You don't know your own strength! Geez!"
Hagrid gives him a sheepish look that says he isn't in the least bit sorry. "My bad."
Edward grumbles hatefully under his breath before taking a seat at the kitchen table, the aroma from the food causing his mouth to salivate. His pain is instantly forgotten, sating his growling stomach becoming more important. "Let's just eat already."
"You don't have to tell me twice!" Hagrid exclaims, already at the table with a plate in one hand and the other reaching for the roll basket. Before he can even get his hand on the wooden rim, Edward swats his appendage away, an impressive glare upon his visage.
"Now don't take the basket!"
"I cooked it, I can take whatever I please -"
"And I did the most work outside today -"
"That may be true, but you're staying here because of my kindness -"
"Your garden wouldn't be half of what it is without me -"
"You'd be on the streets without me -"
"Well, I'm a growing teenager! That triumphs everything else!"
Hagrid reluctantly relents with a sigh, a defeated expression in-tact. "Ah, you got me there."
Edward smirks and snatches up three rolls, proudly plopping them on his plate. "That's what I thought - look I even left two for you." He pushes the basket within Hagrid's reach, adding with an accusatory glance at the large man, "Unlike someone I know that tends not to."
Hagrid gives him a dry look before taking a bite out of one of the rolls. "Just eat yer food."
If Alphonse thought the outside of the stadium was huge, the inside is even more so.
After an odd run in with a family - the Malfoys, he reminds himself - they got their seats which just so happen to be at the very top of the stadium. There are the strangest contraptions and technology present, but he decides not to comment on it (based on everyone else's reactions - or lack thereof - it's supposed to be common knowledge and he doesn't want to draw further attention to himself). Besides, he's still amazed by the amount of people crowded into one place. There has to be a minimum of fifty-thousand people seated.
If only Edward could see this . . .
"There they are!" Ron screeches, pointing at a handful of people riding levitating brooms (people riding brooms - that had been a fun explanation to hear) that flood the center of the stadium. They perform a neat introduction consisting of advanced flying techniques and green smoke, officially revealing their identity as the Irish team.
A moment later the opposing team, Bulgaria, makes their grand entrance - also fueled by intricate flying, minus the smoke, although Ron's favorite Quidditch player, Viktor Krum, gets the spotlight - half of the stadium becoming a five-hundred foot moving image of him flying around on a broomstick while the crowd chants his name. He must be worth something to receive such treatment.
Almost immediately after, the match is underway - the Irish team taking the lead early on. But Bulgaria doesn't take it laying down; they struggle and manage to score a few points, but their defense isn't as efficient as the Irish's, therefore aren't able to catch up. Based on determination alone, Alphonse finds that he prefers the Bulgarians - they have more heart, but the Irish have more skill and better chemistry as a team.
Apparently, Viktor is the better seeker and manages to end the game by catching the golden snitch, but due to the expansive lead the Irish team has, the Bulgarians are still defeated. Ron looks scorned at the outcome, but only huffs and mutters something to Harry.
"Well, they tried their best." Alphonse murmurs to Hermione who nods her head in agreement.
"Everyone loses some and wins some." the bushy-haired girl comments. She leans over, hands cuffed around her mouth. Alphonse blinks and lowers his ear closer to her. "We're never going to hear the end of this from Ron, now."
Alphonse chuckles. "You're right!"
"Would you two cut it out and come on?" Ron snaps, having somehow gotten behind them. They both look at him, neither missing his reddened cheeks and the hateful gaze he is bestowing upon them with little restraint. He's definitely ticked.
"Right," Hermione trills, motioning for Alphonse to follow her. "Back to the tent."
"Sounds like they've got their Irish pride going strong!" George comments, from the center of the tent, grinning wide at the loud sounds from outside. Ron scowls at the not-so-surprising revelation and merely slumps in his seat nearby, his foul mood dampening the air of excitement.
While he isn't exactly pleased with the outcome of the match, he's more enraptured with how close he saw Hermione and Alphonse sitting afterwards. If they had been any closer Hermione would have practically been in Alphonse's lap! Then she had the nerve to lean over and whisper something in his ear that elicited a laugh from the boy. Ron grits his teeth.
He come to one conclusion: they're blatantly flirting.
Now, he is NOT, by any means, jealous. He's concerned with his best friend's well-being. After all, they barely know Alphonse and he might be a player - womanizer - man-whore. What kind of friend would he be if he let her fall for such sleazy tricks?
Hermione will beg to differ, because she can never just take his advice for what it is: advice, and object, saying 'Alphonse is nice!' and that 'it's none of your concern, Ronald!' - but there's something inside of him screaming that something is offish with Alphonse. He can't quite put his finger on it, but he has a feeling that it will all come to light eventually.
Still: the suspense is destroying him.
Ron runs a hand through his auburn bangs with a groan, his head dropping backwards with the motion. In the corner of his eye, he sees Hermione, Harry, and Alphonse all three lost in conversation, laughing and enjoying themselves. He frowns, anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach like boiling water.
Of course, Harry has taken a liking to Alphonse, too. It seems like he's the only one even slightly weary of the bloke! Ginny and Hermione talk to him the most, George and Fred invited him to share a room with them here in the tent, and Harry acted as if he has known Alphonse for years!
"What is this world coming to?" he mutters to himself while propping up an elbow on the chair arm and resting his chin in the palm of his upturned hand, eyes trailing away from the trio and to the front of the tent, feigning disinterest in what's going on around him. "This is stupid . . ."
A moment later, Arthur - whom had stepped out momentarily - emerges from outside, eyes wide. Ron straightens up his posture, blinking. What the -
"We need to leave." Arthur announces, his tone deathly calm. Ron and the other teens look at the man, confused. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, exasperated.
"The Irish -"
"It's not the Irish!" Arthur snaps, silencing Fred. He gives a grim expression. "I mean it! We need to get going!"
That spurs everyone into action for some reason - and they fly outside, worried, baffled, and wondering what is going on - when they catch sight of multiple tents burning, their ears met with louds screaming and hollering from fleeing people. Ron's eyes widen. What the bloody hell is going on?!
"Get back to the portkey!" Arthur yells over the screaming. "Fred! George! Ginny is your responsibility! I'm going to help evacuate!"
Alphonse steps up, a look in his eyes so dark that even Ron feels a slight fear at the boy. "I'm helping, too!"
Hermione grabs the blond's arm. "No! You can't! There's nothing you can do!"
"Exactly! I'll be fine! Just go with the other children, Al!" Arthur accords loudly. Alphonse stands his ground, his lips set in a firm line. (Ron can only gape at the boy's tenacity. Does he want to be killed?)
"No! I'm going to help, regardless of whether or not you approve!" Alphonse barks back, running towards the fire, despite Arthur, Harry, and Hermione's cries of protest.
"Damn!" Arthur hisses and turns towards the others. "You three hurry along! I'll catch up later!" he adds then dashes off.
"We can't just leave him!" Hermione says, trembling. Harry nods.
"Yeah - we'll have to force him to come with us! He'll get hurt!"
Ron snorts. "He made his decision!" Harry and Hermione give him horrified looks at the suggestion - not that he particularly cares at the moment. "Did you see the look in his eyes? There's no way we can convince him otherwise!"
Hermione pushes past him. "We have to try!"
Ron clenches his jaw while his friends head off after Alphonse, his hands quivering at his sides. What should he do? If he goes after them, then he very well could die! Think. Think. Think -
"Come on, Ron!" Harry calls, grabbing his arm and pulling him after him through the panicked crowd, making the redhead's choice for him.
The closer they to the flames, the more panicked everyone is. People are screaming, shoving, and running as fast as they can. The most disturbing thing of all, however, are the bodies strewn about the ground, all scorched and with terrified expressions twisted onto their visages, their eyes void of life. Ron has to look away to avoid getting sick.
Harry locks up, causing Ron to plow into his backside and nearly knock him over. "What's the hold up?!" he questions, whirling around Harry to get a better look for himself - only to freeze at the sight before him: a group of witches and wizards, all cloaked in dark robes with hoods that come to a point, their faces covered by masks molded in the shape of a skull.
One poises their wand in front of them and launches a large fireball, setting a row of tents ablaze.
"W-We have to go!" Ron chokes out, shaking Harry's arm, but he remains frozen in a daze, his green irises owlish behind the lenses of his glasses. Up ahead, Hermione turns on her heels and runs back to them, the panic that courses through her body visible on her face.
"Come on, you two!" she screeches, pushing with all her weight against Ron and Harry, her arms eventually buckling. Harry stays firmly planted where he is, silent and scared - his face seemingly petrified in one expression.
"What is wrong with you, Harry?!" Ron demands, the cloaked beings getting nearer and nearer while the screams of the others become further and further away. Are they going to die here? The redhead turns away from Harry and towards the danger, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly.
He feels Hermione's soft hand wiggle its way into one of his own, her fingers twitching against his knuckles, and he hears her let out a small gasp. It only makes their impending death seem more real - this is the end because they refuse to leave Harry alone - and his heart flutters before leaping into his throat.
We're really going to die.
But there's so much I want to do -
A loud clap sound shatters his thoughts and shakes him to the core. Apparently, Hermione feels the same way, her eye lashes batting against her cheeks as they both glance to the left -
"Alphonse!" Hermione cries, voice saturated with both concern and relief.
"Get out of here!" Alphonse responds, his hands pressed together in an odd manner before he abruptly slams his palms down on the ground. Ron blinks - what does he hope to accomplish by that?
There's a surge of energy that sparks from the ground where Alphonse is and suddenly the earth lurches, forming small mounds - what the hell?! - then fist shape clumps rocket forward, slamming into the front roll of the wizards, sending them flying backwards.
Ron can only watch, mouth hung open, and feeling nothing but dumbfounded. He's never witnessed magic like that before.
However, Alphonse doesn't pay them any mind. The group focuses on him and begins to send spells his way, but he's too quick and dodges the beams of light with little trouble. (Ron can't help but wonder how someone can move that fast, but is too numbed by the situation to even speak at the moment.)
Alphonse eventually makes it to the remaining group and delivers a swift roundhouse kick to ones jaw, another to ones ankles, and another to ones gut, all three toppling over as a result. The others quickly fall back, all while casting more spells that are ineffective against Alphonse's speedy movements.
Ron can only wonder where he learned to fight like that. They're definitely muggle techniques, but more refined than what he's seen. Then again - he squints to get a better look at the blond - he is slightly panting, sweat lining the sides of his face. It's as he suspected: Alphonse hasn't fully recovered from his severe malnutrition.
"Finish him off!" one of the figures suddenly howls, flicking their wand with an acute tilt of their wrist. Alphonse merely dodges and claps his hands together (wandless magic?!) and touches the ground. A spark of blue light invades Ron's vision once again and like before, the ground buckles, but instead of doing so in front of the oddly cloaked individuals, it occurs directly beside Alphonse, a long, speak shaped object rising up from the ground.
"I don't think so!" he retorts, pulling the spear into his hands and assuming a fighting stance.
"We have to get out of here!" Hermione pleas, her voice strained and desperate. "Alphonse! Please!"
Ron agrees - but he still can't seem to find his voice. He's too frightened by these wizards and witches - and the possibility of what they represent and whom they may be working for. He manages to clench his jaw.
If his assumptions are correct, then they are in a far worse situation than he could have ever dreamt.
"I have to fight them off, Hermione!" Alphonse retorts, shaking his head. "If they keep doing what they are - so many are going to get hurt!" He shoots a quick glance at them. "You three go on! I'll hold -"
"No!" Hermione objects, obstinate. "We're not going to leave you!"
"We need to help out, then!" Harry rasps, his eyes finally bright with emotion again. Ron sighs with relief.
"What happened to you?! You just zoned out there -"
"Doesn't matter," Harry interjects, "We can't sit back while Alphonse does everything!"
"But what can we do? We don't have our wands!" Ron quips, frustrated. From the looks of it - everyone has already fled the area - what they're doing (or Alphonse is doing) is utterly pointless! Why is that he's the only one that seems to understand that?
The cloak-clad figures all raise their wands and give quick waves, large fireballs pouncing from the ends and twirling towards the four. Ron, Hermione, and Harry all gasp and dive out of the way, while Alphonse weaves through the destruction - gasping when a flame manages to graze his left arm - and starts dueling the wizards up close once in range. He manages, impressively enough, to slice through a few wands while delivering powerful blows to others with the flat end of the spear.
Eventually, Alphonse receives another burn to his right calf, but merely winces and continues fighting. One wizard manages to get a hit on his spear and snap it in two, but instead of relenting, the thin blond whirls one of the ends at that particularly individual, knocking him onto the ground. He then throws the sharper end at another, piercing the man's shoulder - he screams out in pain and drops to his knees.
Ron shivers, the shrill sound rattling his insides. He's never heard such a pained cry before - and he doesn't want to ever again, either.
"Damn it!" one cries out, eyeing his downed comrades while stepping away from Alphonse. "Pull back! We can't afford to get captured!"
Ron blinks, surprised. They're wanting to retreat? His heart flutters with hope - when Alphonse yelps, falling over to the ground unable to move. What the -
"A binding spell!" Hermione exclaims, eyes glued to the beings as they turn and flee into the night.
Harry sighs. "We're lucky they didn't use the killing curse on us."
That's certainly something Ron can agree with. "Let's just hurry and get out of here."
"We have to help Al!" Hermione reminds them, already in the process of going to the golden haired boy. Ron's chest tightens at the sight, a scowl quickly working its way onto his visage.
"Come on, Ron, we'll have to pack him." Harry says, nudging Ron with his shoulder. The redhead mutters hateful things under his breath, but doesn't object. He walks side-by-side with Harry to their fallen friend.
"Sorry about this," Alphonse chuckles while Ron and Harry bend to lift him up. Ron rolls his eyes. I bet you're sorry.
Hermione shakes her head. "You saved so many lives, including ours - and we were useless to help." Her eyes trail to the scorches on both his left arm and left leg. "We'll get your injuries healed as soon as possible. Promise."
"Which brings up a very good question: what was that?" Harry inquires, adjusting his hold on Alphonse's knees. Ron, securing his hold on the blond's shoulders, can't help but wonder the same thing. He's certain that Hermione is curious, too, but is just too kind to voice her thoughts in such a situation. He can't much blame her, considering they owe Alphonse their lives.
The boy sighs. "Remember when I told you that I'm an alchemist?" They nod. He takes a deep breath and says: "Well, that was alchemy."
TBC
I have a few things to say about this chapter:
1. Um, I'm not that impressed with the fighting scene at the end. I tried re-writing it and whatnot, but it has been a long time since I've tried writing a fighting scene. To say I'm a little rusty is an understatement. I don't think it would have been as difficult had it been from Alphonse's perspective, but I wanted an outsider's instead (Ron's) so I could write in one of the other character's thoughts on the subject. It definitely was a reason I was postponing posting the previous chapter (I'm trying to stay ahead).
2. I don't remember seeing much of Hagrid's personality. I view him as one with a large appetite, nice but not above teasing someone (especially Edo), and a generally laidback individual. I really enjoyed writing the light banter between him and Ed as I felt it gave me some space from the seriousness of the rest of the chapter.
3. Ron's fearfulness. Hmm. I don't know how you all will take it, but I didn't exactly view the scene as him being scared, but more practical. They don't have their wands on them (it isn't really shown in the movie, so I'm assuming they didn't) and are kind of useless without them in this situation. Ron is the only one that seems to remember that (I've always seen him as someone to think things through a little more than Harry or Hermione who just want to jump into dangerous situations at times - but you might see him a little differently).
What do you all think? Please share your thoughts!
