Severus Snape was not a patient man. Yes, he could look at a simmering pot for hours, not losing concentration. Yes, he could wait for months, as moves that had long been forgotten came into play, and helped him complete his plans. Yes, he could even watch the love of his life fall in love with another man- and stand by for decades for her to wake up. Yes, one might think that the Potion's Master of Hogwarts was a patient man, but he had absolutely no patience for dealing with incompetent fools. Unfortunately, being in a teaching position for ages 11-17 meant that he was surrounded by idiocy of all levels almost every day. It was hard to bear, but the man did it for the safety of a specific person. And even if she never did come to love him, Snape knew that he would always be in love with Lily Evans (he could never bear to think of her as Potter's).

The point was that Severus Snape was not a patient man. And when he had news-especially of this caliber- any scraps that may have remained were obliterated. So it was a single-minded determination that he shoved students out of the way. A few started to yell at him, but stopped upon realizing who it was. It was only October, but there wasn't a single student that wasn't scared of him, and he used that to his full advantage when shoving the children out of the way.

When he reached the gargoyle, he spat out, "Wheezing Beans", and was admitted inside. Snape nearly kicked down the door in his haste to meet Dumbledore, but refrained upon hearing voices inside. Recognizing the voices made him want to kick the door for an entirely different reason. A quick intake of breath, steeling of eyes, and hardening of a mask, and he stepped inside.

The room was as it always was: apparently unorganized and unmistakingly magical. Fawks, who was on his perch and burning brilliantly, gave off a squawk to alert those in the office to his presence.

"Ah, Severus!" Dumbledore grinned and half rose from his chair. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yeah, Snivels. You know what they say about the bad penny." James Potter grinned, too. Unlike Dumbledore, it wasn't for the joy at his presence.

"James." It was her voice that hurt. It was Lily that he was doing this for, but he couldn't even be in the same room as her without his heart breaking all over again.

Snape kept his face carefully blank and acknowledged their presence with a tense, "Potter. Lily." Then he turned to Dumbledore, and said, "We need to speak."

"Anything that needs to be said, can be said in front of the Potters."

Snape gritted his teeth. But he was not a patient man, and this information was particularly time sensitive. "The matter that you had me investigating? It has come to pass."

Dumbledore stared at him. Utter shock was clear on his features. "What matter?" James cut in.

The headmaster sprung to his feet. "It would take too long to explain! Gather the order! Converge at Headquarters immediately!"

"Dumbledore," Lily started. "What-"

"No time! Go!"

…

Soon after, the Order was gathered in Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody's home. It was a modest house, but had turned… unusual under the man's residence. Mirrors and drapes were slung across the kitchen. Potions were bubbling on the kitchen table. There were jars that no one cared to look too closely at on the shelves in place of anything edible. Indeed, when Sturgie Podmore opened the refrigerator to try to find a drink of some sort, there was a head that stared back at him. Overall, it was uncomfortable, and everyone was sort of huddled together to avoid being too close to the edges of the room, where the strange things lurked.

But it wasn't just the depressing room that made the 20-odd people inside tense. Dumbledore had called an emergency meeting of the inner core of the Order of the Phoenix; something that had not happened since the prophecy had been issued.

People were talking in small groups, worried. Only one person stood to the side, and the rest of the groups glared distractingly at him. Even though Snape had switched sides, out of the people in the room only himself, Lily, and James knew the whole reason why. And it was likely that James would never stop glaring at him.

All the muttered ceased as Dumbledore walked into the room. Even though they were all adults (some nearly as old as Dumbledore himself) they still could not escape feeling as though he was their teacher. And it was out of this respect that none of them bombarded him with questions even though they clearly wished too.

Everyone's eyes followed Dumbledore as he walked to the center of the room. Why had the meeting been called? Was it another death? Another Benjy Fenwick, were there were only bits of him recovered? Another Marlene McKinnon, whose entire family was murdered by Death Eaters? Or maybe… something good?

"My friends," the headmaster's warm voice filled the room. "Through these last few years we have faced many difficulties and hardships…"

"Understatement." muttered Sirius.

"...but finally, we have hope."

The intensity in the room intensified.

"You all know that there is a prophecy that concerns Voldemort" a few people flinched, though no one said anything "and his possible demise. I cannot share the whole prophecy with you, and for that, I apologize. However, it speaks of a… person, I suppose, that comes from an unknown source, and has power that can defeat him." the excitement was mounting. "Because of this, I have been tracking power surges among other variables that I believe might lead us to this person. And,"

Everyone held their breath.

"I think that I may have located them."

Pandemonium.

Shrieks and yells of joy all fought to overwhelm each other. Hope! The possible end to the war! End of Voldemort! End of the killings, disappearances, brutal torturing, the fear!

Only a few people were not celebrating. These were the people waiting for the other shoe to drop. Moody, both the Potter's, Sirius, and Snape all knew that something else was coming. Snape, because he had been privy to the entire search; the Potters because they had seen the look on Dumbledore's face when he was addressing Snape earlier, Sirius because James told him; and Moody because Moody was a pessimist who never expected anything positive about anything.

A few of the people noticed the lack of enthusiasm from the prominent leaders (and Snape), and correctly assumed that there was more to the news than that. Within a minute, everyone was once again silent, and watching Dumbledore.

"What else?" Alice Longbottom asked.

Dumbledore appeared more tense than before and sighed. "We don't know where this person is." He admitted. "A while ago, Severus and I set up a mix of magic and potions to determine the power surges that don't fit within the normal energy of this world's magic and technology. One of these spikes was released today; more powerful than what we have seen yet. All we were able to determine before the power dispersed, was that it was somewhere within Great Britain. We still don't know exactly where we can find this being."

"Then what was the point of telling us!" an outraged Fabian yelled.

Dumbledore's striking blue eyes fell upon the man, and he could not help it: he shivered. "My boy, before, there was doubt about whether the prophecy held any merit. This proves that it does, as well as assures us that they are inside our country. This is quite good news, indeed."

It was quiet again for a moment. And then Lily spoke up. "Hope." everyone turned to her. She blushed a little, but said again. "It brings us hope. That we can win this. With this power, we can defeat Voldemort."

The elation that had previously infected the entire room had fallen somewhat. Even though Lily's words helped, they were still a long way off, it seemed.

But not that far off in actual distance.

In London, an overworked woman was doing paperwork. Mary Abbott was the patron for the Rose House of Orphaned Children. At 49 years old, she gave the appearance of a much older woman; the years had not been kind, and the stress of handling so many children gave her a run-down overwhelmed sort of look. Never the less, she was kind to the children in her care, if a bit short with them. She just never had the time.

The children had already gone to bed. The paperwork she was dealing with was actually transfer papers; and not for one of the kids. It was for Mary herself. The papers were a resume for another job- as a teacher in a small town far away from the weight of London.

She had been told that this was "work for the soul." Instead, it was a bleak, thankless job that put work on her soul. On her bad nights, she wondered if leaving them all to starve and die would allow her to move on with her life. A life that was slowly being consumed under the suffocating weight of decades of desolation. Hopefully, she would regain the spark that had been lost many years ago once she moved away. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully…

Mary sighed as she signed her name on the latest of sheets. I need a smoke. After a brief internal battle, she gave in, and pulled out her packet. She knew that she needed to quit before she went into teaching, but right now… it was just too damn much. So, with these thoughts in mind, she stepped outside to light it up.

The first thing that she noticed among walking outside was the cold. It was raining, and almost freezing; indeed, she could see a few stray snowflakes lazily sinking to the ground. It was windy, Mary thought, but not so windy that she couldn't smoke as long as she stayed under the roof.

The second thing that she noticed was the child. It was not unusual for poverty-stricken parents to leave their offspring of the steps of an orphanage- but most had the sense to do it when the weather wouldn't give it hyperthermia.

The kid was small, and wrapped in a crimson jacket like it was a blanket. Sighing (and putting off the smoke until later) she picked it up and stepped back inside.

What do I do with this?

"Elizabeth!" she yelled. Elizabeth was a 32-year-old care worker, who was the only one that might be trusted with the health inspection of a child. Besides, she very rarely slept, and might take it off of Mary's hands.

Hurried footsteps came from the hallway to Mary's right and Elizabeth burst in. She scanned the scene with wary eyes. "Another dropoff?", she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yep." Mary was too tired to offer anymore.

Without another word, she took the child from Mary's hands. The same situation had happened too many times over the years for her to not know what was going on.

The child had a head full of golden hair that meant it had to be at least a year old. It was sleeping peacefully, but that might be from the cold freezing the heart. Hurriedly, Elizabeth unwrapped the jacket to feel the heartbeat.

It was surprisingly fierce for someone so small and cold. "You're a fighter." she muttered. She noticed two things at the same time: that it was a boy, and that there were scars.

His entire body was covered in them. They were not the type of scars that might be natural for a baby to have: like small incisions for surgery, being dropped, or from a fire. The boy's scars were horrific. Long gashes that seemed to have been scarred over for years (but that's impossible, he's probably a year old) and newer holes littered his tiny frame. There were even some burn marks, and what looked like a stab wound that was never treated on his lower torso. But the worst part was his right arm and left leg. They were grotesque, twisted and malnourished. They looked paler than the rest of the boy, and even though they lacked the scars that covered the rest, they were the most horrifying of all of his (injuries? abuse?).

Elizabeth didn't know whether she gasped or not, but suddenly Mary was there, looking at the small child in a mix of revulsion and panic. "What happened?..." Mary trailed off.

Elizabeth didn't say anything. She couldn't. All she was thinking was, Something terrible.

The next day (or later the same day depending on how you look at it) the boy woke up. It wasn't a messy affair with tears and/or screaming like most babies. In fact, Elizabeth may have missed it had she not been in the same room as him.

She was filling out the paperwork for the boy. It was clear that no one wanted him, otherwise, why leave him on the doorstep to the orphanage? Her grip on the pen she was holding tightened as she thought with grim determination, Even if anyone did want him back, they're not getting him. The injuries that he had suffered… working at the orphanage made her no stranger to abuse among children, but this was among the worst she had ever seen. And he was by and far the youngest she had ever known to have had this extensive damage. Anyone who let such a young child suffer (directly or indirectly) was someone who should never come near a child again.

Her thoughts were echoed by the rest of the orphanage's staff, and a unanimous decision was made to give the boy a place in the home. Elizabeth had filled out the majority of the paperwork for him, but she still needed his name; hence why she was waiting for him to wake up.

She just happened to glance up at the right moment to see the boy yawn in a way that stretched his whole body. Like a kitten, she thought as the boy unfolded his limbs. Wearily, his eyes started to open, and then glared at the sunlight that was coming in through the window. Definitely a kitten. Amused, she continued to watch his slow rise to consciousness. And then he opened his eyes all the way. And Elizabeth gasped.

Because the boy had suns in his gaze.

The eyes were larger than a normal child's. The irises were golden and shining, with yellow and light brown flecked floating through the molten color. There seemed to be many layers in his eyes, and Elizabeth never knew there were so many shades of gold. They were eyes that may have been dulled with sleep, but weren't those of a child; instead they were fashioned for a feral creature. Even though she knew that this was a child who was not capable of any complex thinking, she felt as though she was being studied; analyzed.

She wondered if she passed.

Not a kitten. A wildcat.

While Elizabeth lost herself in the gaze of the strange boy, he tilted his head at her. Curious. Wondering. Once again, she was struck by the intelligence that glinted through the gold.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and started in her 'baby voice'. She cooed, "Hey sweetie. Can you tell me your name?"

The boy was silent.

Elizabeth sighed. While some babies could speak as early as 7 months, it was rare that they were aware enough to know their own so soon- especially not in the first year. The boy couldn't have been much older than that. The whole plan was a bit of a longshot. She was about to write Conner (her nephew's name) into the blank.

"Edhaward."

Elizabeth looked up.

The boy opened his mouth again. "Edhward Elrihc."

Slowly, the woman repeated back. "Edward… Elric?"

The boy's expression cleared. His golden eyes were joyful. A happy noise burst from his throat. An infectious grin spread to Elizabeth as she wrote out Edward's name.