A/N: Since I have about six chapters written in advance, updates will be very regular until I run out. Please enjoy!
.
.
.
.
[27 July, 1991- Present]
After some time to clean it up, Edward was escorted to his new room by a house elf named Gleep. Despite all of the long years he had spent in the wizarding world, certain creatures still didn't sit right with him. House elves were one of them. All he could see was some kind of chimera, like a mix of a dwarf and a naked bat.
The unsaid sentiment and reluctance to follow didn't seem to bother Gleep though. The small creature was so overjoyed to help he was almost skipping.
"Mister Elric, Gleep is so pleased to meet you! A new teacher! Hogwarts has not seen a new class in years and years. The students will find it so exciting!" The little elf was short and stout, bearing green tinted skin with large, flappy ears and a silken pillowcase neatly belted to his form with a curtain tie. A wide smile was plastered over his plump face. However, his bouncing enthusiasm was starting to get on Ed's nerves.
"Yeah, yeah." Ed muttered, a knot of anxiety filling his chest at the reminder. Teaching. After nearly seven centuries of holding his truth, of trying to rectify his mistakes... here he was, teaching alchemy again. Damn that bastard Dumbledore. Damn his former apprentice too and his disgusting Stone. This was a mistake.
But he couldn't leave the Stone unattended. The wizards could not be trusted with it in their hands, they had no idea what they were dealing with. ...No idea. And he bet his whole remaining arm and leg that they would use it anyway even if they found out, just like Flamel. It disgusted him. Bastard.
Cursing colorfully in his head, he followed Gleep down several more hallways until the house elf stopped next to a large painting of a valley surrounded by grey mountains. In the middle of the valley sat a sleeping giant.
"Here it is!" Gleep squeaked and knocked on the painting, "Hello Ingus!" He waved at the giant who merely grunted in response, rubbing sleep out of its eyes, "Mister Elric will be rooming here. Mister Elric, you can set your password with Ingus!"
"Thanks." Edward said.
"I must go now, but I will bring you your classroom number in the morning!" The little creature bowed deeply to Ed. Ed barely had time to wish it goodnight before it disappeared with a snap.
"Right…" Ed sighed, rubbing his sore shoulder and studying the giant. It blinked large, sleepy eyes at him.
"...Password?" The giant rumbled mournfully.
Edward stared with a frown. A password, huh? Wizards always used the stupidest words. Fizzing whizbee, lemon drop, exploding snap (he could never get over the name of that game), it seemed they were always attracted to the most common wizardly funny words they could find. Why, he didn't know. What he did know is that he wanted something no silly wizard would guess just by rattling off a generic list of objects and plants. Perhaps his own choice would be a little cliche as well, all things considered, but he knew it was nothing the wizards would guess.
"Alphonse," he finally spoke aloud, softly. "make it Alphonse." A reminder. Of why he was here, and who he still needed to return to.
"Alphonse," the giant repeated slowly, nodding sadly as the painting swung open.
Inside, the chambers were cozy. A large fireplace sat on one wall, already lit and enveloping the room with its warm embrace. A desk, a bed, and a closet were on the other side. In the middle of the room sat a large plush rug and a single armchair facing the fire. A side door went into the bathroom. Edward sighed and shrugged off his sopping clothes, laying them across the armchair to dry by the fire, taking a moment to massage his stiff leg and shoulder in the warmth of the yellow light. The skin around his ports were swollen and tender from the shoddy weather. He also noticed some rust flaking by his collar. Sighing, he stripped the skin-colored sleeve from his right arm to check the components underneath. The sleeve had done a decent job of protecting the metal and wires from grime, but the moist weather had still managed to trap somewhat around his bicep, causing some browning. He would need to maintenance soon… the last thing he needed was his joints locking up again. Or worse, it breaking.
Fixing the automail was a pain... he could fix most of it himself now, hell knew that the automail mechanics in his chest had yelled at him enough over it, and having lived so long he'd had to do it numerous times. The only thing he needed help with was fixing the port. Even with the best of care, after going about fifty years without a proper re-maintenancing, the port could start to make his reaction time extremely stiff. Edward rolled his shoulder and wiggled his fingers, scowling at the stiffness. He would find time to fix it tomorrow. For now though, he just wanted to sleep. Upon inspecting the closet, he found several sets of spare robes and nightgowns. Edward clicked his tongue. Did wizards still not believe in pants?
After transmuting one of the gowns into some proper pajamas, Edward flopped into bed. Exhausted though he was, his mind still circled around and around. The reminder of teaching returned to the forefront of his mind. Truth, what was he supposed to do? Lives depended on him doing this right. The ruby stone in his own chest warmed in sympathy, hundreds of thousands of muted voices attempting to reassure.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, allowing his mind to tune into their thoughts.
'It's not your fault,' they thrummed, 'you're going to save us all.'
"I don't want another tragedy. Millions are dead." He rolled over onto his side, inspecting the metal fingers splayed out in front of him.
'And you're saving millions more.'
"I don't want to do this again." Curled under the plush blankets, Ed fought off a soft wave of panic. "How am I supposed to prevent more pain when I have already caused so much? I can't even fix us." A wave of voices rumbled in agreement, but the rest spoke insistently.
'Make it different this time. We are still here. Save us, save them, and teach well. These kids may not be as proud as he.'
"But they could be!" Ed tightened his jaw and his fingers curled towards a fist as if ready to punch an imaginary foe even as half of the muddled voices cried in agreement and the other half in protest.
'You don't have a choice but to prevent it.'
"I will." Edward sighed as he signed himself onto another promise he wasn't sure he could keep, feeling the heavy weight in his chest. How could he save Flamel's abomination when he couldn't even save the people trapped in his own? How could he teach anyone alchemy when his last attempt had ended in such failure? The guilt he had been sitting on for seemingly endless years grew a little bit thicker. He closed his eyes.
"...Goodnight."
[Year 1341]
"Sir?"
"Hmm?" Edward looked up from the books he was organizing on the shelf.
"You own this bookshop, right?" A lanky teen with brown messy hair and bright green eyes stood in the narrow messy aisle, clutching a thick leather-bound book Edward didn't recognize in his hands.
"That's right," Ed agreed, slipping his own onto the shelf, "need something?"
"I was wondering- you see, someone gave me this book and I've been trying to decipher it, but I'm having trouble understanding it. Have you ever seen anything like this before?" The teen held out the book, three words gracefully carved into its worn cover. 'Theorie der Alchemie.'
"Well now," Ed frowned in thought. He'd done much researching in his years in Germany, but had yet to find an entire book on this world's interpretation of alchemy. But suddenly, here it was. Being offered to him in the hands of some random kid. He held his hands out for the book. "May I?"
The teen pulled the book back momentarily in hesitation, but did hand it over. Edward flipped carefully through the pages and parchment inserts filled with many languages, notes, and circles. It looked to be a compilation of numerous researchers.
"...Who gave this to you?"
"I- I don't remember. He was tall and cloaked. I don't remember his face but he only had one arm. I think. It could have just been under his cloak. He just said he didn't need the book anymore and that I had the right spark or something..." the kid shifted nervously from foot to foot.
"I see." Ed traced a gloved finger over the notes, heavily intrigued. "If you don't mind... why, exactly, do you want to decipher this book?"
"Because it's about alchemy! The foreign art that nobody has mastered! Imagine what I could do if I cracked the code! All of that knowledge, that power! You've got a bookshop. You're a researcher too, right? Surely you understand."
"I do. And I also know one more thing than you do." Edward met the teen's eyes, green and full of a fiery life, intelligence, and a desire to learn.
"You do?" The teen seemed surprised at his response. Edward smirked.
"I know that there are exactly two people on this earth who have mastered alchemy, and one of them is me."
"You? So you know what the book means, then?"
"I don't know what this interpretation of alchemy is, but I do know it as a fundamental art."
"Really? Can you teach me?!"
"Well…" With a hand on his chin, Ed evaluated the boy's eager posture. The boy's determination reminded him greatly of himself, his eyes holding a bright stubborn light. Was this what Mustang meant when he'd said that he had a fire in his eyes? "...that man who gave you the book was right. You do have a spark. What's your name, kid?"
"Nicholas. Nicholas Flamel."
"Alright Nicholas Flamel, on condition," he waggled a finger at the teen's excited face, "You see, Alchemy's first law is equivalent exchange. You must give something in order to receive something back. My price is to help decipher this book, as well as you to become my assistant at the bookshop here. It gets lonely working alone all the time. In return, I will teach you how to master alchemy."
"I accept!" Nicholas eagerly agreed, but seemed to realize something and tried to look serious. "As long as I get to keep my book when I am not here, that is." Ed laughed.
"I am no thief, kid. I just want to read it as much as you do. I know a lot about coding, and I can guarantee you some of this is gonna be just that. Better to work as a team, right?"
"Right." The kid nodded, pleased, but then held up a finger of realization. "Hey... you know my name now, what should I call you? It's only equivalent exchange."
The blond smirked. "You catch on quick, don't you? Well, I suppose..." Pleased with Nicholas' response, Ed pointed a thumb at himself. "You can call me Elias. Elias Schmitt."
[Present]
"Mister Elric, sir!"
Ed awoke with a groan, uncurling his head from the pile of blankets. He blinked blearily up at two very green, oversized eyes staring back at him.
"Ah, Mister Elric, sir! I have brought you your classroom number!" the house elf proclaimed in its squeaky voice.
"...Thanks, Gleep…" he responded wearily, poking a hand out into the cool air to grab for the piece of paper in the creature's hands. Gleep eagerly handed it over.
"Master Dumbledore said to also tell you that breakfast is ready at the teacher's table! I made the quiche myself!" The elf bobbed his head, stepping back a few paces. "Mister Elric can head down when he is ready!" With a loud snap, Gleep was gone.
Wearily, Edward rubbed his eyes and stared down at his sheet of paper. Room 332. Where he was supposed to teach alchemy. He swallowed a knot of dread as the events of last night snaked back into his mind. Damn Dumbledore. Why had he agreed to this?
'You must save the stone,' a voice reminded him.
"I know," Ed grumbled, finally rolling out of bed to find some clothes. It appeared his own had already been taken to be laundered, because there was a fresh set of robes neatly folded in the armchair. After once more transmuting them into pants and a coat, and some of the extra pajama fabric into gloves, he slipped on his boots and headed down to breakfast. His limbs were still sore, but at least his shoes were dry and it had stopped raining.
Edward only got lost once on the way to the dining hall, and he was proud of that. With how big the castle was, and how the stairways kept changing, it had infuriated Ed when he had first arrived many years ago. Thankfully, he still mostly remembered the paths, even though it felt a little surreal to be wandering the halls once more.
Upon entering the dining hall, Edward noticed the smell of delicious food wafting from the teacher's table. Hot pies, pasties, rolls, scrambled eggs, a whole multitude of mouth-watering smells just waiting to be eaten. As always, Hogwarts did not slack on its mealtimes. Even, it seemed, if there were no students. There were seven teachers at the table; a greasy-haired man with dark robes, a frail woman with glasses so large and magnified her eyes looked like they were going to come out of her head, an unusually short, cheerful man, a lady containing wavy grey hair with a very battered patchy hat covered in dirt, the stern, grey-haired woman from last night, a nervous-looking man in a large blue turban, and Albus Dumbledore himself.
"Ah, Edward Elric, there you are!" Albus greeted, clapping his hands together, "I was just explaining that you agreed to teach alchemy!"
"Are you sure this is the right choice, Albus?" the dirt-covered witch asked, "He looks so young."
"Oh, I am perfectly sure he is the best choice, Pomona," Dumbledore appeased, with a soft snort from the stern woman. Ed merely turned tired eyes to raise an eyebrow at her. He was aware that he barely looked seventeen, and no matter how many times he tried he could never formulate a permanent ageing spell. That was something he had found with magic; without the equivalent exchange, most spells were never truly permanent. Potions lasted longer, but the exchange still wasn't quite right. That's why dark magical rituals, like forbidden alchemy, were always more effective and dangerous. With it, the cost was often a more worthy price.
"I assure you that I know my field very well." Edward added as he sat down between the greasy haired man and the bug-eyed lady and piled his plate high with food, "Better than anyone else."
"How arrogant." The greasy haired man commented. Edward shrugged.
"I do not lie."
"He speaks truth," the bug eyed lady interrupted, staring at him with her oversized spectacles. She pointed a shaky dramatic finger at him. Ed learned away just slightly. "You are not as you seem. The horror you bear and the horror you seek shall both be appeased. But beware, for there will be sacrifice."
Edward nearly dropped his fork. "What are you talking about?" Not even Dumbledore knew about the philosopher's stone inside of his own chest. The man might suspect, but he held no proof beyond Ed's aging. The crazy lady couldn't be talking about any other horrors though.
"Your time is nearing," Was her only foreboding response, her face paling quite dramatically. She seemed to snap out of her weird trance. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have eaten something bad. I must go. I feel quite sick." She stumbled up from her seat and glided nervously down the hall and out the double doors.
"What," Edward frowned deeply, "Was that?"
"Your t-time? S-Sacrifice?" The turbaned professor stammered.
"Oh! Don't mind Professor Trelawney, dear… as the divination teacher she's a little eccentric and one for drama. Why, I believe she predicts someone's death every year, and none of them have died yet! Scares the students though." The grubby professor tried to reassure, "Heavens! I never introduced myself. I am Pomona Sprout, the herbology teacher. Snape is our potions teacher, Mcgonagall is transfiguration, Flitwick is charms," at the mention of his name, Flitwick waved a cheery hello, "Quirrell is our new defense against the dark arts teacher, and I'm sure you know Dumbledore already!"
"I do," Ed confirmed, appraising Albus' eyes which were gazing at him knowingly. Ed was sure he had guessed by now. "It is nice to meet you all."
"Now that we are all here," Mcgonagall interjected, "I feel it would be wise to discuss our options."
"Always in a hurry, Minerva," Dumbledore sounded almost disappointed.
"Always concise and to the point." She corrected. Edward was starting to like her. Albus surprisingly listened.
"Very well," the elderly wizard's voice dropped into a more solemn note, "I asked you all to gather at this time to discuss the philosopher's stone."
Edward immediately leaned forward, gripping the table. "What the hell, are you just going to tell everyone now?"
"Only those necessary," Albus smiled, "The students will never know. You see, the stone will need extra security. Mr. Elric here has promised to protect the stone, but I would like to take some extra measures, with the help of everyone here."
"W-what kind of m-measures?" Quirrell asked, looking terrified at the very thought. Edward frowned, wondering why Dumbledore had chosen this man to teach defense against the dark arts, of all things. There was something off about him.
"I would like you all to devise your own. The stone will be kept in the last of a series of seven rooms. Each room shall require a different kind of knowledge and skill to meet the next. I would like you all to choose something that is your specialty."
"But if the person has all of the knowledge and skills, then what's going to stop them from just getting through anyway?!" Edward demanded, "This stone is too dangerous to just be guarded by mere rooms."
"That is what the final room will be for," Albus explained, a satisfied glint in his left eye, "A friend of mine has devised a way to prevent anyone with ill intent from ever getting their hands on the stone. It will be quite impossible to retrieve, even for Nicholas Flamel himself. It is one of my more clever plans, I dare say!"
"How does it work?" Ed asked.
"Only he knows, I'm afraid," Albus said mysteriously, "He will be arriving on August first and explain everything then. Professors, you have until that time to devise your rooms. Make them as clever as you can. Mr. Elric, I would like to have a further word with you in my office after breakfast."
"Agreed," Edward said, not quite happy with the public meeting.
"And now!" Albus served himself a generous helping of sausage and eggs, "I think it would be well to enjoy the rest of our breakfast."
Edward eyed the rest of the teachers as he stuck a piece of pancake into his own mouth. Sprout and Flitwick were softly discussing plans over their plates, McGonagall had her lips pursed in a hard, contemplative line, and Snape was watching Quirrell with narrowed eyes. It seemed he wasn't the only one to notice something off.
The turbaned professor in question was staring down at his plate, nervously picking at his food and looking quite pale.
"Is something the matter, Professor Quirrell?" Snape asked with the slightest sneer. Quirrell looked up, nearly dropping the food off of his fork.
"N-nothing at all, Professor S-Snape," he smiled shakily, "No, Nothing at all."
.
.
.
.
A/N: And now we've learned a little more about our friend. So it begins.
Thank you for reading (and reviewing if you do)! 3