A/N: It's finally here! This chapter gave me so much trouble and I don't know why.

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[Year 1860]

"Brother?" a soft, painfully familiar voice echoed softly.

Edward's breath caught in the middle of a sob. Sowly, he looked up from where he knelt, hands plastered against the mirror's unforgiving surface showing the flowing grasses of Resembool as if he could still fall forward through the glass upon giving enough pressure. Hardly daring to believe it, his eyes roved higher and higher as they met legs, then a torso, then a... face.

"Al… phonse?" he couldn't breathe. There his brother's figure stood, impossibly human, with short cropped golden hair, bronze eyes, and a soft gentle smile he hadn't seen in hundreds of years. No traces of emaciation were left on his body, his forearms toned instead of skeletal and cheeks filled with a healthy glow rather than a sickly pallor. "How…"

"It's me, Brother." Alphonse extended an arm towards him with warm happiness in his eyes, willing for him to reach out and take it. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

Trembling, Edward raised his flesh palm and pressed it against Alphonse's outstretched fingers.

The mirror was hard and cold.

[Present]

Edward didn't know how long he knelt on the cold stone floor, ignoring the concerned chatterings of the stone in his chest. It had been long enough that the chill of the unforgiving ground and the evening rain drizzling outside had seeped into his metal limbs, creating a consuming icy throb. He welcomed the pain, knowing that every thought of it hurting was one less about his father or the horrible creation looming beside him.

So he knelt there, body propped heavily on his ankles and knees until his limbs and feelings were numb and he was certain that his father was gone, never to be seen again. Eventually, the Stone silenced as well, joining him in the stillness.

Finally, when not a soul had moved for many a moment, Edward slowly rose. Wincing, he braced his palm against the bronze frame as life tingled back into his leg in sharp jabs. He made the mistake of looking into the mirror, where Alphonse's haunting eyes stared back.

"Hi Brother, did you get hurt again?" In typical Alphonse concern, the ghost of his little brother tilted his head a little over-exaggeratedly with a small frown. Since the armor, Al's movements had been forced to become over-the-top to portray emotion in his iron prison. It was scary, some of the nuances that the mirror knew.

"Not this time." Edward exhaustedly answered it despite his better judgment, "...I'm just tired of this, Al."

"Tired of what?"

"Just… it's been a long time." he forced a tired smile upon his face even if he felt defeated. Even with an illusion, he couldn't help but try to be strong for his brother. "But it'll be okay. I'll make it home, just wait for me a little longer, okay?"

"Of course, Brother. I'm always here." Alphonse smiled, rocking back onto his heels.

"Yeah… I know." Frowning and pushing away from the mirror, Edward grasped for his wand, pointed it at the old sheet, and whipped it back up and over the top of the frame, hiding its contents from the world once again. He shook his head to rid his mind of that painful smile, and limped heavily for the door.

He shut it behind him without turning.

—

It had long since turned nighttime by the time he hobbled toward his room. The hallways echoed, empty in the dark. Edward was glad for the solitude. He didn't need any of the other teachers happening upon him and asking too many questions about his reasons for being up so late, or his obvious limp. If Winry were properly here, she'd kill him.

'That's right, you know. You should take better care of those.'

The lecture from his Stone made him quietly chuff under his breath, but shook the feeling away again. The Alphonse in the mirror had dredged up far too many old memories and sentiments he'd rather not think about. It reminded him too much of his age.

Upon reaching his room, Ingus looked down at him from the painting.

"Password?" The giant asked mournfully, but if possible, seeming slightly cheerier than usual.

"Alphonse…" Edward replied with hesitation. After the events of the day, he regretted making that his password. Damn Hohenheim to hell. Ingus rumbled an affirmative and swung open.

The first thing Edward did was draw himself a hot bath to ease the angry swelling in his ports. He sank into the soapy water with a sigh, sinking down to his chin and silently wishing that the bubbles around him could wash his sins away as well.

It was a silly desire.

After the bath, he took extra time tending to his automail. After the rainstorm at the house on the rock, all of his joints were feeling stiff and his knee was beginning to lock. On his palm where he'd grabbed Hagrid's umbrella, pieces of fabric, rubber, and smoke had fused to the metal and leather grips. He scowled.

His automail was already rudimentary enough compared to Winry's original work. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he'd never be able to replicate the quality that she would craft. Especially not on his own person. Without a second hand to help, and since alchemy, even with his extensive experience, usually couldn't flawlessly replicate the tiny delicate wiring, almost every repair resulted in a slight sacrifice of quality.

Alfons had been able to help him for a time and had been able to greatly improve the state of his limbs with the help of Edward and the stones' souls drawing him up a shoddy form of blueprints… but the 1940s were long gone now. He didn't know if he could bear to go back to Germany.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts before they could turn any darker, he pulled his tool kit out of his pocket and set to work.

Over the next month Edward settled into a reluctant routine; Wake up early, stretch, bundle himself in an extra layer of clothes if the rain was bad, bury his nose in the Daily Prophet over breakfast (He'd been out of touch with the wizarding world politics for a while and was being quickly reminded why), exercise, have an early lunch (he hated getting caught up in small talk), and then take a cup of hot tea with him to the classroom Albus had assigned to him. There, he would hole up in his office for the afternoon, scowling at books and papers.

Teaching alchemy. The knowledge haunted him spitefully from the stack of lesson plan notes he had drafted several times perched on the end of the desk. He'd half buried them under other notes concerning the Mirror of Erised, theories on alchemic and magical planes, and other half-forged ideas, but the knowledge taunted him all the same. After dinner, he would wander the castle, exploring the library or the grounds and patrolling the hallways around the Mirror bearing Flamel's stone. Some days, he couldn't bear to enter the room. Other days he did, if only to reassure himself that the Mirror remained untouched and hadn't rejected the Stone. He always left it under the sheet.

One morning as he made his way into the great hall for breakfast, the artificial sky barely beginning to peek rays of sun through the violently pink clouds, he found that the dining table was not empty. Edward scowled. Usually he tried to avoid talking to the wizards until dinnertime. He didn't care much for them, and they didn't know how what to think of him. He preferred it that way. The only one who didn't seem to notice his averseness to the rest of the staff was Albus Dumbledore, who always smiled knowingly at him over dinner when he thought Edward wasn't paying attention.

Edward always noticed.

So when he saw Professors Quirrell, Snape, and McGonagall sitting together at the breakfast table, he very nearly turned on his heel and marched back out of the room. He didn't need McGonagall trying to compare his alchemy to transfiguration this early in the morning. Unfortunately, he was caught.

"Good morning, Professor Elric," McGonagall raised a thin eyebrow, "You're up early as well, I see."

"I'm up on time. You're the ones who seem to be up early." Edward countered, relenting to sit at the table in his usual chair next to Professor Snape. He'd spoken to the man a few times over dinner and decided he didn't hate him. Both of them seemed to have the same apathy about their jobs, valued critical thinking, and Snape had given him some insights on what to expect from students, their thinking skills, and the annoyance of textbook formula.

"Early indeed." the greasy-haired man drawled.

"G-Good morning, P-professor Elric," Quirrell smiled at him nervously.

Edward grunted acknowledgingly, stuffing a roll in his mouth and hoisting his newspaper closer to his face. Quirrell made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't truly place. There was still something off about him, and it wasn't good. He eyed the man from the corner of his eye for a minute while pretending to read, but Quirrell simply stuttered through small talk with McGonagall, seeming to not notice him.

The newspaper itself wasn't much of an escape, full of treacle tart recipes, superficial ministry publicity stunts, and a large obnoxious headline absolutely covering the front page. He'd saved it for last since lately, it always said the same thing.

YOU-KNOW-WHO RISEN AGAIN? WHERE HE COULD BE NOW

Edward didn't bother to read past the title, exasperatedly folding the paper up and placing it to the side to grab the rest of his breakfast. Beside him, Snape glanced at the newspaper, his lip curling slightly.

"The ministry is still on about that? They've been trying to spread that fearmongering for months."

"It's annoying." Edward agreed, serving himself a generous helping of scrambled eggs and bacon, "If you're going to spread mass panic, at least provide accurate information."

"Do you believe You-Know-Who is back?" Snape questioned with calculating eyes.

"If he is, then he's not going to have a fun time with the entire wizarding world out for his head," Edward scoffed darkly, taking a bite of sausage, "But the Prophet seems to think he's behind literally everyone's door waiting for him to jump out and scream 'peek-a-boo.' You-Know-Who isn't a dumbass. If he wanted to play his cards right, he would take it slow, gaining a following and a leg to stand on before wildly jumping to mass hysteria and murder. When or if he comes back, we'll know."

"I see we hold similar sentiments." Snape leaned back in his chair, seeming satisfied.

"I'm glad to see you getting along with someone despite the morbid topic of conversation, Professor Elric." McGonagall stated as she placed the napkin from her lap back onto the table and stood, "I hope you do continue to settle in." Edward looked at her. He didn't hate the woman either; he found her blunt ways appealing compared to most wizards' wishy washy forms of speech. But her pushy nosiness got on his nerves. Still, he knew to never get on her bad side. "Our regular breakfast is at seven, if you would like to join us more often. For now, Quinirius and I have a meeting with Dumbledore. Please enjoy the rest of your breakfast."

Edward almost replied with 'you too,' but caught himself as he swallowed some eggs. "Yeah… thanks." He waved them off. Quirrell followed after McGonagall, looking more nervous than before. Edward watched his back while they left. Quirrell seemed to hunch just a bit more. Cold curled in his stomach and the souls in his chest whispered uncomfortably.

"You're staring quite intently." Snape commented beside him.

"Huh? Yeah," Edward said distractedly. His mouth curled into a frown of thought. "...About Quirrell. Why is he teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? He looks like a burst of wind would bowl him over in terror."

"I've been told he has more experience than others applying for the job," Snape sneered bitterly, "I suppose we'll have to observe him teaching before Dumbledore can decide if experience is equivalent to teaching prowess."

"I get the feeling you don't like him very much." Edward noted with a raised eyebrow.

"...Perhaps not." the dark-robed man admitted, "Unfortunately, it is not up to me to decide the staffing of Hogwarts." Snape's mouth curved in a grim line.

"Do you think there's something off about him? More than just the nervousness, I mean." Edward asked, tilting his head. If Severus wanted to probe information out of him, then he could do the same. He trusted his own instincts of course, but was curious to see if others were picking up on it as well.

"...That is a question difficult to answer," Severus leveled narrowed eyes at him, a calculated slowness in his speech, "And one that I cannot say for sure."

"I see. Well, if you ever do…" Edward stood as well with a slight grin, taking his newspaper, "I would be interested to hear it."

"Why such a special interest in Quirrell?"

"I have my reasons," he breezed with a vague shrug, "As, I'm sure, do you."

"I see," The greasy-haired man replied sourly. "Perhaps that request should go both ways, then. Why should you expect me to share my opinions without knowing yours? One might think you were audacious."

Edward laughed. A hearty chuckle in his throat. "Severus Snape," he waggled a finger in the man's face, "One thing you must know about me is that I am audacious. But I like the way you think. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. Equivalent exchange, shall we say." With a full smirk now, he spread his fingers into an outstretched hand. "Shake on it?"

Snape looked like he had swallowed a lemon, but Edward saw the spark of curiosity in his eyes and knew he'd caught his fish. After a long moment of hesitation, Severus took the offering, perhaps squeezing a little harder than he needed to. "Agreed. Provided you hold up your end of the bargain."

"I've already mentioned something's off with him, haven't I?" Satisfied, Edward turned toward the oversized doors of the great hall, waving his newspaper in farewell. "See you at dinner, Severus."

[September 1st, 1991]

Harry Potter stared at the mountain of sweets he had purchased from the trolley. He'd dumped them on the train seat next to him and invited Ron to join him on his eating adventure. Ron eagerly agreed, tossing his corned beef sandwiches to the side and eagerly rooting through the pile of candies. They were delicious.

Near the bottom, Harry pulled out a blue and gold box. "Chocolate frog?" he read off the top, "What are these? They're not really frogs, are they?"

"No," Ron said around a mouthful of licorice wand, "But check the trading card. I'm missing Agrippa and Ptolemy."

"Huh?" Interested, Harry opened the box and fished out the card while Ron explained how they worked. The card was decorated very much like the box, the golden designs framing a picture in the center that showcased an old-looking painting of a handsome man with short fair hair, golden eyes behind brown-framed glasses, and a no-nonsense expression. He scanned the name. "Elias P. Schmitt?"

"Oh, you got a rare one! You're lucky! It took me forever to get him! Can I have a frog? Maybe your golden fingers will get me Agrippa."

"Sure," Harry agreed, more interested in his card than the chocolates. Turning it over, he read the back:

ELIAS P. SCHMITT

A renowned alchemist from the 13th century, Elias P. Schmitt is said to have mentored Nicholas Flamel and assisted in the creation of the Philosopher's stone. He mysteriously disappeared in 1347 after a fire burned his and Nicholas' laboratory to the ground.

Harry frowned, turning the card back over and nearly jumped when the picture of Elias rolled his eyes.

"It moved!" he exclaimed in shock, "It rolled its eyes at me!"

"Yeah. They can do that. Some of those wizards seem like they were crabby blokes. Say, do you want Morgana? I've gotten her again."

Thus they carried on, Harry explaining that muggle pictures don't ever move, and gathering a small pile of chocolate frog cards of his very own, still unable to get over the awe of watching them move around and disappear even. The wizarding world was still mind-boggling to him, but he hoped he would be able to fit in just a little bit with Ron's help.

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A/N: And thusly our first Harry POV! We're finally getting close to the start of school, lol. And and Edward and Snape partnership? What could go wrong?
As always, thank you for reading and/or reviewing!