"I have to go to school!?"

Roy smirked, hearing the outraged voice from the hallway. He assumed it belonged to the elder of the Elric brothers, Edward. He sighed and pushed his way into the hospital wing, ready to meet the two of them again.

He saw Madam Pomfrey first. "How is he?" he asked.

"He would be better if he wasn't so agitated," she said sharply. "And if he had fewer interruptions. He needs rest."

Roy nodded shortly. "I will be brief, but there are a few things I would like to speak to them about, and unfortunately, it cannot wait."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Yeah, yeah."

Roy turned his attention then to the raging boy in the hospital bed. "I can't go to school, Al. They can't make me!"

He chuckled softly at the words but then stepped forward and raised his eyebrows. "And why can't you?" he asked.

Edward turned to him, and spluttered, "Because… because… I haven't been to school in years," he protested. "It's not right that I should have to be forced back into such a place now!"

Roy only nodded, a bit of a smile playing on his face. "Well, like it or not, you are here now," he declared.

Edward turned his face back up and pulled a scowl. "I don't see why I have to. Why can't I just live in the guest rooms with Al until we get this sorted out?"

"There will be far too many questions. The best way for you to blend in and not draw too much attention is by going to classes," Roy said. "You're just the right age to be a Hogwarts first year. And it won't be hard to explain your absence for the first two months, based on your physical… predicament. Although, we'll have to come up with a cover story for that."

"That's another thing," Edward said, his voice going very soft. "How am I gonna go to school like this?"

"That's actually part of what I came by to talk to you about," he said.

He sat down on a chair next to Edward's bed.

"We have some options," he said. "I've been consulting with Professor Hughes, and Madam Pomfrey, and a couple of experts from St. Mungo's."

"What's that?"

Roy could have kicked himself. Of course these two wouldn't know what St. Mungo's was. This may be harder than they had thought. "It's a hospital. The best hospital in the country."

Edward nodded.

"Basically, there are three options," he continued when Edward didn't seem to have any other pressing questions. "You can go to school in a wheelchair and learn to write left-handed."

"Absolutely not," Edward said, stubbornly, closing his eyes and shaking his head in disgust.

Roy smiled slightly at the fire in the words. This was one stubborn kid.

"Okay, the second option is to fit you for muggle prosthetics," he went on. "Basically, they'll be limbs made out of metal and plastic, that will be held on by straps."

"What is muggle?" Al asked.

"Sorry," Roy mentally kicked himself again. "It's our word for non-magical people."

"Will I be able to control the prosthetics?" Edward asked, seeming thoughtful.

"Not the same way you do with your own limbs. For example, the hand won't have fingers that you can move, so you may be able to learn to grab things, move things around, and perform basic functions with your hand, but it will never be able to perform minute motor functions, like writing. The leg would be able to bend at the knee, but not the same way your normal leg bends. It would take some time to get used to, but you'd be able to walk on your own. And the process is done almost every day by muggle doctors. It's fairly straightforward and has minimal risk." Roy watched as Edward's face became a mask of determination.

"Tell me the last option," he said.

"The last option is magical prosthetics," Mustang said. "Magical healers are not as well-versed in creating prosthetic limbs as muggles, and the process is much more risky, and potentially painful. But the healers at St. Mungo's were optimistic when I talked to them. It would be a limb made from a lightweight metal which will then connected to the nerves in your stumps. I'm told the connection can be extremely unpleasant," he paused before he continued, "but you would have full range of motion with the magical prosthetic. Anything you could do with your normal limbs, you would theoretically be able to do with the prosthetic."

Edward's face broke out into a grim smile. "I'll take them," he said.

Roy couldn't help but give a smirk at the boy's determination. "Are you sure? There is potential for things to go wrong, and the process will likely be very painful and unpleasant. I don't wish to cause you more pain than you have already experienced."

Edward shook his head and looked Roy straight in the eyes. Roy could see the fire of determination in them. "I can handle it," he said. "I'm sure."

Roy knew he would not change his mind, so he gave a little sigh, "All right, I shall begin talking to the healers at St. Mungo's. It is likely we will have to move you to their facility for a time. And you probably will not be recovered enough to start school before the spring term. That gives you almost three months for the process and recovery. It is likely you won't be up to full strength by then, but the healers are confident you'll be able to manage schoolwork."

Edward nodded his understanding.

Alphonse, however, spoke up, sounding scared. "Brother," he said. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

Edward looked his brother in the eye and nodded. "I want to," he said. "How will we get our bodies back if I can't fight, or do alchemy properly?"

Roy was taken aback at that statement. Who had the boys been fighting? Who were they expecting to have to fight? And… get their bodies back? That was their plan? Roy had never heard of anything quite so strange as the tale of these two brothers. He shook his head ruefully.

"Please talk to the healers at St. Mungo's," Edward said. "I want to do it as soon as possible."

"Very well," Roy dipped his head in acknowledgement. "There is one more matter I wish to discuss," he said slowly. He didn't know how to broach the subject, as it was likely to be a very sore one for the brothers.

"Go on," Edward's eyes narrowed.

"This concerns you, mostly, Alphonse," he said. "About your current… appearance."

Edward's face paled, and Alphonse let out a low squeak. "My… this suit of armor?" he asked.

Roy nodded. "I'm afraid it will be very hard to explain," he told them. "I do not know how things are where you come from, but soul magic is considered very dark magic here. If people discovered that you were merely a soul bonded to armor, I'm afraid they would be terrified of you. Perhaps even consider you something of a dark creature."

Edward growled at that. Actually growled. "Don't talk about my brother like that," he said.

Roy held up a placating hand. "Of course, those of us who know of your situation would never consider him that way, but we need to find a better way, even just something a little smaller… a little more accurate to his size… more unobtrusive…"

Edward frowned again. "We can't," he said. "I drew the blood seal in the armor. I won't risk trying to move him somewhere else."

"If I'm correct, his entire soul is encased inside the seal, yes? If we were to cut it out—"

"Absolutely not!" Ed yelled, his face twitching with rage. "You are not cutting my brother up! How dare you—"

"Brother," that was Alphonse's quiet, sure voice.

"Don't worry Al, I won't let them hurt you!" Ed ground out.

"Brother, stop," Alphonse chided softly. "I think we should let Professor Mustang finish."

Edward looked back and forth between his brother and Roy, and then finally let out a puff. "Fine."

Roy was a bit stunned by the whole interaction, but decided to plow forward. "If you would let me or Professor Hughes examine the seal more thoroughly," he held up a hand at Edward's returning anger and fear, "Very carefully. We wouldn't even have to touch it. But there may be a way to transfer it into a different vessel."

He puffed out another breath, "It's all very theoretical, and we wouldn't do it unless we were absolutely sure it would work, I assure you. But there's a possibility that we could transfer the seal, and thus your brother's soul, over to something a little more inconspicuous. He would be much safer, and, I believe, happier that way."

Edward seemed to ponder it for a moment, his face thunderous. "You wouldn't do anything until you were absolutely sure?" he asked, tightly.

Roy nodded.

"Al, what do you think?"

Alphonse was silent and still for a moment while he thought, but then he finally nodded. "I don't think we have another choice."

"There's always a choice," Edward said automatically.

"It would be nice to be a little smaller… and less… squeaky," Alphonse said it tentatively, but Roy could tell that he had made up his mind as much as Edward had made up his about the prosthetics.

Edward nodded. "Alright."

The next few days were a blur for Ed. He drank so many strange potions, with tastes that ranged from blueberry to tar. Every hour or so, Madam Pomfrey would rub something into his stumps that made them feel tingly and cold, but after a week in the hospital wing, being forced to do nothing but sit in bed all day, most of the pain in his limbs was gone, and he was feeling, overall, pretty normal.

Except that he was missing an arm and a leg.

Which was extremely annoying.

He had spoken to the healers at St. Mungo's in depth about the magical prosthetics, and they were hopeful that at his rate of recovery, he would be able to have the surgery the following week. They had meticulously measured every part of his body with measuring tapes that seemed to have a mind of their own, including his height, weight, the length of his stumps, and also his functional limbs, his torso circumference, his hips, his feet, toes, and even the length of his neck, and were now working on creating the limbs themselves.

Edward was forcing a calm, and even sometimes excited persona every time he talked to them, but he couldn't deny that his apprehension was growing. They had talked to him in detail about the process of connecting the prosthetics to his nerves, and it didn't sound pleasant at all. They would have to build ports into his stumps, where they could isolate out all his nerves and seal up everything that needed to be sealed. That's what the limb itself would connect to. Then there were a slew of spells which would initiate the connection between his organic nervous system and the magically created nerves which would run inside the prosthetic.

As his anxiety grew, however, so did his determination.

He would do this.

For Al.

It didn't matter what it took, he needed to have fully functional limbs if he was going to help Al get his body back, and figure out a way to get them back to their own time. He was sure there was a way, and this was the only way forward for him.

It didn't stop the anxiety from pooling in his stomach like a rock.

Besides, Al had his own problems to worry about.

Ever since he'd woken up, Al had been in a sort of… training mode. Every morning, Ed had woken up to see Al already awake and doing the warm up, and practice trainings that teacher had done with them. He would do push ups, sit ups, run around the hospital wing as best he could, and he did every kata they had ever learned for hand-to-hand sparring.

"What are you doing?" Ed had asked, groggily, the first morning.

"Training," Al said.

"Training for what?"

"I have to get used to this body," Al had replied, continuing his push ups. "It's bigger, and stronger, and… well, I still feel clunky and clumsy in it and we won't be able to accomplish our goals if I'm not in peak condition, so…" he trailed off as he began his laps.

Ed had been momentarily stunned, and then had looked down at his own arm, thinking that maybe he should also be practicing. And so, he'd tried to stand up, thinking that even though he was short two limbs, he could still keep up his other limb's strength.

But his body had been weirdly off-balance, and he hadn't even managed to stay upright for five seconds before he'd found himself flat on the floor with Alphonse's worried hands lifting him back into bed.

His top-half felt equally strange, he found. He hadn't tried to stand up again, and had found that it had been very hard to balance, even just sitting up. He felt lopsided, with the weight of his right arm gone, and found it very hard to move his left arm without tipping strangely, which Madam Pomfrey told him was mostly psychosomatic. Whatever that meant. Everything was using muscles he didn't know he had, and even just sitting up was leaving him sore and achy.

Luckily, Madam Pomfrey had some exercises for him to do. He did them grumpily, even though they felt stupid and like he wasn't doing anything. Really, how was it helping anyone if he could reach his good arm up over his head, and out to the side. He needed to be able to walk, to fight. But, as he did them, he realized that he was starting to build up the stabilizing muscles he needed to feel balanced. He grudgingly accepted that result and kept doing what he could in his bed.

In between the training, Edward had noticed other ways that Al was struggling to get used to his new form. He apparently couldn't sleep, and didn't need food or water. However, even though his physical form didn't need rest, he was learning that mentally, he did.

And so he had started to meditate – or, at least, he had started to try to meditate. He wasn't very good at it yet, but Edward hoped this proved to be the mental retreat he needed. He hated to see his normally calm little brother so wound up and agitated.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" Professor Mustang said, quietly.

Professor Hughes leaned in closer to Al, "No."

Al tried his best not to squirm away as they stared very intently at his blood seal. He felt naked, as much as he could in this body, with them breathing down his… emptiness. With his helmet on, his eyes became the slits in the visor, and he felt that he could move at least his eyes to express his emotions - narrow them, close them, move them around, widen them, and all that.

But when his helmet was off, his vision became… strange. Instead of true sight, he could sense everything in his surroundings area. Even what was behind him, which he couldn't see when the helmet was on. It was a totally different sense than he had experienced before, but nearly as accurate as true sight. It just… lacked color and definition. The sense disappeared almost completely when he put his helmet back on.

It was a strange sensation, and right then, made stranger by the fact that there were two grown men peering down into his hollow body, and staring very closely at the thing that was holding his soul into his armor.

"You say you need a circle like this to perform any…" Professor Hughes trailed off as if he didn't know the word.

"Transmutation," Al supplied. Like his vision, his voice seemed to be connected to the helmet when it was on, originating from the mouthpiece, but when it was off, it seemed to sort of come directly from the blood seal.

"Right," Hughes said. Both he and Professor Mustang had been struggling to find the language to even describe alchemy, which left Al wondering about their abilities when it came to his blood seal. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

Al sighed. "The transmutation is powered by the energy of the alchemist, but the circle provides a framework, a sort of… map for the power."

"What happens if you don't have a circle?" Professor Mustang asked, curiously.

Al considered. "Well, the transmutation wouldn't work at all. The circle also helps bring your power out, without it, the energy would stay inside the alchemist, and nothing would happen. Either that, or… if you managed to force the energy out anyway, it would go haywire. There's really no telling what could happen."

"Hmm," The two professors rocked back away from Al, and Al quickly slipped his helmet back on, feeling much better when he could see properly again.

That's another thing I'll have to get better at, he thought. He was going to be useless if he got sloppy or unnerved every time his helmet fell off.

"So?" he asked the two professors eagerly. "Any ideas?"

Mustang deflated a bit, "I feel like I'm back in first year, struggling to understand transfiguration. I never was very good at it."

Hughes looked at Al, "I'm afraid we don't have much experience with alchemy. However, the concept of bonding souls to objects is not… unheard of."

This brought Mustang back to attention. He stiffened up and peered at his coworker. "You mean…?"

Hughes nodded, looking grave. Al had no idea what they were talking about, but neither of them seemed to like to consider the thought.

"Hmm," Mustang brought a hand up to stroke his chin as he thought. "I guess we could look into that line of thought. If there's a way, using magic we know, to bond a soul to an object, there could be a way to rebind that same soul to another object."

"Yes," Hughes agreed.

"What are you talking about?" Al couldn't help himself anymore.

Mustang and Hughes shared a look, and then Mustang sighed. "There's a reason that soul magic is considered one of the darkest of arts to us," he said, slowly. Al opened his mouth to defend himself, and Mustang held up a hand, "I understand it's different where you came from, and there are extenuating circumstances. However, there's only one concept I've ever heard of, outside of alchemy, that could accomplish such a feat. But it's… it's not a pleasant idea to think about.

"I'll look into it, but there are several differences between that and the predicament in which you find yourself. I'm not sure it will be much help, but there might be something…"

"Is there anything I can help with?" Al asked, wanting to be useful. "If you give me a book, I can help you do the research."

Mustang looked surprised momentarily, but then his face softened somewhat. "I think we can handle it. You should focus on yourself and your brother."

The two professors stood up, taking their leave from the hospital wing. Al turned back toward his brother, who was across the room, watching as he gave Madam Pomfrey a hard time about drinking his potions.

"I feel fine!" he was insisting, eying the dark potion with a disgusted look on his face. "I don't see any need for that stupid tar anymore."

Al sighed. Some things would never change.