[FMA/HP] "Endless Moment" 04/??
Title: Endless Moment (04/??)
Rating: PG13
Archived @ Master List
Summary: [Sequel to 'Mr. Elric'] It's obvious now that the community of Hogwarts wants a piece of Mr Elric, be it knowledge or attention. Ed's privacy is further invaded when forces beyond his control insist on contact with The Boy Who Lived.
Chapter 04: Transfigurations
Gates are like thieves, they're known only to take and never do they return. Whether it is a tangible object or sentimental feeling, it steals without looking back.
Even so, ever since passing to Hogwarts, Ed has been able to alchemize, an ability he cannot remember losing and the ability he cannot remember gaining back. What was the battery providing the energy for the alchemy? The dead souls of another distant plane he'd have to pass before he reached home? And what would happen when he reached the final Gate of his destination? Would the energy to pass through that particular Gate come from the inhabitants beyond? Would he unknowingly sacrifice the life of someone dear to him? Winry? Al? That bastard colonel?
Since these questions could not be given a complete and satisfactory answer, Ed could only speculate. But theorizing without experimentation in a situation where experimentation was impossible is worthless. How many times was he willing to try? How many times would he get away with his life? How many times would he have to give up his arm?
There was definitely a way home to Amestris, that wasn't the issue at hand. Whether he had the strength to summon up the will to find that path, however, was questionable.
---
The class of Transfigurations, mused McGonagall, has somewhat soared in popularity. And she was quite sure that sudden advance in curriculum (headed by Dumbledore and herself) had nothing to do with it.
She has never actually seen Edward's form of alchemy or Edward try sorcery at all (she doubts anyone has, save perhaps Dumbledore) and despite her obligatory curiosity, she refuses to push for it. She was certain that some people, students mostly, wanted to see Mr. Elric in action and Mr. Elric teaching a class but there was no way she would heap that sort of responsibility on a boy not older than seventeen.
"Miss Norrings," she said crossly, careful to put just the right amount of discipline for a bumbling second-year, "the class is in this direction." The aforementioned Miss Norrings reddened and turned in the correct direction, setting an efficient example for the other heads of the classroom, which would otherwise remain backwards as well.
In the younger classes, he's a distraction, she thought with feigned exasperation. But she didn't mind, not really.
---
'He's doing it again,' wrote Ron on the Messager Paper- ("Let paper be your messenger! Your words erase instantly should anyone else get their grubby little paws on it and ideal for passing stationary notes in class! Available only in short range distances and manufactured only by Fred and George Weasley- 1 galleon a hundred, 12 galleon a thousand. Limited time only"). 'You think he's writing transcripts or something.'
'He's probably just writing a letter to a girlfriend or something,' Harry scrawled back.
'Both of you look up,' came Hermione's neat, legible letters. 'And Ron, McGonagall's coming in your direc-'
"Passing notes again, Mr. Weasley?" The words disappeared the second it was snatched from its owner. "I'll take those as well," McGonagall said, nodding to Harry and Hermione.
'Damn,' thought Ron. 'That's the fifth time this week'
---
He could not leave Hogwarts and rejoin the 'muggle' world. Somewhere between seeing a block of wood become a grand piano and McGonagall's lecture that strictly forbade such practices, Ed realized that, because of his returned alchemy, that should he decide to leave, the consequences would be dire. After all, a Gate that returned something as you crossed through would surely take much more should you try and go back. These children were most likely exempt from the rule for no reason other than their ignorance.
Ed does not understand this world and he readily admits that. What kind of Gate would allow a world that wasn't scientific in anyway to the extremes where an animal could become a household object? The only conceivable answer was a completely lacking in logic, so he refused to push on lest he be further distracted from his task.
He hated this existence that forced him to grasp for straws like a blind man. Before, it had been his salvation and now it was his curse.
---
This new arm was in no way comparable to automail. It certainly allowed greater mobility than that plastic one from Germany (which did nothing more than take a form of the missing limb), but the simplest of tasks, like holding a pencil and grasping a book, were beyond its abilities.
Also, there was a sudden, constant temptation to pull his sleeve down and look at his handiwork. The material was not rust-proof and Madam Pomfrey had not the knowledge of Winry or Auntie Pinako, but still. Being able to construct an artificial arm from memory after so many years and numerous opportunities of memory loss was something to be proud of, right?
In fact, it was at that very moment, when he was inspecting the gears on his wrist with his cuff unbuttoned that he ran straight into a person.
"Oomph!"
It was a redhead boy, the one always getting caught passing notes in class.
Flustered, Ed was apologizing profusely when he noticed the boy's eyes travel downward and rest on his wrist. Swiftly catching and yanking the cuff under his glove, Ed apologized again and hurried off.
He was pretty sure that the redhead- Wesley, was it?- had seen the remnants of his inerasable sin.
T . B . C
Rating: PG13
Archived @ Master List
Summary: [Sequel to 'Mr. Elric'] It's obvious now that the community of Hogwarts wants a piece of Mr Elric, be it knowledge or attention. Ed's privacy is further invaded when forces beyond his control insist on contact with The Boy Who Lived.
Chapter 04: Transfigurations
Gates are like thieves, they're known only to take and never do they return. Whether it is a tangible object or sentimental feeling, it steals without looking back.
Even so, ever since passing to Hogwarts, Ed has been able to alchemize, an ability he cannot remember losing and the ability he cannot remember gaining back. What was the battery providing the energy for the alchemy? The dead souls of another distant plane he'd have to pass before he reached home? And what would happen when he reached the final Gate of his destination? Would the energy to pass through that particular Gate come from the inhabitants beyond? Would he unknowingly sacrifice the life of someone dear to him? Winry? Al? That bastard colonel?
Since these questions could not be given a complete and satisfactory answer, Ed could only speculate. But theorizing without experimentation in a situation where experimentation was impossible is worthless. How many times was he willing to try? How many times would he get away with his life? How many times would he have to give up his arm?
There was definitely a way home to Amestris, that wasn't the issue at hand. Whether he had the strength to summon up the will to find that path, however, was questionable.
---
The class of Transfigurations, mused McGonagall, has somewhat soared in popularity. And she was quite sure that sudden advance in curriculum (headed by Dumbledore and herself) had nothing to do with it.
She has never actually seen Edward's form of alchemy or Edward try sorcery at all (she doubts anyone has, save perhaps Dumbledore) and despite her obligatory curiosity, she refuses to push for it. She was certain that some people, students mostly, wanted to see Mr. Elric in action and Mr. Elric teaching a class but there was no way she would heap that sort of responsibility on a boy not older than seventeen.
"Miss Norrings," she said crossly, careful to put just the right amount of discipline for a bumbling second-year, "the class is in this direction." The aforementioned Miss Norrings reddened and turned in the correct direction, setting an efficient example for the other heads of the classroom, which would otherwise remain backwards as well.
In the younger classes, he's a distraction, she thought with feigned exasperation. But she didn't mind, not really.
---
'He's doing it again,' wrote Ron on the Messager Paper- ("Let paper be your messenger! Your words erase instantly should anyone else get their grubby little paws on it and ideal for passing stationary notes in class! Available only in short range distances and manufactured only by Fred and George Weasley- 1 galleon a hundred, 12 galleon a thousand. Limited time only"). 'You think he's writing transcripts or something.'
'He's probably just writing a letter to a girlfriend or something,' Harry scrawled back.
'Both of you look up,' came Hermione's neat, legible letters. 'And Ron, McGonagall's coming in your direc-'
"Passing notes again, Mr. Weasley?" The words disappeared the second it was snatched from its owner. "I'll take those as well," McGonagall said, nodding to Harry and Hermione.
'Damn,' thought Ron. 'That's the fifth time this week'
---
He could not leave Hogwarts and rejoin the 'muggle' world. Somewhere between seeing a block of wood become a grand piano and McGonagall's lecture that strictly forbade such practices, Ed realized that, because of his returned alchemy, that should he decide to leave, the consequences would be dire. After all, a Gate that returned something as you crossed through would surely take much more should you try and go back. These children were most likely exempt from the rule for no reason other than their ignorance.
Ed does not understand this world and he readily admits that. What kind of Gate would allow a world that wasn't scientific in anyway to the extremes where an animal could become a household object? The only conceivable answer was a completely lacking in logic, so he refused to push on lest he be further distracted from his task.
He hated this existence that forced him to grasp for straws like a blind man. Before, it had been his salvation and now it was his curse.
---
This new arm was in no way comparable to automail. It certainly allowed greater mobility than that plastic one from Germany (which did nothing more than take a form of the missing limb), but the simplest of tasks, like holding a pencil and grasping a book, were beyond its abilities.
Also, there was a sudden, constant temptation to pull his sleeve down and look at his handiwork. The material was not rust-proof and Madam Pomfrey had not the knowledge of Winry or Auntie Pinako, but still. Being able to construct an artificial arm from memory after so many years and numerous opportunities of memory loss was something to be proud of, right?
In fact, it was at that very moment, when he was inspecting the gears on his wrist with his cuff unbuttoned that he ran straight into a person.
"Oomph!"
It was a redhead boy, the one always getting caught passing notes in class.
Flustered, Ed was apologizing profusely when he noticed the boy's eyes travel downward and rest on his wrist. Swiftly catching and yanking the cuff under his glove, Ed apologized again and hurried off.
He was pretty sure that the redhead- Wesley, was it?- had seen the remnants of his inerasable sin.
T . B . C