[FMA/HP] "Endless Moment" 09/?
Title: Endless Moment (09/??)
Rating: PG13
Archived @ Master List
Summary: Sequel to Mr. Elric. It's obvious now that the community of Hogwarts wants a piece of Mr. Edward Elric, be in knowledge or attention. Ed's privacy is further invaded when forces beyond his control insist on contact with The Boy Who Lived.
Chapter 09: Conspiracy Theory
Of everything Harry had expected the esoteric and very mysterious Edward Elric's quarters to be, he had not guessed that it would be so...empty.
Professor Dumbledore had the collection of odd little instruments and gadgets befitting his image as a wizened, eccentric headmaster. Lockhart had the numerous self-portraits and gaudy tapestry worthy of his narcissistic nature. Even Harry, himself, had a modicum of personalization in the pitiful shelf space the Dursleys referred to has his bedroom. This dusty little apartment was not unlike a room in the Leaky Cauldron that had been cleaned out in a great hurry; it added more than it took away from the frustrating intrigue that was Edward Elric.
"Go on, have a seat," Edward said, tossing his overcoat toward the nearby wardrobe and motioning toward the table beside the fireplace. On the table stood a tea set, delicately crafted and brightly painted; wholly out of place in the otherwise austere setting. Harry sat and accepted the cup of tea when Edward offered, taking in as much of the setting as he could without showing his evident interest.
"Tell me about yourself," Edward said after the first sip. "If you do not mind, I would prefer to find out for myself whether or not you are the tragic hero your many biographers paint you out to be." Then, with a smidgen of humor: "It would be more distressing than touching if the great Chosen One was nothing more than an emotionally-deprived, attention-wanting brat described by one Miss Rita Skeeter."
"No, no, I'm not that. At least, I don't think...for sure, I'm not that," Harry replied, cheeks reddening slightly. "I've never spoken to any... well, I haven't ever met any of my... biographers. And as for Rita Skeeter, well, she's a cow, you understand."
Edward chuckled. “The advantage of fame is being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.”
“I suppose,” Harry replied. Then, abashed, he took a sip of his tea.
"What I want to know," Edward said, with a sudden quiet intensity, "is how trustworthy are you, Harry Potter?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply and as he did, he felt an odd sinking sensation in his stomach, as if the ground would open up and swallow him if he did not treat the question with absolute severity. Something about the way Edward's eyes pierced into his own demanded honesty. So he thought, carefully, of his own trustworthiness.
"More than most," he decided was an accurate reply.
After a second, Edward gave a nod of approval, and the feeling passed. A silence followed that lasted just long enough to be uncomfortable. When conversation resumed, the topics of choice were generic and harmless-they spoke of Quidditch, of food, of the weather, of Professor McGonagall’s invisible third eye in the back of her head.
When the sunlight streaming in through a narrow slit in the wall began to darken from the late-evening red into a somber black, Harry excused himself, saying that "he didn't want to sneak out for a snack and get caught again".
Edward grinned. If Harry had taken notice, he might have remembered to correct the 'misperception' that he had a tendency toward rule-breaking. He did not, and left for the Great Hall where the rest of his evening was quiet and uneventful.
It wasn't until Harry flopped onto his bed in Gryffindor Tower did he realize that he knew no more about Mr. Edward Elric now than he did previously.
---
I think I know what it wants, but what specifically, I do not. You know, that is why you can leave. Tell me if I am incorrect.
- Ed
---
"Harry Potter, Harry Potter!" Something was pulling incessantly on his leg. Harry made an indiscernible sound from the bottom of his throat and gave the offender a half-hearted kick. The tugging stopped, only for that something to suddenly jump onto his pillow and resume its effort in earnest, slapping his face and boxing his ears. "Harry Potter must wake up!"
Harry jerked up, knocking his attacker off the bed.
"Dobby!" Harry gasped, squinting at the watery-eyed house-elf, holding his swollen cheeks in one hand and scrambling for his glasses with the other. "What on earth is the matter with you?!"
"Oh, Harry Potter! Dobby is sorry. Dobby was worrying for Harry Potter," he squeaked, apparently blinking back tears of relief. "Dobby thought that Harry Potter was poisoned. Dobby was thinking that Harry Potter was," a choked sob, "dead."
The dormitory was deserted and it took Harry a second to comprehend why.
"It's a Saturday, Dobby," Harry sighed, massaging his face. "I haven't any classes today."
"No, no!" Dobby shook his head so hard his ears flopped. "Dobby hears Kreacher mumbling around the kitchen this morning, more than normal, sir, so Dobby hangs him over a pot of boiling water to release him only after he’s told Dobby why!"
"Dobby-"
"Kreacher says he puts something in your drink," Dobby shrilled. "He says he knows not what it was, but he hopes it kills you! So Dobby drops him in the pot anyway and runs all the ways here to make sure that Harry Potter is safe." At this, Dobby's tears spilled over and he trembled, as if resisting the urge to run his head against the nearest wall. "But Harry Potter is alive! Dobby was not needed but he is ever so glad that Harry Potter is alive!"
He broke off and began to wail. Dumbly, Harry offered the sobbing house-elf a handkerchief. "You can keep it," he said hastily when Dobby handed it back.
"Dobby must return to the kitchens now and tend to Kreacher's burns," he squeaked, clutching the soiled piece of cloth as if it was a sock. "Farewell, Harry Potter! Farewell!"
Then the house elf was gone with an expectant crack. Harry stared at the space where Dobby had been. What was Dobby talking about? He had not...
---
"You!"
The library doors were thrown open with a force that Madame Pince (had she been present) would have had another nervous breakdown. Edward Elric swiveled around as the enraged Boy-Who-Lived stormed up to the front desk, subtlety be damned.
"Yes?"
"You-you-" Harry glanced around and though there was no one in sight, lowered his voice into a hiss. "You drugged me!"
"Of course I did," Edward said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he returned his attention to The Lesser-Known But Fascinating Obscurity of Time-Manipulation while gesticulating nonchalantly toward the NO TALKING sign dancing overhead. "You poked around in my head without my consent and now I have returned the favor."
"It wasn't intentional on my part!" Harry very nearly shouted.
"Of course not, I suppose your face just fell into the pensieve."
Harry was only dimly aware of how foolish he must've looked at that very moment: speechless, fist clenched, scarlet-faced, with his jaw scraping the ground. Only after a breath was he able to collect himself and ask "Why?"
"I only needed to know one thing from you, Harry Potter," Edward said, finally setting his book down. "And I am not naive enough to think that people will be truthful when it comes to their own integrity."
He had a point. The fury died a small amount, but what remained screamed justice for his wounded pride. Plus, the whole eye-for-an-eye deal was entirely inappropriate for a grown-up. Edward took his silence as another question and answered it without prompt.
"The serum renders the drinker to be 'incapable of telling lies'-quite different from telling truths, mind you-and it only lasted for as long as I kept eye contact."
Harry digested this new information. Then, again, he asked: "Why did you have to know how honest I was?"
At last, Edward seemed unsure of himself. "I do not know if I can tell you at this moment, because I am also uncertain."
"That's not good enough."
"That's all I have right now."
"But if you're right, my trustworthiness will come into play?"
"If I am right."
Harry sighed in frustration. This did not feel like the usual situation where he could find answers through sheer force of will. And the desire to sink his fist into Edward’s face had not yet lessened to a secure degree.
"Alright then,” Harry conceded, taking a step back just in case. “Just tell me one thing." Edward blinked. "Who was he? That boy in your memory who…"
Edward visibly stiffened and reached for his book. Harry turned to go and it wasn't until he had a hand on the doors that he heard Edward's reply.
"He was my brother."
---
That evening, perhaps feeling slightly vindictive from the events of that afternoon, Harry finally related the contents of Edward's pensieve to Ron and Hermione in their huddle beside the Gryffindor fire.
"...and then he said that that boy was his brother." Harry finished. "What do you make of that?"
"His brother?" Ron asked with a raised brow.
"Oh yes," Hermione said, nodding conversationally, "I believe his name was Alfons."
Their heads snapped in her direction. "He told you?!"
"Of course he told me," she said, taken aback. "I'm in the library all the time. Just because he doesn't talk a lot doesn't mean he's unsociable. Hagrid told us about his brother and I asked him to elaborate, that's all."
"What else did he tell you?" Ron inquired.
"What else did you tell him?" Harry corrected grimly.
“I didn’t tell him anything about you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Hermione. “We talked mostly about the history of Hogwarts-he was fascinated by Nearly-Headless Nick. When I mentioned Alfons, all he said was that they were orphaned at a young age and, in his own words, they were foolish and conceited children. And that if his mechanic (who he assures me is a lovely, charming girl) ever saw him in the state he's in, she'd personally rearrange his facial features."
"That would make sense," Harry reasoned. "If they were as foolish and worldly as he said, then they might've cast a spell that resulted in the loss of their limbs. Maybe they tried to apparate and splinched."
"But Harry, there are no spells that…as you said, would make a giant door rip apart the body of another,” Hermione said, though she did not appear very confident in her assessment. "And if they were as young as you said they were, they would've received some sort of reprieve from the Ministry for underage use of magic."
"Well, the Ministry didn't send a warning to me when I magically ended up on the school roof."
"Yours was unintentional. From what you've said, theirs wasn't." Then, as if it suddenly occurred to her: "And if two children-- orphans-- were found in a bloody room with limbs missing, it should've made the news somewhere. Muggle news, even, if not the Prophet."
"What about his mechanic?" Ron interjected. "Maybe she patched him up before anyone found out."
"But a cover-up like that by children is unlikely." Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "I'll check for old Prophet clippings. Maybe my parents can owl me some muggle newspapers from over ten years ago."
"Your parents collect old muggle newspapers too?" Ron asked.
"No, but I bet they clean the teeth of someone who does."
---
You are not incorrect.
- Hohenheim
Ed glanced over the message for the umpteenth and final time before feeding it to the candlelight.
He sat, long after the parchment turned to ash, long after the candle died away of its own accord, face buried in his hands.
---
The work was, as per usual, easier said than done. Even Ron, who began with the most enthusiasm (“they’ve invented glasses small enough to fit in your eye?”), was eventually reduced to a dictionary representation of lethargy. Hedwig’s nips and livid glares increased with ferocity each time she flew unsteadily in with a new bundle. They lasted an amazing three days (four, for Ron) and then ultimately threw their hands up and admitted defeat.
“Why don’t you just ask him?” Ron asked dazedly, still suffering from the effects of going through a year’s worth of news.
He gave his pigeon-turned-teacup a poke and the handle promptly clamped down on his finger (“OW!”).
“Or,” Ron continued, nursing his finger, “at least find out why he hasn’t been around.”
Harry glanced toward the rear of the room. Edward’s seat had been unoccupied since the previous week and he had not been sighted in the library either. Lavender and Parvati looked positively frazzled.
“That would be intrusive.”
Ron shrugged. “It’s never stopped you in the past.”
---
And so here he was again, outside Edward Elric’s door with no way in. He tried the hand-clapping thing, but immediately withdrew when nothing happened, embarrassed. He tried tapping where the handle would’ve been with his wand an Alohomora--nothing. He tried transfiguring a handle out of the wood-no result. Then, he had an epiphany.
He raised his fist to the wood and knocked.
The door slid open and there stood Edward, looking far less composed than the last time Harry saw him: sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, and hair disheveled. He looked surprised.
“Can I help you?”
Harry had not thought of what he would actually say. “Just…just wondering if you were alright,” he said lamely.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Edward appeared to be distracted. “Anything else? If you do not mind, I am in the middle of something rather important.”
When Harry did not respond, he made a movement to shut the door.
“Does my trustworthiness still matter?” Harry blurted out quickly.
Edward stopped, and slid the door back open. “Come in,” he said at last.
It was like stepping into an asylum. Sheets and sheets of parchment covered in schizophrenic writing littered the floor to where not a square inch of tile was showing. On each page, there were notes scribbled in a language Harry could not decipher and diagrams that made no sense.
“Sorry about the mess,” Edward said, brushing past him and sitting down beside a particularly large pile. “And your trustworthiness might still matter because I am unable to ‘rule you out’.”
“I don’t understand.”
Edward sighed and looked away. “Let us just say that I am…neither of the wizarding nor the muggle world. You might have guessed that already; it does not matter. I am trying to return to my home and I think you might be factor in, but I have no proof yet.”
“Why me?”
“You are to be…the center of an extraordinary event that will occur in your world,” Edward said, making flicking motions with his wrists, but so deep in thought it was almost comical. Harry thought of the Prophesy and his insides clenched. “Until that event occurs, I am not allowed to return. At least, that is my theory, and for now, that’s all I have.”
“Where…what is your world?”
“I cannot tell you. It is the way I operate; I cannot tell you anything more without you giving me something in return first.”
“I thought you said you had nothing but theories.”
“It is still a theory, but I cannot risk sacrificing any more than I have.”
“Well I…I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Then I cannot tell you anything-for now. But…”
Edward locked eyes with him and Harry felt that same sinking feeling from before. But I didn’t eat anything this time…
“Would you help me, Harry Potter?”
“…yes.”
T . B . C
Back from an infernally long hiatus!! What do you think? How was my flow? Any and all constructive criticism would be fantastic. Hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. =D
Rating: PG13
Archived @ Master List
Summary: Sequel to Mr. Elric. It's obvious now that the community of Hogwarts wants a piece of Mr. Edward Elric, be in knowledge or attention. Ed's privacy is further invaded when forces beyond his control insist on contact with The Boy Who Lived.
Chapter 09: Conspiracy Theory
Of everything Harry had expected the esoteric and very mysterious Edward Elric's quarters to be, he had not guessed that it would be so...empty.
Professor Dumbledore had the collection of odd little instruments and gadgets befitting his image as a wizened, eccentric headmaster. Lockhart had the numerous self-portraits and gaudy tapestry worthy of his narcissistic nature. Even Harry, himself, had a modicum of personalization in the pitiful shelf space the Dursleys referred to has his bedroom. This dusty little apartment was not unlike a room in the Leaky Cauldron that had been cleaned out in a great hurry; it added more than it took away from the frustrating intrigue that was Edward Elric.
"Go on, have a seat," Edward said, tossing his overcoat toward the nearby wardrobe and motioning toward the table beside the fireplace. On the table stood a tea set, delicately crafted and brightly painted; wholly out of place in the otherwise austere setting. Harry sat and accepted the cup of tea when Edward offered, taking in as much of the setting as he could without showing his evident interest.
"Tell me about yourself," Edward said after the first sip. "If you do not mind, I would prefer to find out for myself whether or not you are the tragic hero your many biographers paint you out to be." Then, with a smidgen of humor: "It would be more distressing than touching if the great Chosen One was nothing more than an emotionally-deprived, attention-wanting brat described by one Miss Rita Skeeter."
"No, no, I'm not that. At least, I don't think...for sure, I'm not that," Harry replied, cheeks reddening slightly. "I've never spoken to any... well, I haven't ever met any of my... biographers. And as for Rita Skeeter, well, she's a cow, you understand."
Edward chuckled. “The advantage of fame is being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.”
“I suppose,” Harry replied. Then, abashed, he took a sip of his tea.
"What I want to know," Edward said, with a sudden quiet intensity, "is how trustworthy are you, Harry Potter?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply and as he did, he felt an odd sinking sensation in his stomach, as if the ground would open up and swallow him if he did not treat the question with absolute severity. Something about the way Edward's eyes pierced into his own demanded honesty. So he thought, carefully, of his own trustworthiness.
"More than most," he decided was an accurate reply.
After a second, Edward gave a nod of approval, and the feeling passed. A silence followed that lasted just long enough to be uncomfortable. When conversation resumed, the topics of choice were generic and harmless-they spoke of Quidditch, of food, of the weather, of Professor McGonagall’s invisible third eye in the back of her head.
When the sunlight streaming in through a narrow slit in the wall began to darken from the late-evening red into a somber black, Harry excused himself, saying that "he didn't want to sneak out for a snack and get caught again".
Edward grinned. If Harry had taken notice, he might have remembered to correct the 'misperception' that he had a tendency toward rule-breaking. He did not, and left for the Great Hall where the rest of his evening was quiet and uneventful.
It wasn't until Harry flopped onto his bed in Gryffindor Tower did he realize that he knew no more about Mr. Edward Elric now than he did previously.
---
I think I know what it wants, but what specifically, I do not. You know, that is why you can leave. Tell me if I am incorrect.
- Ed
---
"Harry Potter, Harry Potter!" Something was pulling incessantly on his leg. Harry made an indiscernible sound from the bottom of his throat and gave the offender a half-hearted kick. The tugging stopped, only for that something to suddenly jump onto his pillow and resume its effort in earnest, slapping his face and boxing his ears. "Harry Potter must wake up!"
Harry jerked up, knocking his attacker off the bed.
"Dobby!" Harry gasped, squinting at the watery-eyed house-elf, holding his swollen cheeks in one hand and scrambling for his glasses with the other. "What on earth is the matter with you?!"
"Oh, Harry Potter! Dobby is sorry. Dobby was worrying for Harry Potter," he squeaked, apparently blinking back tears of relief. "Dobby thought that Harry Potter was poisoned. Dobby was thinking that Harry Potter was," a choked sob, "dead."
The dormitory was deserted and it took Harry a second to comprehend why.
"It's a Saturday, Dobby," Harry sighed, massaging his face. "I haven't any classes today."
"No, no!" Dobby shook his head so hard his ears flopped. "Dobby hears Kreacher mumbling around the kitchen this morning, more than normal, sir, so Dobby hangs him over a pot of boiling water to release him only after he’s told Dobby why!"
"Dobby-"
"Kreacher says he puts something in your drink," Dobby shrilled. "He says he knows not what it was, but he hopes it kills you! So Dobby drops him in the pot anyway and runs all the ways here to make sure that Harry Potter is safe." At this, Dobby's tears spilled over and he trembled, as if resisting the urge to run his head against the nearest wall. "But Harry Potter is alive! Dobby was not needed but he is ever so glad that Harry Potter is alive!"
He broke off and began to wail. Dumbly, Harry offered the sobbing house-elf a handkerchief. "You can keep it," he said hastily when Dobby handed it back.
"Dobby must return to the kitchens now and tend to Kreacher's burns," he squeaked, clutching the soiled piece of cloth as if it was a sock. "Farewell, Harry Potter! Farewell!"
Then the house elf was gone with an expectant crack. Harry stared at the space where Dobby had been. What was Dobby talking about? He had not...
---
"You!"
The library doors were thrown open with a force that Madame Pince (had she been present) would have had another nervous breakdown. Edward Elric swiveled around as the enraged Boy-Who-Lived stormed up to the front desk, subtlety be damned.
"Yes?"
"You-you-" Harry glanced around and though there was no one in sight, lowered his voice into a hiss. "You drugged me!"
"Of course I did," Edward said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he returned his attention to The Lesser-Known But Fascinating Obscurity of Time-Manipulation while gesticulating nonchalantly toward the NO TALKING sign dancing overhead. "You poked around in my head without my consent and now I have returned the favor."
"It wasn't intentional on my part!" Harry very nearly shouted.
"Of course not, I suppose your face just fell into the pensieve."
Harry was only dimly aware of how foolish he must've looked at that very moment: speechless, fist clenched, scarlet-faced, with his jaw scraping the ground. Only after a breath was he able to collect himself and ask "Why?"
"I only needed to know one thing from you, Harry Potter," Edward said, finally setting his book down. "And I am not naive enough to think that people will be truthful when it comes to their own integrity."
He had a point. The fury died a small amount, but what remained screamed justice for his wounded pride. Plus, the whole eye-for-an-eye deal was entirely inappropriate for a grown-up. Edward took his silence as another question and answered it without prompt.
"The serum renders the drinker to be 'incapable of telling lies'-quite different from telling truths, mind you-and it only lasted for as long as I kept eye contact."
Harry digested this new information. Then, again, he asked: "Why did you have to know how honest I was?"
At last, Edward seemed unsure of himself. "I do not know if I can tell you at this moment, because I am also uncertain."
"That's not good enough."
"That's all I have right now."
"But if you're right, my trustworthiness will come into play?"
"If I am right."
Harry sighed in frustration. This did not feel like the usual situation where he could find answers through sheer force of will. And the desire to sink his fist into Edward’s face had not yet lessened to a secure degree.
"Alright then,” Harry conceded, taking a step back just in case. “Just tell me one thing." Edward blinked. "Who was he? That boy in your memory who…"
Edward visibly stiffened and reached for his book. Harry turned to go and it wasn't until he had a hand on the doors that he heard Edward's reply.
"He was my brother."
---
That evening, perhaps feeling slightly vindictive from the events of that afternoon, Harry finally related the contents of Edward's pensieve to Ron and Hermione in their huddle beside the Gryffindor fire.
"...and then he said that that boy was his brother." Harry finished. "What do you make of that?"
"His brother?" Ron asked with a raised brow.
"Oh yes," Hermione said, nodding conversationally, "I believe his name was Alfons."
Their heads snapped in her direction. "He told you?!"
"Of course he told me," she said, taken aback. "I'm in the library all the time. Just because he doesn't talk a lot doesn't mean he's unsociable. Hagrid told us about his brother and I asked him to elaborate, that's all."
"What else did he tell you?" Ron inquired.
"What else did you tell him?" Harry corrected grimly.
“I didn’t tell him anything about you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Hermione. “We talked mostly about the history of Hogwarts-he was fascinated by Nearly-Headless Nick. When I mentioned Alfons, all he said was that they were orphaned at a young age and, in his own words, they were foolish and conceited children. And that if his mechanic (who he assures me is a lovely, charming girl) ever saw him in the state he's in, she'd personally rearrange his facial features."
"That would make sense," Harry reasoned. "If they were as foolish and worldly as he said, then they might've cast a spell that resulted in the loss of their limbs. Maybe they tried to apparate and splinched."
"But Harry, there are no spells that…as you said, would make a giant door rip apart the body of another,” Hermione said, though she did not appear very confident in her assessment. "And if they were as young as you said they were, they would've received some sort of reprieve from the Ministry for underage use of magic."
"Well, the Ministry didn't send a warning to me when I magically ended up on the school roof."
"Yours was unintentional. From what you've said, theirs wasn't." Then, as if it suddenly occurred to her: "And if two children-- orphans-- were found in a bloody room with limbs missing, it should've made the news somewhere. Muggle news, even, if not the Prophet."
"What about his mechanic?" Ron interjected. "Maybe she patched him up before anyone found out."
"But a cover-up like that by children is unlikely." Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "I'll check for old Prophet clippings. Maybe my parents can owl me some muggle newspapers from over ten years ago."
"Your parents collect old muggle newspapers too?" Ron asked.
"No, but I bet they clean the teeth of someone who does."
---
You are not incorrect.
- Hohenheim
Ed glanced over the message for the umpteenth and final time before feeding it to the candlelight.
He sat, long after the parchment turned to ash, long after the candle died away of its own accord, face buried in his hands.
---
The work was, as per usual, easier said than done. Even Ron, who began with the most enthusiasm (“they’ve invented glasses small enough to fit in your eye?”), was eventually reduced to a dictionary representation of lethargy. Hedwig’s nips and livid glares increased with ferocity each time she flew unsteadily in with a new bundle. They lasted an amazing three days (four, for Ron) and then ultimately threw their hands up and admitted defeat.
“Why don’t you just ask him?” Ron asked dazedly, still suffering from the effects of going through a year’s worth of news.
He gave his pigeon-turned-teacup a poke and the handle promptly clamped down on his finger (“OW!”).
“Or,” Ron continued, nursing his finger, “at least find out why he hasn’t been around.”
Harry glanced toward the rear of the room. Edward’s seat had been unoccupied since the previous week and he had not been sighted in the library either. Lavender and Parvati looked positively frazzled.
“That would be intrusive.”
Ron shrugged. “It’s never stopped you in the past.”
---
And so here he was again, outside Edward Elric’s door with no way in. He tried the hand-clapping thing, but immediately withdrew when nothing happened, embarrassed. He tried tapping where the handle would’ve been with his wand an Alohomora--nothing. He tried transfiguring a handle out of the wood-no result. Then, he had an epiphany.
He raised his fist to the wood and knocked.
The door slid open and there stood Edward, looking far less composed than the last time Harry saw him: sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, and hair disheveled. He looked surprised.
“Can I help you?”
Harry had not thought of what he would actually say. “Just…just wondering if you were alright,” he said lamely.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Edward appeared to be distracted. “Anything else? If you do not mind, I am in the middle of something rather important.”
When Harry did not respond, he made a movement to shut the door.
“Does my trustworthiness still matter?” Harry blurted out quickly.
Edward stopped, and slid the door back open. “Come in,” he said at last.
It was like stepping into an asylum. Sheets and sheets of parchment covered in schizophrenic writing littered the floor to where not a square inch of tile was showing. On each page, there were notes scribbled in a language Harry could not decipher and diagrams that made no sense.
“Sorry about the mess,” Edward said, brushing past him and sitting down beside a particularly large pile. “And your trustworthiness might still matter because I am unable to ‘rule you out’.”
“I don’t understand.”
Edward sighed and looked away. “Let us just say that I am…neither of the wizarding nor the muggle world. You might have guessed that already; it does not matter. I am trying to return to my home and I think you might be factor in, but I have no proof yet.”
“Why me?”
“You are to be…the center of an extraordinary event that will occur in your world,” Edward said, making flicking motions with his wrists, but so deep in thought it was almost comical. Harry thought of the Prophesy and his insides clenched. “Until that event occurs, I am not allowed to return. At least, that is my theory, and for now, that’s all I have.”
“Where…what is your world?”
“I cannot tell you. It is the way I operate; I cannot tell you anything more without you giving me something in return first.”
“I thought you said you had nothing but theories.”
“It is still a theory, but I cannot risk sacrificing any more than I have.”
“Well I…I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Then I cannot tell you anything-for now. But…”
Edward locked eyes with him and Harry felt that same sinking feeling from before. But I didn’t eat anything this time…
“Would you help me, Harry Potter?”
“…yes.”
T . B . C
Back from an infernally long hiatus!! What do you think? How was my flow? Any and all constructive criticism would be fantastic. Hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. =D