Hey! I've decided to write a crossover, something I normally don't do. I only just got back into FMA not too long ago, actually. Hope you enjoy! And sorry if there are any mistakes; I don't have a beta and I'm rather horrible about finding my own mistakes.
I don't own either FMA or Harry Potter.
Dumbledore had to admit that the last thing he expected was to have a twelve-year-old sitting in the chair across from him only four days after term ended. The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry often prided himself in knowing most things before they happened, because his educated guesses were rarely ever wrong. So the current situation he found himself in came as more of a shock as it would for normal people, and that would be saying something. It also didn't help matters that it was a child was from Amestris whose apparently younger brother was sitting awkwardly downstairs, soul attached to a suit of armor.
"I told you, Mr. Elric," he said again, letting out a sigh and placing his elbows on his desk, fingers pressed together as they often were. "The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed a little less than a week ago."
"B-but all the information led us here," he said, staring down at his lap. "Do you have any information on it? My brother and I need that stone. This was out first solid lead."
"I understand, young man. It is the type of stone the many a man would kill for. The promise of turing from an ordinary person to a rich, almost immortal one is most tempting. But you're only twelve, I can't see why you would even know about it. You still haven't answered exactly what you want for it." He gave a weary little smile; they'd been sitting there for around half an hour, their conversation going in circles.
"Did you just say it was used to create immortality?" His head snapped up, facial expression changing drastically.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "And gold."
"Great." The blonde slumped back in his chair, disappointment written all over his face. "That's not even the right stone. And any skilled enough alchemist can make gold. It's illegal, but not that hard. I've even faked making gold before. It's incomplete." Dumbledore's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. Incomplete? That was a new one. "I should've guessed; it's pretty hard to break an actual Philosopher's Stone. A real one is used to break the Law of Equivalent Exchange."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Elric." He let out another small sigh. The chair across from him was pushed back and the boy stood up. "I just have one more question."
"What is it?" He turned around.
"Who exactly are you? As of now, I'm only aware of your name." At the moment, he didn't quite trust the boy--a twelve-year-old in the military was just absurd and the State Alchemist working for the school this year never mentioned it.
"Edward Elric," he answered, tone blunt. "The Fullmetal Alchemist, youngest to ever get into the military. You asked before why my brother and I were looking for the stone. I can't tell you. If you don't believe me, look it up." And with that he turned and left the office, the door closing behind him with a decisive click. For a moment, Dumbledore just sat there, still frozen in the same position. Then he took out a quill and parchment, wrote a letter, and set off to mail it.
And that was how he ended up collecting the Amestris newspaper.
Edward Elric now believed it to be official; someone up there sure as hell hated him. He, Mustang, Armstrong, and the rest of Roy's typical unit were all standing in a circle, a hat held out before them, straws hidden at the bottom. Whoever pulled the shortest one would have to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to teach the alchemy course. To the military, it was so easy that even non-alchemists could still go, as long as they followed the text book. Apparently Hughes had to go two years before Ed joined the army. And apparently he also hated it so much that he vowed never to go back. The decision went through different groups of military units, and this year the choice went to Ed's. No one wanted to go. Not only had they heard stories, but their country had just pulled out of a horrible civil war. And personally, Ed wasn't even sure why he was also given the unwilling option. Though he may be a brilliant alchemist and still the youngest there, he still technically didn't reach the age requirement for the school. He was only sixteen.
And he'd been there before, too. Going back wasn't exactly on his main priority list.
They all reached in at once, hands getting tangled in each other as they all tried to cheat and feel for the largest straw, which didn't end up working. On the count of three, they all pulled out, holding the straws up against each other. Ed felt a horrible sinking feeling as he saw his result.
"What'd you know," Mustang said in his usual mocking tone. "The shorty pulled the shortest straw." Ed was took annoyed to even go into a yelling spree.
Not only would he be going away for ten months of utter torture, but he was also going alone. No Al. He would've even settled for Roy for company. He did not want to spend most of his year in a place were alchemy barely even existed. Oh, just damn it all.
"Well, you better start packing your bags and call you're brother, because you're leaving in two days, Fullmetal," said Havoc, laughing and quickly joined by everyone except Armstrong and Hawkeye, who were both sending him sympathetic glances. He barely noticed--all he could do was start and the little straw in his hand.
"Wait, but doesn't term or whatever it's called start on the first? It'll only be the twenty-fifth?" Oh no. Please don't tack on anymore days.
"Yeah, but you need to make up lesson plans and pick out text books and all that good stuff," said Breda, an absolutely evil smile on his face. They could laugh, because it would be Ed who would be suffering. Laughing at his pain--despicable.
"Shut up," he mumbled, crossing his arms in annoyance. "What am I supposed to teach them anyway?"
Roy shrugged. "Equivalent Exchange, different arrays, reasons behind it, whatever the text book says. I don't know, Fullmetal, just pick something." Ed scowled. Was there any way around this?
"How old are the kids I'm teaching?" he asked. He hadn't been listening when they were told, assuming he wouldn't be included.
"Third year through seventh year," Hawkeye answered, reading off the list. "They're separated by years and class. You'll have a loaded schedule, Edward."
"But aren't some of them older than me?" he tried again.
"When has that every stopped you?" Mustang pointed out. Ed's hand tightened into a fist, crumpling the straw.
This was going to be one long year.