Auto-Mail Sorcery — by BandGeek99

BandGeek: Ah-ha! My first crossover in a while. Another Harry Potter crossover, no less! I decided to try my hand at the age old HP-meets-Fullmetal aspect of fanfiction...

Depthmon: Nerd...

BandGeek: *deathglare* Enough outta you.

FOR THE RECORD:

This takes place after Edward is stabbed by Envy. He does not die, just goes into a comatose-like state from the loss of blood and the pierced organs, etc. The military breaks up the Homunculi's little gathering after Russell and Fletcher Tringham run to HQ (or what's left of it) and tell Mustang's unit what happened. Alphonse used the Philosopher's Stone within him to save Edward's life.

The Deimon Commander From Hell, Depthmon, and other authors: GET ON WITH IT! (aru!)

BandGeek: Oh, yes... er... Well, then. ENJOY!

000

The text that Edward speaks in the first bit is in Czech and roughly translates to, The Truth which all men seek, Free your children from this place. Bring your humble servant to the place where he belongs, Beyond the Gates of this Life. I don't know if the translation given is any good because I used an online translator because I don't speak Czech. But whatever. Anyway. Enjoy.

000

Roy Mustang was a colonel of the State. He was suave, debonair, and snarky. He had witnessed the horrors of the Ishbal Massacre; he was the Flame Alchemist, second in battle to no one. He was fast, strong, vigilant.

So when the door of his peaceful office flew open, denting the wall with its force, Roy didn't so much as blink.

"Ah, it's Edward Elric," he noted sardonically, "the Full Metal Shrimp." He smirked and folded his hands on his desk.

"Shut up, Mustang," Edward hissed as he stormed in, "I'm not in the mood to put up with your smartass remarks." Gripped tightly under his arm was a thick, leather-bound book entitled "Remarkable Alchemists and Mages in History".

"Of course. Is Alphonse here too, or are you alone?"

"He's with Major Armstrong," Edward answered shortly. Slamming the book onto Mustang's desk, he glared his senior in the eye. "I've found the key to the Philosopher's Stone. The real one."

"Real one?" Mustang raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"The one created without genocide."

Roy was interested, a mixture of mild amusement and legitimate wonder. "Continue."

"Nicholas Flamel," Edward began, thumbing through the book to a dog-eared page, "was the creator of the original stone. He made it two hundred-odd years ago, made his discovery public, and then disappeared in the town square with his wife and sons, taking the stone with him."

"Which explains part of the reason why it's considered a myth," Roy concluded.

"Exactly."

"And if he disappeared two hundred years ago," Roy continued as he leaned forward, "what makes you think you'll find him now?"

"I'm going to do the same thing he did with his family, except I'm going to bring Alphonse with me. There's bound to be a relative of his who knows the whereabouts of his stone." The seventeen-year-old looked triumphant. "There's an eye-witness account in here of how Flamel disappeared, it should be fairly simple for an accomplished state alchemist like me."

Mustang could almost see Edward's head inflating. "Uh-huh. Excellent job, Fullmetal. I'll go with you!" The colonel grinned brilliantly, knowing it would annoy Edward to no end.

Edward glared at a spot in the rug, his urge to kill rising. "Damnation," he muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Roy took possession of the book and began leafing through the section on Flamel. "Perhaps you should consider bringing your mechanic with you. Rockbell, was it? Winry Rockbell? She'd be a valuable asset to our cause."

"You say that like she's a weapon rather than a person," the blonde noted, bitterness evident in his voice. His glare refocused on his superior.

"Maybe that's how I see her."

"You'd damn well better not!" Edward roared, clenching his fists and preparing to transmute his auto-mail.

There was a silence in the room. Neither man moved, silently daring the other to move.

"I'll ask," Edward finally muttered, turning and sulking towards the door.

"Good. I expect you here tomorrow afternoon by three, do you understand, Full Metal?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, waving his hand half-heartedly over his shoulder.

"And Edward?"

"What?" The boy still didn't turn.

"I really hope you find it this time."

The blonde exited without another word.


Alphonse Elric drew the last line on the transmutation circle inside Roy Mustang's now empty office. The circle was five feet in diameter with many different symbols of intricate and ancient craft and Al was the only person that Edward trusted with such a tedious job that required absolute presicion. Despite the fact that he was made entirely of steel, Alphonse had the steadiest hand out of the three alchemists involved.

Outside the office, Edward and Winry sat in the hallway. As she tightened, oiled, and repaired minor damage to his auto-mail, he briefed her on their mission to find Flamel.

"Sounds like fun," Winry remarked, digging for a screwdriver. "Good thing I'm coming along, or else you would rust in no time. Either that, or you'd be falling apart at the joints." To prove her point, she violently tightened a loosening screw in Edward's hand.

"Ouch!" he yelped. The alchemist tried to pry his hand away from his mechanic, but the girl kept an iron grip at the wrist. "Win, that arm's still attached to me you know!"

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know," she said deviously. She tossed the screwdriver back into her toolbox and closed it up tightly. "Put your shirt back on, I'm done working with your arm. Colonel Mustang said he'd be back soon. I think he's probably just finishing up with Lieutenant Hawkeye. Once he gets back, we'll go."

Edward obeyed, pulling his shirt back on over his blonde head. "Wonder what he wants with Hawkeye?" he asked, following Winry back into the office.

"Brother?" Alphonse said, standing up from his place next to the Elrics' small bags. "Do you have what we need?"

Edward suddenly beamed, looking much like his former self, the person he was before his experiences in alchemy cut his youth short five years previously. "Yep. Once Col. Bastard gets back, we can get on with it."

"Colonel Bastard? You wouldn't happen to be talking about me now, would you?" Mustang appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He leaned on the doorframe, balancing on one leg with his arms folded.

"Matter of fact, yeah, I was," Edward retorted with an obviously sarcastic smile.

"Excellent, Fullmetal Shorty."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO TINY YOU COULD SQUISH ME LIKE AN ANT, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!" the young blonde roared, attempting to lunge and beat up his superior. He was restrained by one tug from his younger brother and was forced to be content glaring at the dark haired man, instead.

Mustang smirked.

"Let's go, Brother," Alphonse said quietly. "Let's do that alchemic magic trick. Flamel isn't getting any younger."

Edward yanked himself free of his brother, still fuming, and sulked to the circle, digging in the pockets of his trousers for one thing or another. He finally grasped what he was looking for –a small bag of something that gave off an aroma not unlike that of a rare kind of herb– and placed it reverently in the center of the transmutation circle, he motioned with his auto-mail arm for the others to join him.

The three alchemists and mechanic shouldered their bags (and in Winry's case, her toolbox) and stood on the edge of the circle.

"Join hands," Edward commanded.

The others complied.

"Concentrate on putting all your energy on the bag in the center of the circle." The blonde closed his eyes and began murmuring something quietly.

Mustang watched the teenager intently. His lips moved speedily but steadily, murmuring the passage he'd memorized so well. It was an ancient passage written in an unknown tongue, as old and mysterious as the legend of the Philosopher's Stone itself. It was a strange incantation, indeed.

"Pravdy, které všichni lidé hledají zdarma děti z tohoto místa.

Přineste si pokorný sluha Chcete-li místo, kam patří, za brány tohoto života."

A flash of light and air blew papers about and shattered the windows, but the four had vanished, leaving only the transmutation circle behind.


When Edward finally came to, he was facedown in the dirt with his arm around Winry in a meager attempt to shield her and with his brother on his back. "Al…" he groaned. "Gerroff…"

"Sorry, Ed," the suit of armor said, standing up and relieving the sixteen-year-old of all the pressure.

"Fullmetal? Are you okay?" Mustang asked and Edward could see his boss' feet not too far away.

"I'm fine, Mustang." He slid into a kneeling position, releasing Winry, who lay unconscious next to him. He gently moved her onto her back and placed his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he found the steady rhythm, and his heart finally slowed. Funny… I don't remember feeling this scared for Winry before… except that time with Barry the Chopper in Central…

"Brother! Brother, we made it!" Alphonse exclaimed, and behind him, Edward could hear the suit of metal clank and creak as his brother stood, collecting their scattered bags.

"Edward…" Winry murmured, her once placid brow furrowing.

"Yeah?" His amber eyes glittered with hope. This was it… she was going to say it… the day he'd dreamed about…

"Careful with your automail! I don't want you swimming with it, dummy, you'll rust!" she scolded sleepily.

"…"

"Poor little Edward," Roy teased from a fair distance away. "Did you get turned down again?"

Edward spun around and glared at the colonel. "Better wipe that smirk off your face before I turn you to stone."

"Of course."

"Ow…" moaned Winry.

Ed turned his attention back to her. "Winry! Are you okay?"

"My head hurts," she whined quietly, sitting up and rubbing her forehead.

Edward gently rubbed her head with his flesh and blood hand. A small, soft smile graced his face. "Wuss."

"I wouldn't be talking, Pipsqueak! Who was it that bawled like a baby when I put on new automail?" Even half asleep with a headache, Winry was as sharp-tongued as ever.

"Hey! That hurt, alright?! And besides, the only time I did that was the first time I got it, when I was eleven years old! I didn't even cry, I just yelled. ONCE! And you would too, if you just got a fake limb!" he cried defensively. "Good God!"

The blonde girl smiled. "I looooove you Edward," she sang innocently.

Her childhood sweetheart blushed lightly and looked away from her. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

As Edward and Winry picked themselves up, Mustang scanned the area.

They appeared to be in a small rural village, not unlike that from which the boys had come from back in Amestris. Mountains surrounded the small cluster of thatched roofs and wooden houses. In the distance, Roy was able to spot a large castle, smoke emitting from small chimneys.

Alphonse spotted it, too. "Maybe Flamel lives in that castle," he reasoned.

Edward nodded, dusting off his red jacket. "He's probably famous, an accomplished alchemist like him."

Mustang wasn't so sure, but he said nothing.

The four companions slowly trudged up the dirt road towards the large stone building, not knowing what lay ahead.

As the gates loomed closer and closer, Edward grew steadily more uneasy. The building gave off a glow reminiscent of the Philosopher's Stone from a crack in one of the towers. It wouldn't have been obvious to most people who weren't looking for it, but the elder Elric brother had trained himself to be on the lookout for such a hue of red. After all, after spending four years searching for the Stone wasn't just spent romping through the fields and down the roads.

"Something's here," he murmured quietly and Alphonse turned back to face his brother.

"The Stone?"

"Likely."

"I see," Mustang said quietly and approached the large set of gates. Wrought iron and stone were impermeable to his fire. "Fullmetal. Can you make us a door?"

"Can I make us a door?" Edward repeated with a scoff. "Of course I can! Watch me." He strode forward, smirking smugly, and clapped his gloved hands together. He laid them on the stone wall beside the iron gates and a door was forged straight through the granite. "Child's play."

The Colonel rolled his eyes.

The group made their way through the archway, Alphonse ducking slightly. They appeared to be on a large green lawn of sorts. In the distance to their left, they could see a small hut with smoke emitting from the chimney. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was probably the home of the groundskeeper.

"This is such a pretty little place," Winry cooed, smiling and skipping ahead. "The gardens over there are so nice. And look at that little cottage! It's almost like Resembool!"

"Except the only famous alchemists to come from Risembool were Edward Elric and Hoenhiem of Light," Roy put in, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Don't even think about that bastard around me," Edward snarled, glaring at his superior officer.

"Now, now, Major Elric, no need to get snippy with the Colonel," Mustang reprimanded with a smirk.

Ed began muttering incoherently under his breath; words which Alphonse assumed were long, drawn out curses and death wishes for the Colonel.

The group of four traveled up the sloping lawn along a dirt road, lined with geraniums and other flowers that seemed to do well in the sunny-but-cool weather. The castle loomed closer to them, seeming more ominous now that they were closer by. Off to the far right, they could see a lake twinkling faintly in the distance and to the left, by the hut, a large, deep forest sprawled across the land.

Edward ran ahead, his automail leg clunking subtly, and banged heavily on the door. "Hey, in there! Let us in!"

The other three sweatdropped. It was just like Ed to be loud and obnoxious without an ounce of propriety.

Surprisingly, though, the door creaked open, revealing a tall, thin woman with hair wrapped up into a tight bun. She sported an emerald green dress-and-robe and a black hat was perched atop her head. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice brisk and accented with something that none of the newcomers were terribly familiar with. She was flanked by three men in robes of various shades, all glaring at the newcomers suspiciously.

"Ve're looking for Nicholas Flamel," Edward stated. The language he spoke in was not their own; however, each somehow knew how to speak it. While the woman's syllables sounded crisp somehow, the Amestrians' speech would probably be heavily accented, as Edward's was. The Gate, maybe? Edward wondered.

The woman watched them intently. "Please hold out your left forearms."

Edward blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Minerva, you can't honestly think that this would stop them," one of the men hissed.

"If they were Death Eaters then they might have already killed us," another said to the first with a nod of the head. "But they certainly wouldn't show you their Dark Marks!"

"That's enough. I'm just being cautious," the woman said with an exasperated sigh.

"If you were being cautious, then you wouldn't have opened up for them in the first place!" a third man roared.

She paid them no mind. "Left forearms, please," the woman stated again. "I will not ask you again."

The two military personnel looked at their companions, and then shrugged, and pulled up their sleeves, doing what was asked. Alphonse shifted uncomfortably and held out his armor, as it was all he could do.

The woman nodded at the three flesh-and-blood arms, then turned to Alphonse. "And you, sir?"

"T'at is his forearm," Edward sighed. "If ve can pleese speak vit Flamel, I'm sure he'll understand, given the circumstances, and—"

"Please, just come in," the woman sighed, opening the door wider. "I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, and Nicholas Flamel is most certainly not here at the moment. Would you please follow me to my office?"

"Professor, do you—" the second man began but was cut off by McGonagall.

"That is enough, Alastor," she told him fiercely. "You may all return home for the time being; our meeting is over for today."

The three said farewell and strode towards the doorway in which the Amestrians stood. They glared at the foreigners, obviously mistrusting, and the first man shook his head, muttering under his breath about how foolish senile the woman had gotten in her old age.

As soon as the men had left, the four Amestrians entered the foyer of the building and found themselves in a large chamber with a large set of stairs on one side, a hallway at the back, and a large door to the side. It was impressive, that was for certain, but the Minerva McGonagall woman just strode onwards up the stairs, leaving them no choice but to follow.

"May I ask who you all are?" she asked, not turning to face them, but continuing onwards.

"Colonel Roy Mustang," Mustang said politely. "Here vit my subordinate Major Edvard Elric and his brudder Alphonse."

"And the young lady?"

"I'm Vinry Rockbell, Ed's mechanic," Winry said brightly.

"Mechanic?" McGonagall paused and turned around, a perplexed expression on her face.

"Like I said, I'll explain ven I see Flamel," Edward growled.

"And like I said, Major Elric, Mr. Flamel isn't here. You'll have to explain in my office."

Edward just nodded. She was scary when she was cross.

The group slowly trekked up the stairs, down a series of confusing hallways, and through a door with a large lion carved into it.

It was a small office, cozy, though, with a roaring fire in the hearth. A desk and two chairs dominated the center while bookshelves took up most of the wall space. Titles included things like, "Basic Transfiguration" and "Animagi and Other Shapeshifters". It was all very intriguing to Edward; "transfiguration" did, after all, sound like "transmutation" and the young blonde wondered if they were the same thing or not. Behind the desk, several portraits hung, the most ornate one of a sleeping old man.

"Now, please, take a seat." The woman pulled a long, thin stick from her sleeve and waved it in the air. Edward found this slightly amusing until three extra chairs appeared from nowhere, baffling him.

With alchemy, one can do almost anything. But… It's impossible to create something out of nothing. Humankind cannot gain anything with out giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. This is alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange. His teacher's first lesson pounded through his head and he could tell Roy and Alphonse were confused as well. Winry, though, not really knowing much about alchemy, thought that it was something any accomplished alchemist could do.

"Might I know why you're here at Hogwarts?" the older woman asked coolly but politely.

"Ah, ve're looking for Nicholas Flamel, ma'am," Alphonse replied, shifting awkwardly in his seat. "We t'ink he might know somet'ing t'at ve need for our research to be complete."

"And what would this pertain to?"

"Alchemy," Edward stated bluntly. "More importantly, the Philosopher's Stone."

Minerva's eyes peaked with interest. "Really? I was under the impression that the Stone had been destroyed, as per request of the late Professor Dumbledore."

Edward's face fell. "Destroyed?"

"No, Minerva, not destroyed," a wise-sounding voice corrected and McGonagall turned to one of the many portraits on the wall behind her.

The portrait was of a wizened old man with half-moon spectacles, a broken-looking nose, and a long, white beard. He smiled at them and then stood from the chair in which he was seated.

Edward was stunned. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be happening. It was a trick of the light, a hallucination… Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be a moving, talking picture with any intelligence whatsoever. It wasn't logical, it didn't follow the rules of science, the rules of nature; it was impossible.

Winry stared at the portrait slack-jawed and Roy blinked multiple times, as if he was trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming it. Alphonse let out a small gasp and McGonagall acted like this happened every day.

"Ah, Albus, I had no idea you were awake."

"That's quite alright," the man in the portrait stated with a smile. "On my way to visit the Fat Lady in Gryffindor Tower, I couldn't help but overhear this conversation. Oh, please forgive me. I am Albus Dumbledore, the late headmaster of Hogwarts School."

"E-Edvard Elric," Ed stuttered. "And, um, Colonel Bast—I mean, Mustang, my brudder Alphonse, and my mechanic Vinry Rockbell."

"Pleasure to meet you all," Albus stated calmly. "I beg your pardon for asking, but why is it exactly you need the Philosopher's Stone? Surely you don't wish to gain immortality, the ability to turn lead into gold, that sort of thing?"

Edward cocked an eyebrow, getting over his shock at the talking portrait. "Vy vould I vant immortality? And turning lead into gold is illegal. Besides; it is child's play. I don't care about t'at."

Albus looked intrigued. "Child's play, you say? Not even the most powerful of all wizards can do such a thing without the assistance of the Stone."

Ed rolled his eyes. "It is simple. You break down the lead and rearrange the elements of it, bending the atoms so each is just so and t'us create gold. It is simple, but it is difficult, not to mention illegal. I mean, if ev'ry alchemist went around turning lead to gold, t'en money vould haff no vorth."

Albus and McGonagall looked shocked at his words.

"I haff no int'rest in money, unless it can help my research fund, vich the Colonel here decides he will make smaller each month," Edward declared, shooting a glare at Mustang, who watched him with an innocent expression.

"Alchemist, you say?" Albus asked, leaning forward curiously. "I thought alchemy was a dead art."

"Dead art?" Winry asked, then turned to look at the three males beside her. "I t'ought you said t'at it vas practiced nationvide!" Her face growing pink, she pulled a wrench from her pocket and hurled it at Edward's blonde head. "Vere you lying to me, you pipsqueak?!"

"Vhy vould I lie to you about somet'ing that vould be stupid to lie about?!" Edward shouted back. "And I'm not a pipsqueak, you machine junkie!"

"Alchemy nerd!"

"You know, its no vonder you never haff any dates ven ve come to see you! You act like a man, Vinry!" he muttered under his breath.

"Vat vas t'at you said about me?"

"Not'ing. Shut up and leaff me alone, I'm not finished talking to the freaky guy in the painting," he snapped and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. "It's not a dead art, its practiced vorldvide. Vhere haff you been living, under a rock?"

"Brudder," Alphonse hissed.

Albus smiled good-naturedly. "Ah. So. You must be from that land called Amestris, am I correct? The same place that Nicholas was from?"

"Nicholas Flamel?" Mustang asked, finally regaining his voice.

"Yes. Mr. Flamel was a good friend of mine, whence I was still alive," Albus recalled with a nod of his head. "He created the first Philosopher's Stone, no?"

"The first one wit'out the use of genocide? Yes," Edward responded. "And it is important t'at I find out how he did it as soon as possible, or even use the stone itself."

"May I inquire as to why?"

Edward felt all eyes in the room on him, wondering whether he was going to reveal his secret or not. He sighed and shut his eyes in frustration. This sucked. "Vat I'm about to show you," he said quietly, "is never—ever—to leaff this room. Am I clear?"

Professor McGonagall nodded, as did Dumbledore from his portrait.

"Good." Edward stood and pulled off his jacket, dropping it onto the chair, and then removed his black shirt and gloves, leaving only his undershirt. His right arm glinted in the light of the candles and McGonagall looked slightly scared at the metal limb and Edward smirked wider. "I've lost my arm and my leg. Alphonse is just a soul bonded to t'at suit of armor. Ve lost our bodies to alchemy; quvite frankly, I just vant to get my brudder back to normal. I could not care less about haffing metal limbs."

"And I don't mind it either; he's going to pay for a mansion for me all on his own someday," Winry said, smiling innocently, gently stroking her wrench with her thumb. "Isn't t'at right, Ed?"

"Only cuz you charge a fortune each time I get a scratch on t'is t'ing…" Ed muttered, rubbing his automail forearm.

"Hey! T'at's my best work and you run around the country vit' it, treating it like it's a toy!"

"I haff a job to do, Automail Junkie, so you back off about vat I use my arms and legs for!"

"Stupid Alchemy Freak!"

"I resent t'at!"

"No, you resemble it!"

By this time, both parties were on their feet, eye to eye, screaming each other in the face.

"Um… Brudder… Vinry…" Alphonse had one hand up in a hesitant manner, thinking of what he could do to calm the two down. "Er…"

"Shut up, Fullmetal."

"No, I don't t'ink I vill!" Ed declared before continuing his rant with Winry.

"Yes, you vill, or I'll court martial you, Shrimp!"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO TINY HE NEEDS A LADDER TO GET FROM VUN STAIR TO ANUT'ER?!" Ed roared, ADD-ing on Winry and turning to yell at his superior.

"You."

"If I vere you, I'd shut up right now, Mustang, or I'm going to transmute your ass to t'at chair!" Ed screamed, clapping his hands together.

"I can haff you court-martialed for t'at, Fullmetal," Mustang declared.

"Would you quit t'reatening me vit' t'at stupid t'ing?! I don't care if I get a goddamn court martial!" the blonde ranted, glaring at his superior officer. He turned back to the portrait and to the older woman sitting before him. "Now, for the last time, vere is the Philosopher's Stone?"

But Dumbledore had left the portrait, somehow, and McGonagall obviously had no idea.


H'okay. So. What do you think?

Some of it might be hard to follow, especially when Ed and co. are speaking English. Hope you enjoyed, please press that lovely little green-and-white button right under this and tell me what you liked/didn't like about it.

Thanks!

--BG--