The Deal

The next day was a numb affair. 

Roy woke with a headache and fire coursing through his veins from his hands. He’d managed to get bandaged up before all of the Pillars were sucked into their personal wormholes, yet in the morning he asked Alphonse to transmute new ones and asked Edward for assistance in disinfecting and cutting away old flesh. Alphonse had done so happily, with a bright smile and clap that seemed less for alchemy’s sake and more to show his enthusiasm. Edward had been quietly pensive the entire process, a furrow between his brow that spoke of deep thought. Roy decided to leave it be.

Mainly for the headache. 

Before breakfast they’d picked up Izumi, who greeted them with a fresh face. Her shoulders were straighter and she'd had a shower or bath at some point in the night, dressed in a white button-up and black slacks that pooled on the ground, most likely something from the Lost and Found. While they walked, she brought up Alkahestry.

“The girl pulled energy from a different source,” Izumi had said while Dumbledore led them to the Great Hall. Roy was intrigued to learn what was so great about it, but if it had anything to do with more pictures that moved, he’d like to pass. “Dragon Pulse, yes, Alphonse?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy answered, shoulder to shoulder with Edward. There had been an ash wooden cane resting by the entryway in the morning, and he made good use of it on the walk, leaning heavily on it and his brother. “She said the pentagram seal was used to connect the classic five Xing elements to channel the energy that moves between all living things. By using the seal and alkahestry markers, she was able to throw the array and activate it at a distance.”

“Which is how you were able to get Edward’s arm back,” Izumi continued. “This energy that flows through everything, it’s very similar to magic.” 

Roy felt Dumbledore's attention on them sharpen despite his affable gate; he walked just steps ahead of the group, knobby fingers locked behind his back. His robes were grey today, with little moons along the hems. 

“So you’re saying magic is more in tune with the earth than it is with a gate locked inside an individual,” Edward summarized. Izumi nodded and Alphonse hummed, eyes distant in thought. 

There was no equivalent exchange, so something similar to Qi - what Mei had described as the flow of Dragon Pulse energy - seemed likely. If this was the case, shouldn’t anyone be able to learn? But Alphonse had asked to sit in on some classes, and Dumbledore had asked if he was a wizard as a prerequisite. Was it prejudice or were there only select people with the gift?

“What distinguishes a witch or wizard?” Roy mused out loud. The rest of the Pillars looked at him in surprise and he honestly felt a little hurt. “What? I was the youngest State Alchemist until the beansprout."

“Which we have still not . . . talked about,” Izumi murmured next to him. He winced a little inside even as he smiled at her politely, strained, sure the conversation would end in him prone under her working sandals. When he'd recruited Edward he hadn't really thought about it beyond his most selfish reasons. There was a little concern for the kid initially, sure, but he'd been focused on climbing ranks faster than his peers, desperate to ease some of the guilt that plagued him every second. Those were desperate times, and meeting Edward had created an opening that changed everything. Explaining that to Izumi wasn't going to be easy - finding the words nigh impossible.

“To answer your question,” Dumbledore said, and he paused in walking to face them. Alphonse certainly could have used the break, if the way he was dragging was any indication. “One must be born with the ability to access the immaterial plane, the energy we call magic. The early signs of access include strange happenings around children and the ability to see things that are not there for the rest of the populace. This ability is genetically passed down. However, the mutation of one’s blood through a non-magical lineage can also result in being born with the ability to use magic. Such as a mutation in a magical lineage can result in a person born without the ability.” 

“Interesting,” Roy said, intrigued. “How does this play into the working class? Does this world have a central or decentralized government, and how does magic affect the structures?”

“I appreciate your questions, Colonel,” Dumbledore said sincerely. This was the first time he'd acknowledged Roy's rank, likely a strategic move. “It is always refreshing to hear interest from foreign parties. Please, let us get acquainted with the staff and seated for breakfast, and I will be glad to speak on this further.”

“Very well, Mr. Dumbledore,” Roy said graciously and tipped his head. He imagined hundreds of kids in these halls based on the size of the castle. If there were that many kids with magic, how many were born without? How did magic affect the economy? What kinds of laws were in place to protect the people without magic? He hadn't seen any kinds of electronics since they'd arrived, either; was this world so far behind? Was this a slave society - the powerful against the powerless? He had so many questions and the man who could answer them or at least guide him to answers was unintentionally teasing him. 

Dumbledore took them the rest of the way in silence like he could hear Roy's thoughts, until they reached majestic, ornate doors that extended up to the ceiling. They eased open with a long creeek as they walked up, and a large room with long, walnut-stained oak tables spread out before them. White candles danced and flickered in the air, and as he looked further up, Roy could see the morning sky reflected down at them like there was no ceiling at all. The walls simply faded away as if they were spray-painted invisible. 

He focused really hard on not offing himself with the first fork he saw.

“Good morning,” Dumbledore called up to the table in the back of the room, leading the Pillars down the center aisle. Nine staff members were dotting the table, each with quite a unique personality. They all comically shared the oddball fairytale robe, however, and wore the same surprised countenances.

Dumbledore waved his bulbous wand, saying a foreign word with inflection, and the table expanded by what had to be at least ten feet. The staff had moved with it, none of their belongings or persons disturbed by this effortless show. Dumbledore waved again silently, and out sprung more chairs, lining themselves up to rest evenly in the open spots. Roy resigned himself to his fate of ridiculous fever-dream scenes and rounded the table with the rest of the group. 

He observed each person as they passed by: most wore looks of suspicion or outright curiosity, but he saw a sour-faced man and a woman in the most garish pink outfit look at him with something calculating. They would be leading the rest of the staff's opinions and decisions, then. He'd learn who their allies were and which morals and ethics they had a pattern of following.

This was, truly, a school, and any newness was sure to disrupt the status quo, so he smiled politely at each person with a detached air, settling the boys between him and Izumi. Some faces eased at the presence of children at the table. 

“Well, it is a fine morning indeed,” Dumbledore started joyfully, settling into the center seat. “Hogwarts staff, please welcome Izumi Curtis, Roy Mustang, and Edward and Alphonse Elric. They are foreign alchemists touring Scottland for a spell and were caught in an unfortunate hunting accident.” Here Dumbledore frowned and put a hand on his chest, the very picture of contrite and apologetic. “Fortunately, they’d heard that Hogwarts was nearby and procured the help of Nurse Pomfrey. I’ve invited them for breakfast, and I do hope that we show them some good Hogwarts hospitality.”

“Welcome,” the only dwarf at the table chirped brightly, clapping his hands on the table and leaning forward to eye them all with a wide smile. His glasses were slightly smudged.

“Hello,” Alphonse chirped back. He immediately snagged the hearts of a few of them, Roy noticed, eyeing the woman with the tight face and the portly woman covered in dirt. 

“Hi,” Edward grumbled, eyeing the fruit display a couple of empty plates down. Teenage boy, Roy reminded himself fondly.

The rest of the table exchanged polite greetings and offers of tours, and Dumbledore boldly clapped once in the middle of it all. Roy flinched with the rest of his group, instinct urging him to create an array to fight back, senses suddenly sharp and body poised to move. He worried it was a trap, that he'd trusted the wrong person, and cursed himself three ways to Hell for leading the kids into it.

Nothing happened for a short, agonizing moment, before the table erupted with food from all walks of life, sending Roy into another small panic attack for entirely different reasons. All manner of things spouted from nowhere: trifle dishes and casseroles and plates of cheese and fruit. Edward immediately started piling his plate before the rest followed, evidently too hungry for any thought beyond his stomach.

Roy wasn’t sure if he would be able to eat with how tired and sore he was, but upon the first bite, he ravenously devoured everything on his plate in a matter of seconds. He paused for a deep drink of something that tasted like cider and pumpkins before piling up again, skirting the meat in favor of runny eggs and a muffin. His fingers were just able to close tight enough for a decent grip, and he held his fork at an awkward angle to shovel his food into his mouth, not particularly caring about how messy it may look at first glance. This time he ate slowly, savoring each bite of creamy potatoes and eggs despite the acute stabs of pain. It was during this plate that he grabbed the attention of Dumbledore again, steadily working through his own pile.

“Back to that previous question, I'd like to add to it,” he said upon interruption. The older man nodded at him, chewing thoughtfully. “What are the effects of alchemy throughout history here, and have there ever been nations built around the talent like they are for magic?”

The conversations between the staff puttered off, curious eyes looking over shoulders to eye him down. He wasn't sure why his question garnered stares like this. Was alchemy taboo? Did practicing it make one a degenerate? Or was it an acquired skill? Maybe it worked like getting a PhD. 

Dumbledore’s eyes gazed at him in quiet contemplation and he fought the urge to straighten in his seat. He was this man’s equal simply because he was a foreign dignitary. No matter that Roy couldn’t reach said military, either.

“Yes, alchemy has played a role in the history here,” Dumbledore started, and Roy tried to not show his surprise at this information so blatantly on his face. From the stares, he wasn't counting on getting a straight confirmation. “As someone familiar with the subject, you're aware of the permanence of alchemy versus the impermanence of magic."

“I was not aware, but please continue," Roy stated, unsure where this was heading.

“The Ministry of Magic is Europe’s official government, yes?” Roy nodded along. Europe's government, meaning there was more than one. Did this government include non-magical folk, magical folk, and alchemists? “Alchemy created the building for the Ministry, in Dark times.” 

“I see,” Roy said. "Were these Dark times in war? How many wars has Europe been through? Why did alchemy fade here, and when did magic become the center?"

“Yes, you are quite the scholar, aren’t you?” Dumbledore complimented in the face of his incessant questions, and Roy chuckled good-naturedly. Best to back off for now and gather information in other ways. 

“My apologies, Mr. Dumbledore," he said. "I let myself get carried away. Alchemy is a family trade, after all."

“Hey,” a voice grumbled by his elbow, and Roy broke his interview with Dumbledore to look down at Edward. The boy scowled up at him and pointed at his plate. “You gonna eat that?”

Roy cast a glance around the table and smirked. All of the platters and bowls in the immediate vicinity were empty. 

“Sure, kid,” he said, sliding his plate over to fondly watch Edward devour it. 

Multiple governments in different countries - or continents, maybe the countries were continental - with at least one built by alchemy. He needed to know how many different governments there were and how they interacted with each other, and he needed to know if any others were built by alchemy, as well. If a homunculus was rising in power there was no telling how deep its poison spread. He'd ask for maps of the land, feeling pressure for the first time since arriving yesterday.

While contemplating this new information, Roy noticed the pink-clothed woman with the squat face was eyeing him down rather intensely. He made eye contact and smiled, and she quirked her lips in a humorless smirk before looking away. Suspicious. He'd have to talk to her to get her angle. 

The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, and one by one each of the staff disappeared to their respective classrooms, no doubt preparing for quite an intensive school year. Dumbledore led them to the arena they’d arrived in, explaining that it was a Quidditch pitch and the sport was meant to be played in the air, on broomsticks that were built specifically to fly. Roy stayed quiet while the other Pillars jumped into exclamations of disbelief. Alphonse claimed that he wanted to try it, which set off a whole new argument. 

He wondered if Dumbledore was going to encourage them to leave after the funeral; if they were going to talk more and then part ways. He wondered what it meant when his gut told him that Dumbledore wanted them to stay. He didn’t believe that the man was the homunculus, not truly, but he did know that Truth had a nasty humor. He had Edward and Alphonse here with him, now, and he couldn’t afford to play the lazy Colonel when there was real work to be done. They needed him to remain sharp, and that meant gathering information. 

He needed an information network. He'd start with Dumbledore's and then build his own underneath it.

In the meantime, he’d get Edward and Alphonse enrolled in this school to help them get an understanding of magic. They needed to know what this place was capable of, if any of them had access to this immaterial plane, and if the kids could also get information out of the students. Kids had a shrewder look at adults and tended to spout what their parents believed first, and this was a great chance to know what circles affected the younger generation. 

He was tempted to find a job for Izumi, but before he even thought of one he needed to have a long conversation with her about the boys. She needed to know that he had their best interests at heart and that he would utilize his skills to the best of his ability. 

Once they got to the pitch, the mood of the group grew somber. No more tears were shed, even when the man was carried in a conjured coffin to a spot next to a cute hut on the edge of the woods. The coffin was laid on a pile of hay, and a tome with the Tree of Alchemy settled on top - not the one they'd looked at in Dumbledore's office, but something that looked mass-produced and brand new.

They stood for some moments in silence, the boys leaning on each other. Izumi and Roy stood off to one side, with Dumbledore at the head, lowering his wand. Roy gestured for everyone to get back, and the boys rounded the coffin to stand next to him and Izumi.

Roy pulled his only clean glove out of his pocket, red stitching dirty but still legible. Dumbledore was eyeing it with raised brows. The old man's eyes widened more when Roy slipped off his standard glove to reveal lightly mottled red bandages, and he assumed that he would be getting a trip to Poppy as well. He’d bring Edward and Alphonse, too, if that were the case. Couldn’t hurt to witness the medical process themselves.

Concentration on the oxygen lacing the atmosphere allowed him to draw it into chain links and build it with a focal point anywhere he wanted. With time, his accuracy grew sharper. Even with his hands half-working, he could effortlessly link a spark from his glove to the coffin, flames fanning outward and twisting into a spout from the wind. The coffin caught fire in a sharp boom and continued to burn while they all stood in silence. With a press of his fingertips together, he pictured the array he had in mind and added magnesium sulfate from the ground, pulling directly from the damp soil, and the flame started shifting to burn white. The effect was rather pretty. 

“Would anyone like to say any words?” Dumbledore asked the group over the crackling of wood.

“That won’t be necessary,” Izumi said, hand on Alphonse’s bony shoulder. Tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Edward was stoic and straight-faced, shoulders square. 

As they stood quietly, the smell of burning flesh grew stronger. He doubted the others quite knew what it was they were smelling, but Roy would never forget it. 

Standing there and not showing his unease was one of the hardest things he’d ever done; memories of dirt and sun hazed the edges of his vision and his stomach heaved slightly. He fought the feeling with his entire might, determined not to have a PTSD flashback in the middle of a funeral, and cursed his rotten luck. It had been a long time since his last one, at least a year or two, and barbeque in Gracia’s front lawn had become semi-manageable since then.

But this was a real human being cooked in front of him, limbs shriveling into black ash and face melting. He knew it wasn’t visible, the coffin covered everything and it was too overpopulated to see through the flames, but he knew what it looked like intimately. He’d been the cause of thousands of deaths just like this, polluting the air with sulfur and melting fat and char until there was nothing left but grey, grey everywhere -

A hand gripped his wrist tightly, and Roy flinched down to see Alphonse, who’d stopped leaning on Edward to lean on him. Edward was looking at him from over Alphonse’s shoulder, hand in Izumi’s, golden eyes dark with something like worry. Or pity. Alphonse was gently encouraging, smiling softly with little tears in his eyes, and it pulled Roy away from Ishval enough to swoop down and pick the kid up again, pre-teen be damned. 

Here he was pulling attention onto himself while these kids were witnessing their father burn to ash. He didn’t want to know what look was on his face while he’d been reminiscing, too scared to confront the possibility of being either entirely too hostile or too haunted. Both would be too much for him to disclose to his current company, especially when he needed to act like the adult he was.

Dumbledore politely watched the flames, no indication he’d witnessed anything present, but Roy wondered what opinions the man was forming on their rag-tag group. He hoped the man believed that Roy had just been in an unfortunate training accident, that he was just some alchemist who studied flame alchemy and was hurt - instead of using it as a tool for genocide. He felt transparent and almost came clean simply to vanish the guilt curling around his spine.

The funeral concluded in silence, and when the last flames puttered out, Dumbledore waved his wand again. The ash from the fire swirled together to form a shining ball, flecked with gold. He floated the ball over to the group and Edward caught it with trembling hands, eyes solemn but dry. He handed it to Alphonse in the next breath and the boy took it reverently, eyes also dry.

The way up to the castle was solemn, and Roy already felt exhausted by the day that had barely started. It wasn’t even noon, yet.

Dumbledore took them back to his office, where they sat around his desk with warm mugs of cacao. It tasted the same as it did near the Drachman border and they all drank deeply, nostalgic despite only being gone for not even twenty-four hours. Roy had never missed Central so much.

“Magical chocolate has properties that relieve heartache and mental pain,” Dumbledore started casually, taking a long drag and sighing warmly, little bits of brown froth on the tips of his mustache. “This is a good start into the differences between magical folk - witches and wizards - and non-magical folk - who we call muggles. Magic enables the natural properties of ingredients to draw power from the immaterial plane, as well. When a witch or wizard imbues certain ingredients with magic, that person unlocks that same potential to access the plane within that ingredient. All persons and elements have extra properties that can be unlocked by a witch or wizard. This or the barrier within the person or element has and always will be blown open by an understanding that we do not know of.” 

Dumbledore waved his wand and a book flew across the room to land on his desk. Another swish and the book flipped itself open and rifled through pages before landing on the picture of a wand, with at least thirty different parts labeled in an interesting script. 

“Our wands, the tools with which we channel the energy we naturally gather within ourselves, are comprised of multiple elements and DNA around the globe with permanent access to the immaterial plane. Each person's access is different and allows them to succeed in some areas of magic over others, thus each wand is different. The flow of magic through the wand matches that witch or wizard’s access, and thus begins a symbiotic relationship.” 

“There are no ways of channeling magic from your fingers or anything?” Edward asked, squinting at the man with suspicious eyes. 

“Unfortunately the overload of energy can cause significant harm to those who try. Or they simply can not control it,” Dumbledore said gravely. "Though it is not impossible, and such feats have been accomplished in times of high stress." 

“You said a witch or wizard could unlock the gate that prevented someone from using magic. Do you do this with those you call muggles?” Izumi asked curiously. Now that she was in significantly less pain, she was much more present for the conversation, engaged in a way she hadn’t been the night before. Roy was glad to see it, and from Edward’s relaxed shoulders, he wasn’t the only one. 

“We do have the potential, however there are differing results and they are never permanent,” Dumbledore said. “Typically one does not go around turning muggles into magical beings for a day, either, lest one wishes to be on the run.

“All magic is temporary,” Dumbledore went on to explain, continuing on from their discussion at breakfast. “Only elements and beings with permanent access to the immaterial plane can see and use magic consistently. If someone puts up a ward, for example, that ward must be recast and reinforced continuously to maintain a permanent effect. Our wards at Hogwarts get recast and reinforced weekly.”

“Are garden gnomes beings with permanent access to magic?” Alphonse asked. 

The room grew still.

Edward . . . exploded.

“Al! You fucking genius!” he cried, leaping from his seat to grip his brother’s shoulders and shake gently. “Magic is an ingredient used in making the stone here, isn’t it!”

Dumbledore blinked at him, startled at the suddenly animated teenager leaping back and forth in excitement. 

“Well, of course,” he confirmed. “You’re all muggles? Does your alchemy become unlocked by choice?”

“Everyone has the potential for alchemy or alkahestry,” Roy informed him. Information was information, after all, and he didn’t see the harm in sharing it when they were getting a thorough lesson on magic. “It relies on a lot of mathematics, chemistry, and physics. Some people grasp it easier than others, and not everyone wants to spend the time to learn it when there are other jobs available.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair in a physical manifestation of absorbing that information. “Well, magic is certainly different in that not everyone is capable. To create a Stone, lives must still be taken, but magic certainly makes up a large percentage of Nicholas’s calculations. I still would not have condoned it had I known what he intended to do, I reassure you.” 

“How do we know we have access to magic?” Edward demanded. 

“You are not asking for the sake of a Stone -”

“No, but if alchemy can use magic - if it can be combined, who knows what the possibilities are?” he breathed, and Alphonse was nodding emphatically beside him.

“Please, we want to learn,” he begged. The faces of both boys were so earnest, and damn if he’d ever witness this at work. Edward alone would have been creepy, but when they were paired together it was like an overload of cuteness. 

Wait.

“Fullmetal,” he started gently. Edward was, again, two steps ahead of him.

“Truth gave me access to alchemy again,” he said bluntly, waving off Roy and Izumi’s sudden chokes on air. “Said something about needing it, or whatever. I’m pretty sure it’ll take it back again.” 

“One last thing, Mr. Al-che-mist -”

That made so much more sense.

“I suppose there is no hurt in seeing if you’re magical,” Dumbledore said, clearly not touching that conversation with a ten-foot pole. Roy couldn’t blame him - his heart was still beating erratically. 

Dumbledore stood and handed Alphonse his wand. Alphonse looked down at it dubiously, thin fingers as knobby as the wood.

“Well?” he asked. “What do I do?”

“Give it a wave,” Dumbledore chuckled. 

Alphonse, still suspicious, waved the wand. A lamp in the corner of the room exploded, glass shattering out with a flash of light. Everyone jumped.

A wisp of smoke drifted from the unlit candle, diamond dust scattered on the floor around it.

“Well,” Dumbledore said gently. He softly took the wand from Alphonse’s slack fingers, the boy’s mouth agape and eyes locked on the destroyed lamp. “It seems as though you are indeed a wizard.”

Edward reached for the wand giddily.