Subordinate
As Moody led the way through the Black residence, he took advantage of the silence between the three men to analyse the alchemists that he had met at the door.
The blue eye he had attained after losing the old one had plenty of advantages. He was almost thankful he had lost the original one in battle - one of the new eye’s abilities allowed him to see at the back of his head. Useful for many situations.
The older man looked no older than thirty, maybe a few years younger, donning a fedora. Underneath was clean-shaven raven-black hair that fell over his eyes and dark black eyes. He studied the man’s eyes. He’d seen them before. He was sure he had that look in his eyes as well.
Those were the eyes of those who had endured the sufferings of war.
Of course, it was to be expected. Prior to their arrival, Dumbledore had told them in a briefing that the Amestrian representatives that they were highly trained soldiers in the military, known for their alchemical prowess. ‘Highly-trained’, in Moody’s interpretation, meant they had been through suffering conflict - maybe as terrible as the First Wizarding War, maybe worse. After all, with the little information he knew about Amestris was that it was a military state that was in constant conflict with its neighbours to the west, south and north.
Which brought him to the subject of the second representative.
He was much shorter and younger than the man next to him. Too young to set himself upon soldier’s path. Slung over his shoulder seemed to be a red coat with a black symbol emblazoned on it that Moody could not distinguish. His long, golden-blond hair was tied back in a braid, with two bangs separated in the middle, and strangely, a small strand of hair sticking up like an antenna. Under those bangs, however, were gold eyes.
Unlike the older man’s eyes, however, those eyes had never witnessed the horror of war. But those eyes burned with another look, one of determination, and those eyes seemed to tell Moody that while he had not seen the atrocity of war, he had seen many other atrocities, almost as terrible as war itself.
Moody could tell many things by analysing people, especially with his left eye. He decided these two would be very interesting guests, indeed.
He led the two alchemists through the doorway to the dining room, where sitting around the large wooden table, the Order sat. Moody gestured for them to enter first. The older man nodded, and the younger boy followed, his face unreadable.
Moody followed after the two. He knew the Order was attempting to evaluate the two newcomers with their eyesight like he had, trying to attain anything just by studying them. He decided to break the silence.
“As what Albus mentioned to us in the letter, here are the two alchemists representing Amestris.” He turned to the pair. “Standing before you is the Order of the Phoenix. I’m Moody. Around the table are Arthur, Molly, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, and Hestia. Order,” he turned to the group seated around the table, “these will be our… guests for the next school year. Albus has asked us all to treat them with respect.” Moody hoped he had emphasised the last word enough.
After all, he did not want a repeat of what had happened a few hours ago. Especially with the actual guests-of-honour right in front of them.
He saw the younger boy, whose deadpan expression twitched into a frown. He saw the older man, who continued to keep the blank expressionless manner and nodded at the younger. Moody took his place with the Order, and the black-haired Amestrian coughed into his fist and brought his gloved right hand to his temple into a stiff salute.
“I am… Roy Mustang and this is… my subordinate, Edward Elric. It is my... pleasure to meet you all.”
/-/-/-/-/
Roy hoped his English had sounded adequate. He hoped he said the word ‘subordinate’ right. After all, that was a word he’d been practising as part of his introductions. Then again, he’d learned enough English in the academy. He’d gained decent marks. So he was confident.
But apparently his English pronunciation either was decent enough or the ‘Order’ group were indifferent to it. They seemed bothered about other things.
“Excuse me,” he watched a red-haired, stout woman stand from her chair. From her attire, Roy could tell she simply was (or just looked like) a mere housewife. From what the man Moody had said, her name was Molly something-or-other. “Did you just call him your subordinate?”
He heard a sigh beside him. It was a usual reaction from Fullmetal, Roy assumed, concerning the topic of age, especially with the rumours surrounding the Fullmetal Alchemist and several enemies he fought, that the famous Fullmetal Alchemist was only fifteen years of age. He himself could relate. Since the Ishval War, he’d heard rumours he had been lying about his age to make his achievements seem more admirable.
Not that they were admirable in any way.
“Yes, he is my subordinate.”
Subordinate. That was the word in English, from the Amestrian-English dictionary that was located at the very bottom of Roy's luggage. sub-or-di-net. In its noun form, its definition would be 'a person under the authority or control of another within an organisation.'
Most likely, the Order would know that word and its meaning. Well, they should, the Flame Alchemist mused.
“So he’s not your son or anything like that?” Another red-head. Or maybe that was orange. He was most likely the woman’s husband. Roy sighed. So apparently, he was wrong and they didn't know the word's definition at all.
“We are not… family,” Roy explained. “Not family blood. I am his superior in Amestris army.”
“So Britain never liked Amestris, didn’t they?” The red-haired woman said, a hint of coldness in her voice. “I can understand that, especially if they’re hiring young boys to be soldiers.”
Roy heard Fullmetal curse in Amestrian, followed by some muttering in the same tongue that sounded vaguely like “Shut up.” So he did understand some of the conversation. And he took offence. The man next to her, the same man who had asked if Edward was Roy's son, tried to calm her down, and she sat down with a huff.
Silence, then someone else spoke up. “The boy’s age could be of some advantage to us, Molly,” and the red-head woman had turned to look at him. “Concerning the details of Dumbledore’s mission for them, it’s kind of a prudent tactic.”
“I do see your point, Sirius,” agreed the man next to him. “It makes it all less suspicious…”
Roy heard a fist slam the table with a loud impact. He frowned. Clearly, she was upset by all this; Fullmetal’s position in the military at his age. However, it was not as if she had any business to care. “He’s just a boy-”
Moody saved the by coughing into his fist. “Alright, everyone settle down.” From inside his cloak, he took out a piece of thick parchment then opened it by rolling it open, just like pirates in picture books unraveling a rolled-up map with a treasure that existed in Amestrian storybooks.
“We know what Albus told us,” the red-haired woman groused indignantly, “but he never mentioned anything about bringing a boy to a mission against-”
“Annoying,” whispered Fullmetal in Amestrian just under his breath. “That woman is annoying.”
Roy made no response. But he did have a point. Who was she, questioning the Amestrian military and the personnel they sent on missions? Especially in Fullmetal’s case…
Why, Fullmetal’s situation was even more questionable. That was a reason to keep his secret kept hidden under wraps.
“Molly,” Moody said her name in a rougher, more dangerous tone, and Roy watched as the red-haired woman, Molly, close her mouth and take her seat once again. “We’ll discuss this later. For now…” he glanced at Roy, and asked, “We have more important matters to discuss. I suppose Albus told you all about the inner mission during your Hogwarts stay?”
The Flame Alchemist shook his head. “Not at all. We were told it people telling us when we come to England.”
“Well, that would make good judgement,” Moody growled softly. “This mission is classified. I trust your leader made this mission clear to a select few, correct?”
Roy met Moody’s response with none.
“Alright,” he huffed. “Onto the mission. This is from Dumbledore,” he added, waving the parchment scribed with neat writing that Roy remembered from the Harry Potter file he had been given back in Amestris, and the writing on the slip of paper he had been instructed to burn just before entering Number Twelve. “Re-reading what he sent us earlier...
“Order,
“After the disastrous failure and the tragedy of Cedric Diggory from last year’s Triwizard Tournament, sources suggest the Ministry has been trying to strengthen relationships with other countries, possibly to get more allies after the Tournament and seem more powerful to the normal wizarding public than they really are. According to Kingsley, they have been attempting to strengthen relationships with more semi-magical countries.”
“Semi… semi-magical country?” A woman had spoken up this time - not the red-head plump woman Molly, but another one who looked younger - and to Roy’s shock, her hair suddenly changed from a straight long purple to a curly short pink. He was sure that had cut off some years from his lifespan.
The man next to her, a dark-skinned, broad shouldered man who Roy remembered was introduced as Kingsley, explained to her - and indirectly was talking pointedly to Roy and Edward as well - that semi-magical countries were countries that had been heavily concealed by magic despite having little to no magical communities residing there, therefore remaining undetected by Muggles who lived outside their borders. However, there were Muggles that resided there, unaware of their concealed nations.
Muggles. That strange word once again.
Roy was sure that word never appeared in the Amestrian-English dictionary.
It was almost as if the Moody man had read his mind with that bizarre-looking blue eye of his, explaining gruffly that Muggles were what the wizarding society called non-magical people. Which had, in Roy’s mind, made plenty of sense now that he had connected the definition of that new word with the way these wizards talked of them. The 'Muggles.' The people who possessed no magical powers.
Roy heard Fullmetal’s quiet scoff as the Kingsley man continued to talk about Amestris as a ‘semi-magical’ country. “Science, not magic,” he muttered, as he spun a fountain pen between his fingers, apparently (or just looking as if) not the slightest bit interested in the conversation at all.
“Of course, as well as the Ministry’s attempt to save face and keep their honour preserved in front of the magical community, comes Voldemort’s return - a return they refuse to believe. While I am sure this will bring plenty of danger to Harry, the Ministry will obviously refuse to provide backup or protection against the dark forces. Which is why I have decided to take matters into my own hands.”
“Protection?” Roy queried. Back in Amestris, high-ranking officials had been always targeted by terrorist cells and criminal organisations, so it was the norm for highly skilled (or simply just normal, low-ranking) soldiers to be handed the task of protecting said high-ranking officials from any danger that would come to them - during something as little as a train trip or over a long-time period, no matter how high the risk of death was.
If you survived, that was quite fine, the military would put you back to your normal military job. Should you die, well…
Roy knew as a soldier, he wore the uniform knowing he could be buried in it any moment after. Soldiers were expendable, after all.
“So this Potter boy…” Roy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Is in danger of… of…” he cursed an Amestrian word in his mind as he struggled to find the appropriate English word. “... bad people.”
He knew he sounded stupid, he knew he sounded like a child. But it was better than nothing.
“Quite right,” Moody affirmed, and he continued reading, “I have discussed matters with the leader of Amestris, Fuhrer King Bradley, and he has said that the Ministry has offered a diplomatic Amestrian party to the magical community. I simply had an idea and expressed it with the Fuhrer. He has agreed to the proposition I have offered - in exchange that the two alchemists will emerge unharmed from this mission, of course.
“So, Order, we will be welcoming two Amestrians into our ranks - a week earlier than what the Ministry thinks. They are to be treated with utmost respect, as they will be an envoy sent to Hogwarts to protect Harry Potter and keep a watch on him against Lord Voldemort. Their identities are unknown as of now, but they will be sent very soon, and when they do, they are to be regarded with the utmost respect, in order to help the operation run as smoothly as possible."
- Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”
The Order stayed silent. Of course, Moody had said he was re-reading Dumbledore’s letter for to hear. So all the negative reactions toward this letter must have been already expressed, already conveyed in quite possibly… colourful ways.
The same, Roy mused, could not be said for the two newcomers, the two Amestrians that sat with their limited English skills as they were slowly comprehending the meaning of the old Dumbledore man’s letter and their true reasons for their stay in the magical world.
They were being used. Taken advantage of by politics.
To defend a black-haired glasses boy against an evil magic enemy.
Fullmetal was the one to express his feelings aloud. Feelings that Roy shared as well.
“No!” Fullmetal’s splutter of indignation (in English, as well) had brought him into the conversation, and the Order looked at him and collectively blinked. But it seemed like others were on Edward’s side - but for another reason, it seemed - he could see Molly once again stand to her feet, a triumphant look on her face.
He watched as Edward turned to him, hissing to him in Amestrian, “I thought it was just going to Hogwarts!”
“Did you forget, Fullmetal?” Roy looked at him with exasperation. “Dumbledore had another mission within our main political thing, you should’ve expected this-”
“I thought it was something like helping the students learn alchemy, or-”
“Well, it’s not. And since Dumbledore said so but there’s nothing we can do-”
“I can see you’re ticked by this as well!”
“Yes, yes I am, Fullmetal. But it’s an order from the higher-ups and we cannot complain. If you want to complain, go take it to court or something.”
“Seems favourable to this,” Edward grunted, crossing his arms in a huff.
“See? What use is the mission if the underaged half of the delegation doesn’t agree?” Molly said loudly. She looked at Roy. “Out of all the capable soldiers you could have sent - capable Muggle soldiers,” she added, placing emphasis on the word ‘Muggle’, “you sent a young boy to help protect Harry against a wizard that’s killed our families and terrorised society for eleven years?”
“We alchemists are… capable for mission,” Roy said simply. Why didn’t those wizarding people understand? This mission seemed perfectly simple, compared to a couple of other bodyguarding missions he had to perform as a lower-ranking officer years ago. He was sure this would not involve any “hands-on” activity, or even meeting the enemy himself.
He bit his lip. He had felt quite offended that Molly had been focusing more on Fullmetal’s age and supposed lack of capability to perform properly in the mission, and not focusing on Roy, who, unlike Fullmetal, was older, a high-ranking veteran and a fully capable soldier serving the Amestrian military.
Molly was about to open her mouth to retaliate, but another woman - maybe, Roy thought, it was Hestia? - quieted her down, saying, “It’s not that dangerous. Neither of them will be sent on any dangerous missions that involve them to leave the school or anything. It’s simply keeping a watch on Potter, making sure he doesn’t do anything. This whole operation is Dumbledore’s orders anyway. He knows what he’s doing.”
The man, Lupin, from before nodded in agreement. “We can’t contradict Dumbledore. It’s not that bad, and it’s very beneficial that Harry receives extra protection, especially with the perfect reasons for being at Hogwarts. Dumbledore knows what’s best for Harry, it’s not going to be eventful and I’m sure this extra protection will benefit Harry and Edward-” Edward had made a sour face at this statement - “oh, speak of the devil, here he is.”
He heard the loud thump-thump-thump from another room, and on instinct, Roy turned.
So there happened to be eavesdroppers at the door. Not surprising.
Three adolescent youths, looking no older than Fullmetal himself entered the room. In the centre was the boy that looked familiar - he traced his memories and remembered he was the boy from the report briefing Dumbledore had sent the Amestrian military - a bespectacled boy with glasses, messy black hair, green eyes.
So he was the boy the dark wizard named Voldemort was after. The boy they were expected to protect.
There was yet another red-head that accompanied the boy - a male, the same age, and a female with bushy brown hair who seemed also fifteen years of age. Roy looked back at the bespectacled boy, who took a step forward and looked at the Order.
“I don’t need any Muggles babysitting me at Hogwarts 24/7.” Behind his glasses, his eyes trailed from Roy’s, then to Fullmetal next to him. Behind those glasses, the boy’s eyes held a firm, cold glare.
“And I do not want to watch no stranger in magic school,” Fullmetal hurled back in his thick accent, glaring back sternly.
Roy groaned, and buried his face in his hands.
He was almost tempted to bring out his flame alchemy gloves, start a fire in the dining hall then defenestrate himself.
No, he knew he wouldn’t enjoy this mission at all.
/-/-/-/-/
First, Dumbledore kept him in the dark in Privet Drive for the first half of the summer holidays. Then, when the Dementors has attacked, his indirect message to him had been to stay where he was and to not do anything. (And, to make things worse, the old man did not even bother to tell him personally. It had to be Sirius and Mr Weasley to send him letters telling him.)
Then, against his wishes, he’d organised for two foreigners - who had seemed to not understand who Lord Voldemort was until an explanation was given - to keep an eye on him during his fifth year at Hogwarts and then report to the Hogwarts Headmaster his every move.
It infuriated him. He, Harry Potter, was not a child anymore.
After all, he had been through so many things no child - and certainly very few adults - would ever experience in their lifetime. He was sure those Amestrians had not experienced anything as dangerous as trying to take the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort, or fighting Basilisks, Dementors, dragons and Voldemort himself.
“Cheer up, it’s not so bad, mate,” Ron said absentmindedly, patting him on the back as a way of reassurance. “Maybe it’s good you got some extra protection-”
“It is bad!” Harry bellowed, making the other two flinch. “Hell, why on earth does Dumbledore even think I need extra protection?! Doesn’t he know that I’ve been doing fine on my own? Hell, he and the rest of the Order left me in the dark for the whole summer!”
Hermione flinched. Clearly, Harry could see in her eyes that she had just been thinking of what he had said to his friends a day earlier, when he had raised his voice. Maybe he had felt a twinge of regret that moment, but his anger towards such a ridiculous ‘mission’ made him indifferent to her. She regained her composure and spoke calmly, “Harry, I know this isn’t really a favourable situation, but you’ll have to deal with it. After all, they weren’t just summoned here to look after you. Look at it from their side; they must not really enjoy this either. You saw them.”
“They’re here for politics, whatever,” Ron agreed. “Dad told me they were meant to arrive later, just a few days before Hogwarts. All to strengthen relationships, apparently, with magical communities and semi-magical states, he said.”
“So Dumbledore basically took advantage of the situation.” The words tasted so bitter in his mouth; he struggled to bite back a curse. He laid on his bed, staring towards the ceiling, biting his lip that trembled with anger.
“Get up, we have to get down for dinner.” The red-headed Weasley boy shook Harry off the bed, and stopped the latter from drowning in his own thoughts of resentment towards Dumbledore, frustration towards the Order, and thoughts of antipathy towards the two alchemists that had strolled through the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He almost fell off the bed as he struggled to stand, sighing. “Mum is going to yell at us if we stay up here too long.”
He nodded weakly, then closed the door behind him as they began to descend the staircase. Harry could notice that the Order crowd was still bustling in the hallway below, talking about all sorts of subjects regarding either the wizarding world, the Muggle world, or perhaps both.
Behind his glasses, his green eyes scanned the crowd through the banisters below. He saw the black-haired older Amestrian, who was speaking tentatively to Sirius, who seemed to be more interested in the former’s black Muggle coat and military suit. He skimmed over the two, and then his eyes rested on a certain sight.
He was staring at two golden eyes.
And those two golden eyes were staring back at him.
“It’s that alchemist boy,” whispered Hermione.
Harry remembered him from their encounter about an hour or two ago. He seemed so disgruntled at the realisation that he would have to bodyguard Harry from Voldemort during the school year that Harry thought that if Dumbledore and the Order wanted top bodyguards to protect him, they would have to at least try harder in finding some that would wholly agree to the task.
His long golden blond hair was tied back into a plait, but two wing-like bangs were framed at either side as they fell to his chin, and at the top of his head, right between the top of these two bangs, was a peculiar-looking strand of hair sticking up like an antenna. It seemed like he nor the older alchemist had changed from their Muggle attire as Harry could see the young alchemist’s glossy black jacket lined with white. A bright red trench coat was slung over his shoulder, with a black snake slithering around a black cross with a crown lying above both emblazoned in the centre of the coat’s back.
The two eyes averted themselves from Harry’s gaze then moved towards Hermione and Ron, as if briefly analysing them. Then they looked away then turned towards the floor. The alchemist boy shrugged his slumped shoulders, then ambled towards the staircase.
“Oh, he’s coming,” Ron frowned as they stood, as if the three had their feet glued to the stairs, and the golden-haired youth slowly ascended the stairs, showing no sign that he knew the trio were still on the stairs, gaze still focused towards the floor.
“Is this really what Muggles wear?” Ron wondered aloud to no-one in particular, and was ignored by both his two friends and the newcomer on the stairs.
Harry noticed that a book was held, under the boy’s right arm. He peered closer, as inconspicuous as he could, but the gold title of the leather-bound book was in a foreign language he did not know.
“So,” Ron began nervously, “that man is your dad, right? Or an uncle?”
The blond-haired boy looked at Ron with a look of annoyance. He clicked his tongue, and replied, “So you no hear all of talking, no?” He waited for a response, and when his question was followed by none, he continued, “he is not my dad.” The thick accent was heavy in the boy’s voice, Harry noted, just as it had been as it accompanied his poor grammar when they had first encountered one another. He paused, seeming to look for the right words, then said, “He is… someone else.”
“Who is he, then?” Hermione questioned curiously, and the boy - no, not just a boy, his surname was Elric - looked at Hermione, eyebrows raised for a split second - then they went down again. “I mean, if he’s not your dad-”
“He is not my dad. He is someone else,” he repeated, the forced pressure visible in his already thick voice, “but he is not my dad.”
It was surprising, hearing this tone of voice in Elric’s reply. They could clearly hear the contempt in his voice as he finally added, “He is nothing like my dad,” then stepped to the side, attempting to break through the barrier Harry and his two friends had created.
“Let me… go in.”
“How about… how about dinner?” Hermione squeaked nervously.
“Eating all done. Let me go.” The golden-haired boy deadpanned almost immediately in reply, as if he had been expecting that question. He pointed behind the trio, no words said. He had probably made his point already.
They stood there for another minute or so, until Harry, Ron and Hermione finally let him through, and he disregarded their existence as he brushed past them up the stairs. For a few moments.
As Elric passed them, he locked eyes with Harry for one second. His jade green eyes met Elric’s fiery, golden ones; and Harry received the message loud and clear.
As much as I don’t want to do this, let’s just get this over and done with.
Harry had to agree.
Even though he was sure he was not going to enjoy this mission at all.
However, as Elric passed them, a small voice of doubt spoke softly in his head.
His footsteps sound different. Don’t you hear?
Harry frowned. It was quite a nonsensical thought, he mused, such ridiculous words that he didn’t bother thinking about it again.
There was silence, until Hermione broke the quietude. “So… dinner?”
“Dinner.”
“Yeah.”