I'm back from my unofficial hiatus. I imagine that most of you have probably lost interest by now, and I can't say that I blame you. I do, however, intend to continue this story at a semi-regular rate.

For those of you who stayed with me, I thank you gratuitously. And for those who have just found this fic, I welcome you as well.

This chapter is mostly dialogue. It is intended to push things back on track. More action scenes will be coming soon.

As usual, as reviews will be answered at the end of the chapter.

"A way home? You sure?"

"As sure as I can be about anything in this place." His armor was trembling again; Al couldn't help it. This was as close as he had ever come to a way back to Amestris. How could he NOT be excited? He'd be able to see his friends again: Granny, Winry, Hawkeye, Mustang, Brother—Oh no.

Brother.

What was he going to do with the painting? Could he bring it with him? He'd probably have a hard enough time bargaining to get his armor self through the Gate as it was, and a quasi-sentient being would only add more to the toll. Destroying him was certainly out of the question, but leaving him behind also felt wrong. The painting was his creation, ergo his responsibility. He'd have to work something out before he left.

But even the worry of the painting's fate was little more than an inch in the back of his mind. He knew it should have been a priority, but nothing could seem to keep him down because this was it. He had finally hit the breakthrough he'd been searching for.

"It shouldn't take very long to find what I'm looking for. I just need a bit of information about the man. That's all."

"Fleur went to school there for years. She knows the place top to bottom."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, giving perhaps the fifth millionth display of blinding white teeth in the past hour. "Eet's true. I would be 'appy to take you."

"That's fantastic. I really appreciate it. Thank you. But if the place is as far away as you say, how is it we plan to get there?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "He's right. With Vold—uh…You-Know-Who on the loose, all the floo networks are monitored and apparation is virtually impossible to attempt over such long distances, not to mention if Beauxbatons is anything like Hogwarts, apparation onto its grounds shouldn't be possible."

Fleur shook her head, sending her long, platinum blond locks flying into the face of an uncomplaining Ronald Weasley. "Ça ne sera pas un problème. Leave eet up to me." With than, she ran from the room without another word.

The group looked to Bill for explanation.

Bill shrugged. "She's Madame Maxime's favorite student," he explained matter-of-factly, "getting her headmistress's assistance won't exactly be difficult."

"But Bill," Hermione protested, "bringing Madame Maxime into this could cause international strife. We wouldn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble for the French wizarding community—"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, it could be Alphonse's only way home!" surprisingly, it was Harry who voiced that comment. Apparently recognizing its uncharacteristic quality, he gave a shrug. "What can I say? He's grown on me."

"That may be, but it doesn't change the issue at hand."

More arguing. That seemed to be all Al ever did was make those three argue. That and put them in danger. It wasn't right. They were fighting a war; they had more important things to worry about than him. On the other hand, weren't he and Brother fighting a war of their own back at home? It would be wrong to give up and abandon him, especially after all Edward did to save him from the brink of death. Brother was probably searching frantically at that very moment. Or not. Al didn't know how time worked in between dimensions. For all Al knew, he could return to a time where Ed was long dead and homunculi had taken over Amestris and all its inhabitants. He could know nothing for sure.

But he still had to try.

Elrics were nothing if not persistent.

~O~

"I'm not coming back with you."

Daphne nodded in understanding. Few people enjoyed their time at Hogwarts these days so it wasn't exactly a surprise that he intended to bail. "Where do you plan to go?"

Theodore saw no point in spilling outright lies. "Edinburgh. Davis's father works there as a muggle healer of some sort. I was thinking that maybe I ought to tell him what happened to his daughter."

Astoria narrowed her eyes. "What are you really planning, Nott?"

"I just explained. I—"

"Codswallop! Tracey's dad is a muggle and I don't believe for a minute that you'd go out of your way to speak to him unless you absolutely had to."

Great. Now of all times the girl decided to be observant. "Maybe my views have evolved. Did you ever think of that, Little Miss Genius, hmm? That people have the potential for reform?"

"People, yes. You, I'm not so sure about."

Throughout the exchange, Daphne's eyes had been darting around the area nervously. "Quiet, you two," she hissed. "Someone will hear us!" Turning to Nott, she said, "If you want to go—for whatever reason that may be—I certainly won't stop you, but covering up your presence might be complicated."

Damn it. He hadn't thought about that. If he left, then the Greengrass sisters would have to take the fall for him. The Carrows had been reluctant enough to let them leave in the first place, but if they found out he was missing… "I won't be gone long," he promised. "I think I have a way out of this mess once and for all, but I need to follow this lead in order for that to happen."

"I understand. Try to be safe, though, all right? Decent company is hard enough to find these days, as it is."

"Speaking of unpleasant folk," he said, turning to the younger Greengrass, "Astoria, Malfoy wanted to thank you for the packages."

To Nott's surprise, she burst out laughing. "Why?" she asked, looking utterly bewildered. "They were all filled with dungbombs."

~O~

"Zis is the front hall. 'Ere ve have peecture of famous student Vincent Duc de Trefle-Picques. On left zere eez 'allway to keetchen. Right eez 'allway to dorms. I sleep in room vit five ozer girls: Monique, Lisa, Antoinette, Chloé, and Doutzen."

Hermione couldn't help but interject. "That last name isn't French."

"Doutzen is from Utrecht. Ve actually get many students from 'Olland and Spain and places like zat. Maybe one of tree students come from not France."

"Really? I had no idea the numbers were so high. That's fascinating."

Alphonse made a sound that seemed like it was supposed to be an interrupting cough. "Err…This is great and all, Gabrielle, but I really came here to learn about Nicolas Flamel and…"

"Hmm? Oh, 'eem." Gabrielle Delacour waved her hand rather dismissively. "Yes, ve vill reach library soon enough. Anyvay, 'ere is vhere ve gets our foods and 'ere is vhere ve stands during ceremonies. Zis is my table, zere is vhere my seester use to seet. Zis is my good friend Noeline. Say 'ello, Noeline."

"Mon dieu, mais qui sont ces minables?"

Gabrielle visibly blushed. "Uh…zat means 'it is nice to meets you.'" Somehow Hermione doubted this.

The trio continued to make their way forward, but Noeline apparently was not done speaking. She jogged alongside them and shouted in their faces.

"Viennent-ils d'Angleterre? Vous-êtes des criminels de guerre, n'est-ce pas? C'est comme ma mère l'a dit! Et c'est pour ça qu'il porte une armure n'est-ce pas? Pour dissimuler son visage et ne pas être reconnu! Si nous sommes tous tués ce sera de votre faute!"

"Laisse-nous tranquille Noémie! Va-t-en!"

Noeline made a big show of sticking out her tongue at them before running off.

Hermione ran a hand through her dyed blond hair nervously. They didn't have time to acquire polyjuice potion before the trip, so Harry decided to stay back with Ron while he underwent hernia treatment. The fewer iconic faces flashed about, the less likely they were to wind up in trouble. That girl had sounded suspicious, though. Hermione wondered if she should be worried.

Alphonse, as if reading her mind, lightly poked her on the shoulder. His voice was gentle and reassuring. "Hey, I don't think she recognized you personally. She probably says that about everyone she sees who speaks English."

"You understood her?"

Al nodded. The mental join made a tiny squeaking sound to accompany the motion. "I seem to speak most of your languages in this dimension. It probably has something to do with passing through the Portal of Truth."

"But what's—"

"Ah, 'ere ve are. Ze Bibliothèque des Ressources magiques. Flamel 'as 'is own shelf. Eet is in ze back. I vill show you."

Over the course of her lifetime, Hermione had stepped foot into nearly one hundred different libraries—she made a habit of making at least a quick stop by the library in every new town she visited. It was something her mother had been doing since the 70s (It occurred to her a bit belatedly, that she never had a chance to visit the Signet Library when she had been in Edinburgh. Such a shame, her mother had spoken lovingly of it in the past and she'd wanted a chance to see if for herself.) And Hermione liked to think that every library had a different personality to it. The John Rylands Library was austere and elegant, while the Codrington Library came off as much more tranquil and serene, with only a slight undertone of reserved aloofness. Of course, neither could compare to the downright intimidating setup in Hereford's Cathedral Chained Library. And she couldn't forget the open splendor of the British Museum's reading room, either. Most of their manuscripts were at least as old as the ones found in Hogwarts.

She thought Beauxbatons's library had a strangely enticing combination of styles. It looked like it'd undergone a number of renovations over the years. It had the colors of Rococo—pale blues, yellows, and pinks—with flying buttresses and Sexpartite vaults of the Gothic era.

For a moment, Hermione felt her air passages constrict as she bit back what would have been a rather unrefined squeal that she was sure wouldn't have been appreciated. There were so many books! She wasn't completely sure, but it appeared as though the Beauxbatons library outnumbered even Hogwarts's collection. Oh, if only she could read French!

"Zis way. Don't get lost."

Gabrielle was nice enough, at least. In many ways she acted like a mini-Fleur, but she was softer around the edges and less aloof. She didn't know just how much the younger girl had been debriefed on their intentions and in a horrible pang of guilt, Hermione wondered if she and Alphonse actually were putting her in danger.

"This place is amazing," Al whispered. He turned to Gabrielle and—presumably—told her the same thing in French as he ran his large, leather-gloved hand over the shelves, though such an act seemed unnecessary since he couldn't feel anything.

Gabrielle giggled. "Ve 'ave one of ze largest collections in both ze magic and muggle vorlds. Some manuscrits vere wreeten by Merleen 'eemself."

This seemed to perk Alphonse's interest and he asked her a quick question in French. Gabrielle appeared perplexed, but nodded and gave him a reply.

Hermione waited in frustration for someone to explain the situation to her.

"Hermione, guess what! Gabrielle says there's a collection of old alchemic manuscripts in the back and a bunch were written by Nicolas Flamel. I might actually be able to find a way home!"

Her heart was racing. Why was her heart racing? "That sounds wonderful, Al. Really wonderful." Was it because she didn't want him to leave? But that was illogical. He was her friend and she knew he didn't belong here; she should have been elated, right?

Then why did she find herself so desperately wishing these manuscripts were a dead end?

~O~

Having worked in the EC for twenty odd years, not to mention discovering his youngest daughter to be a witch, Tyler Davis liked to believe he had grown accustomed to expecting the unexpected, but he was still more surprised than he would like to admit when his marathon of Star Trek reruns was unceremoniously interrupted by a series of knocks that threatened to break down his front door. Anticipating the usual overly eager salesman or missionary, Tyler opened the door with great reluctance only to find the panting figure of a teenage boy who looked about ready to collapse with fatigue.

Doctor instincts kicking in, he invited the child in at once and demanded he take a seat on his sofa. The boy staggered a bit to his seat, but the limping was relatively subtle; he had a good amount of practice hiding it.

"You're Tracy Davis's father?" the boy asked nervously after he had been handed a cup of steaming tea. The child scrutinized the liquid as if it were an unpredictable adversary ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Dr. Davis didn't understand. Did the boy assume he would poison him? Then again, he was from Tracey's crowd.

This couldn't be anything good. People from the wizard world rarely contacted him directly. And whenever they did, it was always bad news. "Yes I am. And you are?"

"Nott. We're acquaintances from school."

"Ah, I see. And what can I do for you today, Mr. Nott?"

The boy set the tea down on the coaster and began to fidget with his hands. He was desperately avoiding eye contact for some reason, which did nothing to quench Tyler's worries.

"My daughter—" the boy looked up. "Is she okay?"

Nott let out a bitter laugh. "That depends what you mean by okay."

Tyler's insides seemed to squirm with desperation. "Please be frank, Mr. Nott: did something happen to her?"

The laughter faded and died as a look of bewilderment crossed the boy's face. "They…they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what? What. Happened?"

Nott wrung his hands nervously, but Tyler was far too panicked to feel any sort of pity for the boy. Frist his wife and now…oh god. Oh god. Tracy. What did they do to her?

The boy licked his lips and smacked them a couple of times for good measure. Had he delayed for one second more, Tyler didn't know what he would've done. Maybe punch something. He was starting to lose his patience. Luckily for everyone's sake, the boy spoke.

"She's alive, Mr. Davis. Injured, but alive."

Tyler found himself jumping out of his chair and rushing towards the boy. Before he knew it, he'd grabbed ahold of Nott's jumper. "Where is she? Take me to her." The boy's eyes widened in surprise and what looked like fear. Ha. A wizard afraid of him. Well, that was rich.

"Let go of me!" his voice was probably intended to be an indignant shout, but came out as more of a squeak. Realizing what he had done, Tyler let go of the boy's shirt and muttered a lame apology. "Now look here, I don't know who you imagine I am by thinking I can take you anywhere. There are people after your kind. Murderers. It was dangerous for me to even come to you with this news in the first place."

"Then why did you come?"

There was a long pause before Nott gave any sort of answer. But just when Tyler thought he was about to lose it, he spoke.

"I need to ask you something. I'm trying to track someone down, you see, someone who might be able to help me. Your daughter and I were working on this together before she…before they got her."

Despite the dodginess of Nott's character and the vagueness of his story, Tyler found himself wanting to trust the boy. He looked so terrified that it made the doctor wonder what exactly he'd had to do to get here. There was a piece he was missing of this puzzle.

"What do you want to know? I cannot promise I will be of assistance, but I will try."

"A few days ago, there was an attack in a tea house nearby."

"The Elephant House, correct."

"Right. I'm sure it doesn't come as a great surprise to know that the attack came from…my people. I mean, not mine personally, but, you know, wizards."

"They told us it was the IRA. Major came right out on the television and told us it was them," Tyler mumbled. But Nott's explanation certainly made more sense. How long had the government known about wizards? How deep did this thing go? Was every attack a lie?

"The what? Never mind. Look, do you know of anybody who witnessed the attack?"

"Yes. One of my recent patients was young boy injured in the chaos."

"What was his name?"

"Mr. Nott, it's not legal—let alone appropriate—for me to disclose information to you about my patients. I mean, look at you. You're practically a stranger. And as much as I would like to help…"

The boy jumped up from the sofa and pulled out a stick from the inside of his boot. No, not a stick, Tyler realized, a wand. The boy was pointing a wand at him.

Nott's hand was shaking. "Tell me about the boy."

"I can't."

"I need to know."

The desperation in his eyes was nothing like Tyler had ever seen. Something was plaguing this boy, eating away at him. The doctor skimmed his mind, searching for some sort of cheat code. Some way to be of help. "This information. Does my daughter's life depend on it?"

"It very well might."

Tyler took a deep breath. He hoped that he wouldn't regret this later. "His name is Winston MacRoberts. Physically he is more or less in shape. His mind, though, is an entirely different story."

Theodore gave a terrifyingly snake-like grin.

"Take me to him."

Mysterious Prophetess: I know! I know! I intend to go back and edit all of the chapters in this story sometime soon, because they bother me, too.

Cauchy: Thanks. Other than the library, though, there's not much of the place we will actually get to see.

The Sin of Justice: I do not usually take ideas, but I am not opposed to others, I doubt you are still reading this, but if you would like to PM me, I'd definitely take a look at your idea. I do have my own plot in mind, though, so keep in mind I may not use it if it does not fit into the direction that I intend to push this story.

Legendarily Quiet: Yes, Ed's overprotectiveness of his brother is one of the most prominent qualities that transferred over to the painting. In that sense the two of them are not so different.

Chrome Cheetah: Al knows the ingredients by this point, but his first reaction was mostly shock without full comprehension of the implications. It seems a bit out of character, but I honestly think that Painting!Ed is starting to drive him over the edge.

notabot: Thanks.

Silver_Luna_Moon: Thank you.

urs-v: That is true, but Amestris and Earth do not appear to share any other famous historical figures, so it probably strikes Alphonse as odd that this man shared a name and a goal with another individual from Amestris. Anyway, it's the only lead he has.

Kenzie Perth: Hurray for metaphysical chaos!

eha_1234: Thank you.

Monica Moss: It probably will, but Al will never admit that there is magic if he can help it, which does make it difficult to support his case.

Suicide Forest: Thanks.

Ambiguity in D Major: The FMAB plot is continuing as usual in Amestris. Edward is struggling to recover from being viciously impaled through the guts.

yo yo ma: That's a pretty good comparison, actually.

Sonnie: I don't think it's silly at all. I agree that Alphonse is an incredible character in his own right who deserves to be explored more for reasons other than his "cuteness." Your review was very kind. Now get some sleep.

Morghan._Made._Of._Kandi: Thank you. Sorry that I didn't exactly update "soon."

Harrys_woman: Ed's outbursts are the best.

http_kirby: All will be explained in due time.

Kyuubi_No_Puma: The smarts indeed. Their children would read encyclopedias for their third grade book reports.

Oblitus Angeli: Ah, yes. I, too, find the use of substantial vocabulary to be inordinately proficuous. I myself at times can be quite the sesquipedalian.

Ai_Jay: Thank you. Sorry for the wait.

Diabolic Esper Add: Thanks.

chrystal_jade_flower: Spot on observation. I fear for him, too.

Ruby Alchemist: Thank you.

Full_Mental_Panic: Yes, life is tough for Ed the Painting. And I'm glad that Fleur did something, too. I have trouble writing good female characters for some reason, which is strange because I myself am female. The roundhouse kick was a favorite moment of mine as well.

Synn Nexus: I'm glad to hear that. I struggled a lot with those because they were almost entirely action-based and my strong suit is dialogue.

Guitar Amateur: ...For now.

curli_gurl_0896: I don't think they would risk making another portrait even if it could potentially help clear the air because of how epically wrong the first one went. I did say that romance isn't my forte, but I do try to keep a least some romantic thoughts and undertones because, let's face it, they're teenagers.