They don't really talk about it much today, but sometimes he still dreams of it.

It was the year of his eleventh birthday, six after the death of his mother, five after he had finalized his resolve, two weeks before he would make the choice. It was then, in the warm July air, that he miscalculated.

He placed his energy, his life, into the wrong equation, something was wrong, something was off, his practice circle glowed a horrendous green - and then...Then, it was gone. No longer could he hear the sound of his own screams or feel the summer breeze on his back. No longer was he being unraveled, piece by piece, limb from limb.

And he remembered the Truth, remembered sitting before it again, but heard nothing, saw nothing, simply awoke somewhere new.

Still screaming, he had rushed upwards in bed.

"Oh dear, settle down now, settle down…"

A hand placated him, stroking his hair, soothing his aching lungs. The violent noise ceased, and his eyes, for the first time, adjusted.

He didn't know Molly Weasley then, but as he came to, she became something of a second mother. She fed him, and dressed him, and scolded him, always asking,

"Are you sure you're from...Amestris?"

"I think he's got amnesia, Molly - doesn't seem to remember much else."

Oh but he did remember - the face of his brother, the fallen form of his mother, Winry and Pinako's warm presences…

They introduced him to their children ("'m Ron. Are you a first year, too?), some he liked better than others ("Wee shorty Eddy-kins"), and promised him education, food, a home. All because he had appeared on their front step, unconscious. All because he was lost.

But here, here did not feel like home. Here, he felt like a germ, some kind of parasite that sucked the life out of everyone else, that did not belong.

When the first day of school rolled around, after he had his wand, after he received his letter ("He is a wizard! I knew it!), they met Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom. They sat on the train, Harry, Ron, and Edward, (interruptions by Hermione) and ate sweets to their heart's content.

("Are the teachers at this school scary? The last teacher I had….")

And when the sorting hat sat on his head, he knew, invariably, what he wished to be, who he wished to be with, in camaraderie of house.

"Gryffindor!" the hat cheered. A cacophony of cheers rose from one table, polite clapping from two others.

For a year, through trial and tribulation, classes and matters of Philosopher's Stones ("No way! You guys have those?!"), he struggled to keep his secret, and investigate matters of return. But there was no transdimensional magic. And after reading half of the library, he found himself too tired most nights to function in actual classes (but he shouldn't care about actual classes - he should care about home).

At least, he thought to himself many a time, at least his alchemy still worked.

Not that it was useful. Harry still had to face off with Voldemort, and he still ended up at his hospital bedside, apologizing because he wasn't there.

"What're you sorry for? It turned out okay," the child said with a grin.

Edward didn't respond.

But it seemed, inevitably, that things really did turn out okay. The year ended with a bang (he even scored some house points just for being there), and almost like a passing gust of wind, Edward Elric disappeared over the summer.

The reality is that truth unraveled him before he even had a chance to say goodbye. And when he returned to his true home, to Alphonse and Winry and Pinako, not even a day had passed in sunny Resembool.

("There you are, Brother! I was beginning to think you'd gone missing.")

If only he knew.

But there were things to get back to, plans to realize, and hopefully, in the end, things would be okay here, too.

After all, what could go wrong?