Lingua – language, tongue, speech

Edward had always liked old places. Particularly the smell. Not the smell of old people, mind you. Like any other young person he disliked the smell that seemed to radiate about old, sickly people. No, what he liked was the smell of age that a place gradually acquired. The dust, the stale air, heck even some types of mold held an appeal for his nose. And paper, especially paper.

Edward took in a deep breath, ignoring the deep ache in his chest as he did so. He could smell the books in here.

After the random, squawking chaos brought about by his arrival and coughing up of blood, the kindly-looking red-haired woman had herded him up to a room on the second floor and made signals with her hands that he was to remain in the room. Normally he would have made a ruckus about being held prisoner or some such, but after all that had happened he felt it was best to just go along.

It was a rather nice, if dusty room, with a twin-sized bed against the far wall, a dark wood wardrobe and a sturdy looking desk. There were posters on the walls and drapes on the lone window, all of which, along with the bed, were dark green in color. But best of all, there were books. Two tall, dark bookcases were in the corner across from the bed and were filled with books.

The woman closed the door. Ed listened to her steps as she went down the stairs until he was certain she was gone. So far the strange people here had been as polite and helpful as the situation would allow, though his clothes were still a horrendous lime green, but that didn't mean he could let his guard down.

Glancing over the titles, Edward was disappointed to see that most of them weren't in any language he knew. He recognized a few as being in Latin, but this world's version of Latin appeared to be quite different from his own as none of the books made sense. The grammar was way off and there were several words he didn't recognize.

Ed was startled from his inspection of the books by the door being opened. He stood straight and turned to watch as an old man walked into the room. The man had a snow-white beard reaching his chest, half-moon spectacles and was clad in robes an even more hideous shade of green than Ed himself.

The man spoke slowly and haltingly, as though very unaccustomed to speaking that particular language. "Hello. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

Ed, who was filled with both relief and nervousness at finally finding someone who spoke Amestrian replied, "Um- Hi. I'm Edward Elric. Could you tell me where I am?"

The man smiled kindly. "Currently, you are in a house that goes by the name of #12 Grimmauld Place. I could tell you the name of the city it is in, the province, the country and so on, but…", the man's smile didn't change, but his eyes turned probing, "I have a feeling that those names wouldn't mean a thing to you."

Ed's guard went up at the strange look and refusal of information. "And what makes you think that?"

The older man's gaze turned gentle again, as though his suspicions were confirmed. "Because the only other person I've ever met that spoke this language was not from this world. Are you from Amestris then?"

The blonde was dumbstruck for a moment, he merely nodded. Then he thought: The Gate's sent people here before?

The white haired man continued on. "Might it be too much to presume that you are an Alchemist? We've found ourselves short one for about four years now."

Edward perked up. "There's alchemy here? I hadn't been sure…"

"Yes, though the practice is very rare."

Ed sighed in relief. Clapping his hands, he touched his clothes and watched with some satisfaction as the green fell off of them as a lime-colored powder, leaving his clothes both repaired and their normal coloring.

The taller man, Dumbledore Ed remembered, hummed and said to himself, "And just as skilled as the other, hmm…"

Gold eyes flicked back up to periwinkle blue. "What is it?"

The man shook himself, apparently having his mind made up. "Edward, would you perhaps be willing to work for me as an alchemy teacher?"

Edward was shocked. Me, a teacher? He was good enough to qualify, sure. That and more. But teaching? And to who? How old would they be? How much should he teach them?

But, it was a job. He'd need one if he was to get anywhere in this world. He'd be working with his favorite subject. And from what little Ed had seen of him, Dumbledore seemed like an alright sort of guy.

Edward asked hesitantly, "Where? And to who?"

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Do you perhaps recall what occurred downstairs that had caused your clothes to become green?"

Edward was suddenly very concerned as to the location of his possible teaching position. He recalled, yes, despite many attempts to repress the memories.

"Yes." It came out more like a hiss. "What was that?"

A very disconcerting twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. "Magic."

Edward stared at him for a while.

Then: "I suppose next you're going to tell me there's an evil megalomaniac trying to take over the world."

Dumbledore's smile became sheepish. "Well…"

Ed finally understood why the Gate had taken him here. This place was going to kill him.