Edward Elric the new Howard teacher

Chapter 7

Edward's POV:

The room felt colder now that Snape had left, the eerie glow of the Stones casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist across the walls. The cold seeped into my bones, a reminder that the forces I was playing with were anything but benign. Every flicker of light from the Stones seemed to dance like a predator's gaze, watching, waiting. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being observed by something ancient, something that understood the depth of what I held in my hands far better than I ever could.

I packed the materials back into my bag with the care of a bomb technician, treating the Stones with the reverence they demanded. Each piece was stowed away with methodical precision, as if the wrong move might set off a catastrophic reaction. As I slipped the Philosopher's Stone into the bag, a strange warmth radiated from it, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The Sorcerer's Stone, by contrast, was cold, its surface slick like ice, but the darkness it exuded was palpable, making the room feel heavier, more oppressive. I swallowed the knot of fear in my throat, willing my hands to remain steady as I closed the bag.

This wasn't like any other alchemical tool I'd worked with; this was something alive, something that wanted. What it wanted, though, remained terrifyingly unclear.

The weight of my decision to use these Stones pressed down on me, an invisible burden that had only grown heavier since coming to this world. I splashed cold water on my face from the wash basin in the corner, the icy shock dragging me from the murky depths of my thoughts back to the present. But even the cold couldn't wash away the tension coiling tighter in my chest. The water dripped from my face and into the basin, each drop echoing in the silence like a countdown ticking toward an uncertain end.

Breakfast. I needed to eat, even if the thought turned my stomach. Skipping meals would only weaken me, and I needed every ounce of strength to face what lay ahead. The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet as I made my way toward the Great Hall, each footstep echoing in the stillness. The walls seemed to close in around me, the stone cold and unforgiving. My footsteps echoed off the stone walls, a steady rhythm that matched the drumbeat of thoughts in my head.

The Great Hall was sparsely populated when I arrived. A few early risers were scattered across the long tables, their faces hidden behind open books or slumped over half-eaten plates of food. I grabbed a plate and filled it with whatever looked remotely appetizing, though I wasn't particularly discerning. It was a routine born of necessity, a soldier's habit from my time on the road—fuel up, stay sharp, keep moving.

I found an empty seat at the far end of the Gryffindor table and sat down, more out of habit than any real allegiance to the house. The students around me were chatting quietly, the usual morning banter subdued in the wake of whatever rumors were circulating about my presence here. I could feel their eyes on me, some curious, others wary, but I ignored them. I had bigger things to worry about than gossip.

I picked at my food, forcing myself to eat despite the queasiness churning in my stomach. My mind kept drifting back to the Stones, their cold, unyielding surfaces still vivid in my memory. It wasn't just their power that concerned me—it was what they represented. The Philosopher's Stone was the product of countless human lives, a fact that still haunted me. The Sorcerer's Stone, though different, carried a similar weight. Both were symbols of ultimate power, but they were also reminders of the cost of that power—something I had learned all too well.

The Philosopher's Stone had haunted my nightmares for years, its blood-red glow a constant reminder of the price Al and I had paid. We had sworn never to pursue that kind of power again, to never repeat the mistakes of our past. And yet, here I was, once again entangled in a web of choices that could lead me down the same dark path.