The halls of the command centre were no stranger to the loud footsteps of combat boot-wearing feet, either individually or in groups of varying sizes, that echoed around them but none were quite as loud or quite as echoey as that certain set of uneven footsteps that hammered across the ground with no lack of intention. The same pair that had been absent for a long time but had since returned as though they had never disappeared, thundering about every now and then, during the past month, at intervals that had been deemed normal a couple of years prior.

Colonel Roy Mustang could never help but to wince discreetly when he heard those footsteps, fumbling gloved hands as minutely as he could manage. They never meant anything good for him, merely that his young, arrogant, short tempered, irritatingly skilled subordinate was returning from his assigned mission, probably eager for another that his C.O. was just as eager to give.

But it was different this time: Edward Elric, the owner of these distinct footfalls, had not been on a mission, there was no time as he would have to leave in a couple of weeks anyway, and there were no assignments that were particularly suited to the youngest of the state alchemists, who was nothing if not a loose cannon. Why was he storming down the hallways in those boots, with soles thicker than they had any right to be when he seemed to have no purpose in being there?

Anyone who knew Edward Elric knew he and his brother were never apart voluntarily. Surely he'd want to spend that time with the younger brother from whom he had spent so many months separated?

However, Mustang was cut from his contemplations before he could draw a conclusion. The door to his office was slammed open, quickly with a forceful kick that caused it to impact the wall behind it with a loud bang, as the Fullmetal Alchemist was known to do. Mustang may not have enjoyed the marring of his wall where evidence of the repetition of such incidents was evident, or the protesting squeaks and groans of the old hinges that seemed to threaten they would give out should they have to endure much more of the same treatment. He did, however, very much enjoy the welcome distraction from the paperwork he would otherwise have to hurriedly sign under the watchful eyes of Hawkeye whose hand never strayed from the point on her hip at which it hovered intentionally, right beside the holster of a pistol only an idiot would doubt her ability with.

"Colonel Bastard," the young voice of the twelve-year-old who was hard to consider such spoke from the chair across the office where he had promptly flung himself upon entry. Mustang had long since learned it was a futile effort to request the boy remove his feet, boots still on and, knowing the boy, probably caked in mud and, perhaps, a few things that were a fair bit worse.

"Fullmetal," Mustang nodded curtly, eyeing Ed curiously "What brings you here?" He registered with vague surprise that Ed drew an instrument of sorts, his wand, Mustang reminded himself bitterly, twirling the long piece of dark macabre wood through his fingers as he spoke. The Colonel knew what it was but had yet to see it due to the strict restrictions on magic use outside of Hogwarts.

"There's an issue with the trains," Ed said simply, dully.

"Being?" Mustang questioned.

"There aren't any to England over the next couple of weeks - the only one that leaves in time for me to get back to Hogwarts," Mustang still could not repress a humoured snort at the beyond ludicrous name, "departs at 0900 hours tomorrow. I don't have any way of alerting anyone on time - Onyx can't fly that far that quickly - about booking me a room in the Leaky Cauldron for the time being."

Mustang listened, reminding himself partway through that Onyx was the name of Ed's owl (what an odd pet it was, one who didn't particularly like Mustang as she had vocalised in her shrill squawks of protest any time he attempted to near her age or bring her in when she returned to Ed) and the Leaky Cauldron was a pub and inn, another ridiculous name conjured up by the wizarding world of Britain. Unfortunately, neither he nor Hawkeye could materialise a solution to Ed's problem. They sat there in a silence, silence that was rarely found amongst a group that contained either Ed or Mustang much less one with both, contemplating various solutions that were thrown away or deemed ridiculous as quickly as they had come. It was a saving grace of some sort when there was a sort of scratching sound on the window.

Ed was used to the noise by this point in time and walked towards the window without a second thought, watching the owl hovering outside by the window with slight interest as he allowed it entry to the room. He calmly removed the little letter from its leg, allowing it to fly freely over to Mustang's desk where it made itself cosy, a nest of ripped papers and the like, among the paperwork that was already messy and haphazard. Mustang tried to hide his smile clearly not doing a good enough job as he noted Hawkeye side-eyeing him, hand laying to rest on that terrifying gun of hers, he gulped.

"Dear Mr Elric," Ed read aloud, translating the writing from English to Amestrian before speaking, scowling slightly at the manner in which he had been addressed.

Mustang observed the expression inquisitively. He, of all people, was well acquainted with the scowl of the young alchemist and could honestly say he was sure this scowl was different. It almost seemed friendlier, like a mere mock scowl. It was odd, as far as Mustang was concerned, Ed's kindness was reserved for only his brother and the only other side to the boy was the evil one that confronted, challenged, argued and, ultimately, won most arguments.

"As I'm sure you are aware," Ed continued "We have run into a fair amount of difficulty where the train timetables are confirmed." Ed nodded slightly to himself "As my student, you are my responsibility where matters of your education are concerned;"

"Good luck to him," Mustang snickered, earning himself a fiery gold glare as a display of the displeasure Ed felt at Mustang's less than pleasant statement.

Ed continued, clearing his throat and making sure, through body language alone, Mustang knew he was not off the hook "Your ability to access your place of learning is among these matters. As such, it had been agreed amongst myself and Mrs Weasley, who assures me you are at least semi-familiar with her and friends with her youngest son, that you are to stay with her for the remainder of the summer holidays until you return to Hogwarts." Another snicker from Mustang, "During your stay, Molly has assured me her family will be making a trip to Diagon Alley, at which point you can purchase your school books," Ed paused as he read the next part, a sly smile adorning his face. That was the sort of expression Mustang was accustomed to seeing on Ed's face, not particularly pleasant, slightly feral. "If you did not already in yours, as I am told extensive, recreational reading last year, as well as any extra books you would like to purchase for the upcoming year. Alongside books, it is imperative you purchase anything else you may need for the upcoming year. I am sure I will see you on September 1st, ready and excited for a new year of new learning," It was Ed's turn to snicker "best regards, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Mustang's brow furrowed as he watched the name spill from Ed's mouth, a torrent of words that stretched out for much longer than most names did, much longer than any Mustang ever bothered to memorise. "Quite the name," he commented offhandedly.

"You know I hate to agree with you…" Ed sighed. His eyes trailed back down to his gloved hands, the one part of his appearance ever kept pristine as the automail hidden beneath could be damaged and was advantageous to him in fights should he keep the element of surprise there.

He then looked up, eyes blazing as he stared at Mustang. He had not forgotten the comment made by his amused superior and had remembered to be angry about it. Mustang thought it was ridiculous but his ears did not as he heard the yell of "What did you mean by 'Good luck to him' bastard?" screamed at the top of the boy's lungs.

With the slightest of winces, Mustang's hands cupped his ears. "Geez," He complained "How is it such a tiny person has such a massive voice?" he was aware of the weight his words held to his young subordinate but the reaction prompted was what he had wanted.

"Who are you calling so small even Sherlock Holmes wouldn't notice him at a crime scene?!" Mustang laughed, despite the way his ears rang with the sheer volume of the boy's outburst, ignoring the fact he had absolutely no idea who Sherlock Holmes was.

…...

Harry Potter was miserable. How could he not be after he spent his summer sitting alone in 'his' room, surrounded by memorabilia from Dudley's spoiled life? When he was alone without his trunk full of miscellaneous wizarding supplies and his wand? When he had finally believed he had friends, but then why had he spent the entirety of his summer holidays up until then without a word from a single one of them? When his owl, Hedwig, perhaps his only companion in that lonesome household, had been locked away in her cage, and unable to leave?

Harry Potter was dismal and only became more so when he happened across that little greyish figure, clothed in the garb reminiscent of a hastily fastened pillow case, decorated with stains and discolouration. Dobby was the house elf's name, with his wide, green, tennis ball-eyes had brought about nothing but further disaster to the already imperfect life of the unfortunate boy.

The poor elf did not appear to do what he did out of spite. When he took away Harry's friend's letters when he insisted Harry didn't return to Hogwarts, his home, when he dropped the levitated pudding on the head of the seemingly esteemed guest of the Dursleys. When he had done all of that he had been insistent he only wanted to protect the boy. Harry had fallen under the blanket of blame for the elf's actions, and he was most certainly not pleased about that.

Over the first four weeks of that six week holiday, he had been lording the potential to do things they were simply incapable of over the heads of the Dursleys. But that letter, the message of warning from Mafalda Hopkirk who had informed him that underage magic was strictly not allowed outside Hogwarts, had snatched that away from him, rendered him nothing more than the simple, mundane human who could do nothing to them despite his efforts. He wouldn't give up his home for something as simple and inane as that.

Things had changed when the car had turned up outside his barred-up window. And he meant outside the window: suspended in the air, level in equilibrium to that of the second-floor bedroom. In that car, the noisy and definitely magical Ford Anglia were three very familiar faces. There were a fair few similarities shared across each face. All of them were redheaded, dotted in freckles like constellations littering their pale skin, eyes brown and warm. They were friendly and had instantly made Harry feel much better about his terrible summer, even as he was left dangling from the car and the window, arm held tightly by one of the twins, ankle held in desperation by his red-faced uncle who had never resembled a walrus more than at that moment. Eventually, in the battle between motor and man, the motor had inevitably come out the winner, and the man had fallen into the bushes below the once barred window.

That was how Harry had found himself struggling to amber into the moving car, far above the ground. It didn't take him long to decide it was worth it entirely; when he sat there, breathing heavily, inside the Weasley's car, watching Surrey pass below them like a country made exclusively for dolls. It was then he realised he was free from his tormentors, the Dursleys.

The sun had begun to rise in the horizon when Harry's eyes landed on the Weasley's family home. It was like an illustration straight out of a children's book, the house itself an impossible feat of architecture without the aid of magic. It was like a series of extensions stacked upon one another haphazardly, piling up so the building began to extend towards the watercolour sky of the approaching morning. In the front garden, also a marvel of aspects of the wizarding world piled together in a seemingly random but very charming way, there was a handmade sign that declared the place to be 'The Burrow'.

They left the car in its rightful place and began towards the building, moving quietly (or trying to at least) over luscious green grass, damp with morning dew. Harry felt the moisture soak through his socks, cold against his feet. The air itself was also rather cold despite it being the middle of summer.

However, the second he set foot into the Weasley's abode, Harry could feel the cold that had managed to seep into his bones be flushed out by a homely sort of warmth. There were pastries sitting in a basket on the kitchen table, the cosy room packed with a lot of furniture that, rather than making it feel claustrophobic at all, only made it seem more personal. Even the air smelt warm, like a pleasant conglomerate of cinnamon, ginger, and every other spice in the world mixed with bread, and cakes, and buns, and pastries in the most perfect of manners. It tasted ever so slightly sweet as though tiny particles of icing sugar danced through the air at all times.

With a few quick glances about the room, Fred and George declared the coast clear and, in unison, all three Weasley boys made a grab for the pastries, sinking their teeth into them as the words "I don't suppose mum'll notice if we take one of these…" were spoken. The room was dim but Harry could still see every inch of it in perfect clarity and was glad about that.

"It's not much," Ron was standing to his side, sounding nervous, though for what reason Harry wasn't sure "But it's home." Harry hadn't intended it to, but his face split with a wide, appreciative smile that he was unsure whether or not Ron caught in the somehow pleasant tenebrosity of the kitchen.

"I think," he informed his friend without an instant of hesitation, "it's great!" Then it was Ron's turn to smile, ear splittingly, as he took another large bite of his pastry still smiling as he chewed.

Then the light flickered before bursting into life, full bloom and bright to the point of blinding. Just as quickly, three pastry-holding hands disappeared behind their respective owner's backs.

In the illuminated doorway there stood a stout figure Harry vaguely recognised. It was Molly Weasley, dressed in night clothes, and she was positively fuming, her clothes somehow adding to the look of fierceness. It did not take her long to approach and begin to reprimand her irresponsible sons, never laying any blame on Harry who was just left to awkwardly twist any loose thread he could find on his clothes between bony fingers as he watched the reprimanding, a most likely unwanted onlooker to his friends' scolding.

Molly Weasley had no objections to the presence of Harry Potter in her house, on the contrary, she was desperate to nurture the stick-thin, sickly-looking boy her youngest son had called a best friend over and over again. Her only problem with his presence was the means by which it had been brought about.

After the initial awkwardness of the introductions and Ginny's overwhelming sudden bout of shyness that extended to extremes far beyond reason, in Harry's eyes. The meal had come and gone, Harry had never had someone outright offer him as much food as Molly had - not even close. He had seen the grandeur of the spreads of the Hogwarts feasts but those were communal dishes. The food that sat upon his plate in that little, unique household was exclusively his, It was as strange as it was pleasant.

As soon as the plates had been cleared, much aided by heavy uses of magic, Molly stood up at the head of the table and made sure she cleared her throat loud enough to draw everyone's attention. "Right," She began, "I know we have Harry here now and it's very exciting," Fred and George made cheering noises, whooping and hollering as though they were present in the audience at some rather brilliant concert. Molly of course ignoring them continued, "but I am to collect another guest later this evening." Harry felt himself begin to wonder who this guest was; he hoped that it was Ed.

It would seem, in that instance, lady luck had been on Harry's side. He supposed it was only fair: he had suffered her negligence for years. "Harry, Ron, your friend Edward will be joining us for the rest of the holiday due to some complications with travel." Neither Ron nor Harry found themselves to particularly care about the reasons - they'd be having a further friend to come and stay with them for the time being. Their happiness was a sentiment shared amongst Fred and George.

"Eddo," Fred began.

"Our dearest" and George continued.

"Ickle Ronnikins'," Fred keeping the ball rolling, but still taking the chance to make fun of his brother.

"Slytherin friend"

"Who'd probably"

"Be better off in"

"Ravenclaw!" They said as though the act had been rehearsed although it clearly, due to the given circumstance, simply couldn't have been.

"Edward?" Arthur questioned. Molly nodded. "What do you know about him?"

Molly answering her husband "He comes from Amestris which is, Ron, Harry, please do correct me if I am mistaken "A rather secluded nation rather different from ours."

A spark, like a fire ignited in the soul of the fiery-haired man, appeared "Was he raised in a Muggle manner in this nation of his?" There was a smile stretched across his face that Harry had seen when the man had been quizzing him about parts of Muggle society he had assumed throughout the course of his life were common knowledge to most everyone.

Hesitantly, Ron nodded, already crinkling his brow and gritting his teeth in anticipation of the ridiculous questions that were sure to follow when Ed arrived. "And what time are you due to pick him up?" Arthur asked after a moment, the almost devious glint not having faded to any extent.

Molly's eyes flitted over a clock face for a split second before she responded. "Quarter to six," She said decisively, "about two hours from now."

With that and an excited, unofficial staring contest held between Harry and Ron, the conversation died out to be replaced with a vague sense of apprehension.

A/N

I'm updating this chapter because the wonderful BlackWolf478 has beta-d it for me! I should have the next chapter up before too long, in a couple of days most likely, and am going to have to say I'm glad everyone has enjoyed the first chapter so much!

All the best,

We'reAllABitOdd