Last chapter: Just as Uncle Vernon burst through the dining room door, Harry pulled out his wand, gave him a look that would have reduced braver souls to a trembling mess, and left.
He slammed the door in his face for good measure.
Disclaimer: I do not own either Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter.
Important! I have taken some lines directly from the book. No copyright infringement was intended. I will go back and edit this in the future. However, for the moment if you see a • surrounding a paragraph, it means that I took it from the book.
Chapter Two:
If anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen a raging Harry storm out of number four, privet drive, lugging a very large trunk that had an empty birdcage attached to it.
But no one bothered to look.
Harry made it several streets before collapsing on a low wall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from having to drag his extremely heavy trunk all that way.
After he had calmed down some, he started freaking out.
'What happened back there?' thought Harry, recalling the strange almost flashback that he'd had right before he had accidentally blown up his aunt. The thing that freaked him out the most about the experience, despite the horrifying nature of the flashback itself, was the fact that it had never happened to him.
The memory was clearly of a battlefield, and it was most certainly in the desert. There were no deserts in Britain. He would have loved to have said that it was something he had seen once on the Telly, but it had seemed as though he had actually been there, not as though it was just something that he had only seen.
The worst part of all, however, was that the maniacal laugh that he had heard, seemed to have come from him.
Harry was interrupted from his horrified musings by the strange feeling that he was being watched. He jumped up nervously, immensely grateful that his wand was in his hand instead of in his trunk. He glanced around warily, looking around for any sign of a threat.
The strange shadows cast by the streetlights were so not helping his nerves. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he had the sudden recollection of a small boy, no older than eight or nine at the most, with cold purple eyes and a cruel, arrogant smirk, as he commanded shadows with red eyes and far too many teeth to gruesomely rip apart his enemies.
Harry started at the sudden memory that didn't belong to him forcing its way into his head, making him trip and fall in the process. He threw his arm out to try and catch himself, catching a glimpse of something large crouching in the bushes, before there was a tremendous BANG and a violently purple bus was suddenly parked right in front of him.
For a split second, Harry wondered if he had gone mad. It would explain quite a bit. Then a conductor in a uniform as purple as the bus he was riding jumped out and began to talk loudly into the night.
•"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you wherever you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this evening."• he said, in a boredly professional tone.
Harry, who had jumped up when Stan had started speaking, was staring at the bus in awe. While unexpected, this was a very pleasant turn of events. Finally, things were going his way! With a sickening jolt, he remembered that little detail about him being expelled for using magic outside of school, and for breaking the statute of secrecy.
Wondering where he should go, he decided upon the least harebrained scheme he could think of (going to London, getting the money out of his vault, then starting life as a runaway) and asked the conductor to take him to the Leaky Cauldron.
Eleven Sickles later, he was sitting on a surprisingly comfortable bed in the Knight Bus, as Stan sat down next to the driver, telling him to "Take 'er away Ern,"
There was another deafening BANG, and suddenly Harry found himself flat against the bed, thrown backwards by the sheer speed of the bus. In a few moments they had stopped, suddenly enough to jerk everything forwards somewhat painfully. After dropping a fairly green witch off somewhere in Abergavenny, they were off again. Silently Harry swore that he would never ride on this bus again if at all possible. At least they hadn't asked for his name.
•"So woss your name?" asked Stan.•
As he was saying...
"James. James Smith." said Harry, privately applauding himself about pulling a name out of nowhere like that.
Stan just grunted and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet, reading it rather disinterestedly.
Harry was fervently grateful that he had decided to get a subscription to the Prophet that summer. If he had asked who Sirius Black was, he could have blown his cover. As it was, the mere thought that someone who had murdered thirteen people with one curse had escaped from prison was unnerving, to say the least.
Shortly, Harry was the only passenger left.
With yet another bang, they were zooming down Charing Cross Road, before screeching to a halt in front of the Leaky Cauldron. It looked even dingier than usual.
After he had helped Stan get his trunk and Hedwig's cage out of the bus and onto the pavement, he thanked him, and then Stan got back on the bus and they were off like a shot.
•"There you are, Harry," said a voice.•
Harry whipped around, only to come face to face with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.
Timeskip! Because we all know what happens next.
Harry was sitting in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, feeling very suspicious. He had gotten off scot-free, the Minister was especially nervous, and other little details of the meeting had just felt off.
Absently stroking Hedwig, who had been there when he had arrived, he watched the sky change colours.
•"It's been a very weird night, Hedwig," he yawned.•
•And without even removing his glasses, he slumped back onto his pillows and fell asleep.•
