Disclaimer: If thou dost thinketh this humble one owneth Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter, then thou dost have far too many illegal substances in thine body.
Chapter Two: The Bartender
About half an hour, three engine stalls, one snack stop, and one bathroom break later, Edward Elric walked through the creaky door of the Leaky Cauldron. The place was dimly lit, filled with smoke and the sounds of low chatter. Clanking classes and silverware also added to the sound of the bar. Small, sparsely placed candles added to the atmosphere, and the whole place seemed rather…brown.
Shifting his dark, rectangular suitcase to his other hand, Edward strode confidently up to the bar, setting down the suitcase next to his barstool as he sit down. Lightly tapping the table to get the bartender's attention, Ed rested his elbow on the bar and set his chin on his hand. The bartender was a stooped, lanky man with yellowed teeth and thin grey hair. Keen black eyes gave Edward a once-over before they widened in recognition.
"Edward! Ed, my boy, good to see ya!" he said with a voice that could only be found in certain types of old men. "What're yeh doin' here?" the bartender, Tom, asked rather jovially. "Ain't you supposed ter be at Hogwarts right abou' now? Gettin' ready for the students and such?" Tom gave Ed a crooked smile, revealing missing and yellowed teeth.
"Ah, but I am getting ready, Tom," Edward replied coolly.
"Bein' mysterious again, eh? Well, I won't push you. I know better'n that by now." Tom leaned down behind the bar and Edward heard the soft clink of glass against glass. "The usual, I presume?" the old bartender said good-naturedly.
"Not today, Tom. I'm on a tight schedule. I was just wondering if you have any information for me?" Tom's jovial expression disappeared. Edward was beckoned with a hand and, grabbing his suitcase, discreetly led into a musty back room. Both men talked for a time, keeping their voices down and using vague, confusing code words. No matter that Edward hadn't detected any spies or spells, it never hurt to be careful. "That bad, huh?" Edward finally said. "Figures. That ministry is totally useless until it comes to getting in the way."
"Aye. Then they're more skilled than Victor Krum in a Word Cup match," the stooped veteran-turned-bartender replied. Edward gave a crooked smile at that.
"Well, I'm off. I've got lots to do." Edward walked out of the room with a wave, weaving through tables and exiting the pub out of a door opposite the one he had originally entered from. The typical bar-sounds that seemed to constantly fill the Leaky Cauldron were suddenly cut off when he shut the door. Rubbing one of his ears, Edward silently thanked magic. Walking over to a rather unimpressive looking brick wall, he took out his wand and tapped a series of bricks with the wooden tip of the magical instrument. He was unsurprised to see the bricks shift and separate, parting to give him passage into the bustling Diagon Alley.
To Edward's annoyance, the Alley was even louder than the pub, and more densely populated. This surprised him to a degree, as he would have thought the looming threat of Voldemort would have people scared out of their wits and huddling in storm-cells. He realized, though, that most of them had been brain-washed by the ministry into thinking the Dark Lord's return was nothing more than a lie—at best. At worst, it was the insane delusions of a senile old man and an emotionally unbalanced teenager, both of which were powerful enough to blow them all to the next life if they wanted to. The latter part escaped the general populace though, and they continued to mock and degrade both wizards.
Edward huffed. Sometimes the stupidity of humans never ceased to amaze him.
Shifting his suitcase to his right hand, Edward rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to relieve some of its pain. There's only so much time you can spend hunched over books at night without developing sore muscles. He began to expertly weave through the crowd towards the first destination on his schedule: Gringotts Wizarding Bank.