Harry Potter could vouch that, while it certainly wasn't the most pleasant, a terrified scream was certainly the best of noises for an alarm.

He could, however, also say that it was an entirely unwelcome noise when it pierced his eardrums and bounced around inside his sleep-dazed head like a bouncy ball. Blearily, he pried his eyes open, jolting upwards and bracing himself on uncomfortably tensed arms as he attempted to make sense of the very blurred world around him.

"What," Ron Weasley began, throat hoarse and eyes wide. He was staring at Edward, the cause of the ruckus, "the bloody hell is that?!"

Ed just, much like Harry, blinked as he tried to clear the traces of sleep from his vision and bring himself fully into consciousness, "Huh?" He said as he yawned, adjusting the way he was sitting and making the blanket slip further down his right arm.

"You're kidding?" Ron was slightly incredulous as he flailed his arms at the offending metallic limb "You know? That hunk of metal where your arm should be?"

Suddenly, no relation to the sudden exposure of metal and ports to cool air, Ed shivered, going slightly pale in the semi-darkness of the room. "Shit," He mumbled beneath his breath repeatedly, Harry just catching the lashing words aimed at no one but Ed himself.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, voice much brighter than Ron's who was still staring at Ed as though he had grown another head, "So this is what your arm looks like?" Harry could hear his heartbeat playing a rhythm in his ribcage, in tune to the hurried footsteps that pounded up the stairs. He knew he was swallowing down what he really felt at that moment, something of a mixture between awe, shock, and a fair amount of the terror that Ron was shaking with.

Ed nodded, slowly and uneasily, as he yawned again, waving his real hand dismissively as his head hit the pillow again, hair fanning out around him. He shrugged the blankets back up to his chin.

Ron could not stop looking at him, staring at the space where his arm was beneath the blankets he had hidden behind. Mouth agape and eyes bulging, he began to process what had been said. Blinking slowly and turning even more so, his comedically wide eyes landed on Harry as the footsteps stopped and, with no absence of haste, the door was thrown open.

Light crept over the floor, a gradually widening triangle of brightness that made Harry turn to it the moment of its appearance but did nothing to draw Ron from his state of shock. Along with the light, Molly Weasley appeared, hair a dishevelled mess, sleeping cap askew atop her head and nightgown crinkled. She looked as shocked as Ron did, though she held the expression differently. His mind was working in slow motion, almost on pause, whereas hers was working in an almost incomprehensible overdrive. His eyes were dim, lightless, whereas hers shone bright with worry, flitting erratically in search for answers as to why she had been awoken by a horrified scream.

"What happened? What happened?" She asked on repeat, never stopping moving as her cheeks shone red, under eyes somewhat blue.

"Nothing, nothing," Harry attempted to soothe as Ron turned wide eyes on him and Ed, from beneath the covers he was laying under, nodded subtly.

"Okay," Molly was still jittery, but her breath flew from her lungs in a relieved sigh. "Okay," She muttered to herself, repeating the words again and again until she began to believe them.

She finally drew herself back into coherency enough to turn and stumble back down to her own room.

"I want some bloody answers!" Ron demanded not a moment later, more conscious than before as comprehension flooded him as though something had been taken off of pause.

"What about?" Ed said nonchalantly, Harry hearing the slight edge in his voice.

"Why you look like a cyborg, that's what!"

Harry and Ed blinked in unison, before speaking at the same time, though the words that left their mouth were different.

"How do you know what a cyborg is?" Harry said.

"What the hell is a cyborg?" Ed asked.

"Hermione told me about this muggle thing, she called them movers," Ron spoke quickly in response to Harry, not even acknowledging the fact that Ed had spoken at all.

"Movies," Harry clarified.

"I don't bloody care at the minute!" Ron told him, flinging lanky, pale arms out to either side of him with little concern for the surroundings.

"Ow!" Ed was rubbing his sore nose with his right hand, face nothing if not accusingly.

Harry looked at Ed, eyes pleading "Just explain!" He whined, getting fed up with the looping conversation that went nowhere but to useless questions and back again.

And so he did. Or at least tried to.

It took almost no time for Ed to talk Ron into a state of confusion that almost mimicked dazedness. The problem Ed stumbled across before taking the first step forwards was the fact that he had never had to explain automail to anyone with as little knowledge of things that actually made sense as Ron. Namely, simple science and the necessity of prosthetics because muggle limbs could not be regrown as wizards' could unless they had been cursed off.

Though that did remind Ed that he should probably, as he wouldn't have to worry about the hidden treasure beneath the school this time, research the mechanics behind the function of magic that seemed to follow few rules. He had meant to the year before, but circumstances had prevented him.

It was painstaking, but they got there eventually and Ron finally managed to settle the situation, as strips of sunlight made their way in through the cracks in the curtains and they were blinking bleary sleep-filled eyes, with the words "Guess that explains the noise," surfacing between yawns. His voice was still rather put out, confused and surprised.

"Are you really that loud?" Ed sighed.

"Enough to be noticeable." Harry winced as he adjusted his glasses and a beam of light came pouring in, shining right into his eyes.

"Great," Ed remarked, making it very clear he did not think it was such.

"Actually," Harry looked at Ron "I have a question."

"Shoot,"

"What were you doing up anyway?"

"I was only going to use the loo. I struck a match to light the lamp but the light reflected off of Ed's…" he paused "Octoveil."

"How is that even close to automail?" Ed asked, clearly exasperated.

"You never went to the loo, did you?" Harry asked, despite the answer being beyond obvious.

Ron thought unnecessarily for a moment. "You know," he finally began, "I don't think I did?"

"That was hours ago, what happened?" Harry asked again as Ed continued to mumble under his breath about the ridiculousness of Ron's incapability to take in new words, especially muggle ones.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I was a bit distracted, you know!" Ron replied.

"Hours!" Harry insisted.

The plan for the day was to head to Diagon Alley for school supplies. However, neither Harry nor Ed had ever experienced the proffered method of travel suggested by the Weasels and wasn't sure how it worked, But there was something they did know for absolute certain, neither of them was too keen to participate in this way of travel.

In theory, it was simple; you throw the powder down at your feet and say the name of your destination. In practice, it was very different.

They had watched comfortable, familiarised Weasleys go shooting up the fireplace as though it were nothing. But, as he stood in the fireplace, there smelling strongly of burning and the fine powder in his hand slipping between the gaps left in his clasped hand, Ed felt his nerves falter slightly.

He almost laughed at the utter asininity of that sense of fear that made itself at home in the pit of his stomach. He had nearly died, nearly been killed, more times than he planned to recall and he would tell you truthfully, with wild eyes that shone with honest mirth, that he often enjoyed those misadventures that drove Mustang crazy.

Maybe, even after swearing, he did the year before despite harbouring almost endless curiosities about how it worked, Ed didn't quite trust magic yet.

He would have pondered on it for longer, but he was beginning to feel the emptiness in his clenched fist that had once been occupied by now-wasted powder. He took a large breath, feeling the air fill his lungs along with the traces of smoke, before throwing it down hard at his feet. He then spoke as clearly as he could as more smoke, emerging in new tendrils from the space between his shoulder-width-spaced boots, made its way down his throat.

"Diagon Alley!"

His surroundings darkened before long, but the last thing he saw as he closed his mouth and, soon after, his eyes, was a sort of green flash and dark, soot-stained brick-pattern.

Harry's eyes trailed what he assumed to be Ed's movement long after the boy had disappeared, eyes unalert and heavy. Then he was guided, after remaining inattentive, by a hand at the small of his back, into the place his friend had stood before disappearing.

His legs shook a bit, knobbly knees wobbling and hands quaking. Harry was sending miniature specks of shimmery grey powder in every which way, but he did what he had seen Ed do and breathed in deeply, steeling himself.

But his voice was thick and jumbled with his longing for the sleep Ed and Ron had, without explicitly stating anything, prevented him from getting. The words he spoke were less like the clear and concise 'Diagon Alley' everyone else had spoken as though addressing someone who was perhaps a little hard of hearing, and more like an indistinct mumble.

Harry gulped as he felt his feet hanging and his body soaring through unpleasant, unfamiliar darkness, shrouded in soot that snuck its way into every slightest fold of his skin.

He went crashing down a moment later, in a cloud of soot paired with an inelegant landing, in a place entirely unfamiliar to him. He coughed up little clouds of a black dust as he took in his surroundings.

They made a shiver race up his spine, boney hands twisting the hem of his shirt between fingers until he had practically woven a knot into the old, stretched-out cotton. Funnily enough, that was exactly what his eyes landed on: a bony hand.

It was the colour of aged parchment, sitting a few feet away from him in a little case on top of a raised surface covered with other miscellaneous crap he wished not to know about in any more detail. It wasn't until he caught sight of the little silver bell, as dusty as the entire interior of the building that appeared to be carpeted in the stuff, that he realised the place was a shop.

Then there were footsteps, coming in faintly from the dingy, dark outside in the direction he could not see, and he knew the shop had a customer.

He was lost, but it didn't take a genius to figure out he was somewhere he shouldn't be and should probably hide before he got into trouble. He spotted a dark, imposing armoire behind him and, as the barest traces of the figure of the customer appeared at the edges of his vision, clambered inside without a second thought.

He pressed his back firmly against the wall of the armoire and held his breath stubbornly, scared to make any sort of noise.

The bell chimed and two figures walked in.

Harry's breath betrayed him, rushing out of his lungs in the form of a hurriedly stifled gasp when he saw who one of the patrons to the obviously dark store was.

It was Draco Malfoy.

A/N

I'm sorry for the wait between chapters, I was on Holiday a few weeks back and then we restarted school and the teachers were not hesitant at all to drown us in homework. But I'm back now!

This chapter was beta-d by BlackWolf478 who deserves a massive thanks for her work on it.

All the best,

We'reAllABitOdd