Okay, so the plot bunny is turning me into a liar. I did say that this would be updated slowly, but as of the moment it's coming rather quickly.

Far quicker than I expected it to. However, I don't think I'll be keeping this pace indefinitely. I can feel the bunny drifting a bit already, now that I've hit chapter six in terms of writing, so it should be awhile before I actually finish that one. Maybe. No guarantees.

Again, warnings for spoilers for both series, especially FMA.

Much love to my beta, Zie, as well by the way. She fixes things~

Harry is napping when the train finally reaches Central, so his first official glimpse of the city is only after he exits, suitcases in hand. (He misses magic so much; they could have been shrunken to fit in the palm of his hand and charmed to weigh nothing with only a flick of the wrist—Stop thinking about it, it's gone!)

He has no idea what this Mustang fellow looks like or where to meet him, he realizes with a jolt. God dammit Ed, why didn't you show me a photo or give me a place to meet him or something? I wonder if I could ask around…someone might know where I could go to find the man.

"You must be Harry Potter," a voice says from behind him, startling Harry out of his thoughts. He whips around, and then has to look up slightly, to see the other man's face. (He's always been short for his age and he really hates having to look up, it's so aggravating.) Suspicious, he nods slowly.

"Yes, I am. How did you know?" He tenses, hand inching towards his pocket slowly.

The man nods to the coat he's wearing, the one Ed gave him as a parting gift, sharp eyes flicking to his hand and back to his face. "I recognize the coat. Ed's, right? He used to wear the damn thing all the time, and only he was fashion impaired enough to think the thing was 'cool'," he replies, a smirk crossing his face. "I'm Roy Mustang."

"Oh." Harry relaxes minutely, and then kicks himself mentally as he drops his hand. No Death Eaters here, Harry. And Voldemort's dead, even if there were. Relax. And why did I even go for my wand? I can't use it.

"Do you have everything?"

"Yes, thanks. How far is it?"

"Not too far. C'mon, car's this way." He turns, coat snapping out behind him (Snape's cloak used to billow like that, when he came around the corner and "Fifty points from Gryffindor Mr. Potter, for lurking in corners!" but he's dead now. Nagini killed him), and Harry follows obediently. Roy doesn't say anything until they reach the car. "Ed told you that I work a lot, didn't he? So I won't really be home much, and I'd appreciate if you didn't trash the house."

"Yes, he mentioned it."

"Good. I don't really care what you do in the house, so you can have free reign, I guess. However, I'd prefer if you stayed out of my study and out of the alchemy lab in the basement. And while I don't mind if you use the library, I don't advise trying to open any bookcases that have glass doors. They've got alchemical locks and if you try to break into them, you'll end up a pile of ash on the floor."

Harry pauses, and then turns his head to stare at the man as he's driving. "…You're serious."

"Deadly so, I'm afraid."

"Right, then." He turns back to his own window and stares out for a few moments before he clears his throat. "When you say alchemy…"

"Hm?"

"Do you mean alchemy like, making Philosopher's Stones and—"

Roy tenses abruptly, and the air turns heavy. Slowly, "Why do you ask?" he asks, cutting him off.

He's confused by the sudden change, and frowns. Finally, "Well, I don't really know much about alchemy at all," he admits. "The only thing I know about it is the Stone. So when I hear alchemy, that's what I think of. I was just wondering if that's the kind of thing you meant. You know?" Roy relaxes in his periphery vision, before he chuckles nervously.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I meant when I said alchemy."

"So you're an alchemist like Ed used to be?"

"Well…yes and no. We both know alchemy, but Ed was more of a general 'knows all kinds of alchemy and doesn't have one specialty' kind of guy. I specialize in flame alchemy. I'm the Flame Alchemist. Frankly, I'm surprised you don't know me."

"I'm not really from around here," Harry explains with a shrug. "So I don't really know anyone."

"Really? Then how did you meet Ed?"

"Through his friend Winry. She and her grandmother found me unconscious on the side of the road, they said. I don't know how I got there, to be honest. One minute I was—" Fighting, running, dying.

"You were what?"

"…Fighting in a war," he says abruptly. "I was fighting in a war, and then I wasn't. And I know it makes no sense to you or to Winry and Ed and Granny Pinako, but that's how it is."

Roy frowns at him, pulling into a driveway. "I see—this is my place. There's a spare key under the front mat, in the corner where the potted plant is. I still have paperwork to deal with, so I can't give you a tour right now. You're free to explore, so long as you avoid the study and lab. I don't have any idea if there's any food or not though. If not then there's take out menus on top of the fridge. I'll be home later."

"All right." Harry slides out, and grabs his suitcases. He pauses, hand on the door. "And really, thank you so much for letting me stay here with you, Mr. Mustang."

"No problem. And it's just Roy. Mr. Mustang is weird."

Harry smiles and shuts the door, heading up the drive towards the door as Roy drives away again.

xoxox

The house is almost pathologically clean, Harry notes as he toes off his shoes by the door and sets his suitcases down. He's not sure what he expected, but this definitely wasn't it. (Man's a bachelor, right? Aren't they usually pretty sloppy? Then again, military so maybe cleanliness was drilled into him in boot camp or something…) He has to admit he kind of likes it, though. A year on the run and living in the wild, and years before living in a dorm with five other boys meant nothing was ever really clean. And before that was the Dursley's home which he didn't count; it might have been in a perpetual state of clean, but that was because he did most of the cleaning and Dudley certainly made sure he made as much mess as possible for Harry to clean. No, Harry decides, he much prefers the insanely clean yet lived-in feel of Roy's home to a messy home any day. (And it's much nicer than the sterilized clean of the Dursley home.)

It's tasteful, he decides. Nothing garish and offensive to the eyes, and not spartan either. Leather couch, fireplace. He supposes the radio's for entertainment, since he doesn't see a TV anywhere. (He hasn't seen much in the way of modern electronics, actually. He wonders what the actual time period is, because for 'going forward', this place seems pretty far behind the 1990's.) There are a couple knick-knacks over the mantle, and he goes to inspect them before the photos on the far wall catch his attention. Some are clearly Roy at a younger age, a few more recent. One of Roy and a group of people he doesn't recognize since he's never met them; probably his friends…

He spends a good while studying most of the photos on the wall before he's drawn to a bookcase in the corner to skim the titles. They're almost all chemistry books (something he hasn't even thought of since primary school, never mind studied), mixed with what seems to be alchemy books and one or two novels. None of the chemistry books are even remotely beginner levels and he doubts he'd understand anything in them. This doesn't stop him from plucking one off the shelf and flipping it open, however. It's something to do for later, even if he doesn't understand it. He snaps the book shut again and places it back on the shelf with a mental note to come back and flip through the texts before he goes to continue exploring.

The kitchen is straight down the hall and to the left, he finds. Easy enough to remember. Harry inspects the icebox and cupboards only to find that while there is food, there is very little of it. (Dursley's was always full of food, not that he could ever have any of it freely. And now when he's given free reign of a kitchen that isn't at Hogwarts or Grimmauld place—don't think of that don't think of Sirius—there's barely anything to eat. Typical of his luck, he thinks.) He sighs through his nose and rummages a bit more, pulling out most everything he can find and checking labels and dates. Half of it is expired and the other half just barely makes enough for a single person meal. But some is better than none and he's hungry after the train, so he sets to finding pans and spices and figuring out the stove he isn't used to using. (He's used to the Dursley's electric stove, not this old fashioned stove he's never seen outside of a museum or Hogwarts kitchen. Seriously, what is with this time period?)

He misses Winry's cooking.

xoxox

Roy comes home to Harry Potter fast asleep on his couch, head bowed and a chemistry book open on his lap with glasses hanging precariously off the edge of the boy's nose. He's too tired to carry him to a guest room and he doesn't have the heart to wake him up so he can walk there on his own; he simply removes the book and the glasses, rearranges him into a position that won't give him a crick on his neck and heads to bed.