Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist, though I do have to wonder, does owning the first make you magic. Can J.K. Rowling do magic and she's simply holding out on us!

A/N: I have to continue with the subject my disclaimer suddenly sprung to the front of my mind. What if Rowling was a witch! That would be freaking ironic! And she could sit around while she made tons of money and laugh and laugh at the silly, predictable little Muggles! That's horrible! Ed would not stand for that!

Nor would he stand for douche bags who think they can just go around killing little boys! Haha!

Rue

Chapter 11

Picayune

"I'm going to kill you Harry Potter."

The first thing Ron did was panic.

It was only after witnessing Harry reach for his own wand that Ron even considered doing the same. He heard Hermione's small yell of surprise, and something that sounded vaguely like a laugh came from behind them. He might have turned to check to see if their was another attacker at their backside – or if possibly, maybe, Harry had been right, and the boy had turned on them – if he wasn't too scared to take his eyes off the one in front of him.

To his complete and utter horror, his back pocket was as empty as it had been when he had donned his pants that very morning. Possibly even more empty.

And it seemed he hadn't just forgotten his wand at home. Harry and Hermione had ended with strikingly similar results.

They had nothing. They were defenseless against this man who clearly wished ill of them. Ron wondered if this was it. He'd always humored that being Harry Potter's friend would be the end of them someday, but he'd never actually believed it. Somehow they always seemed to come out on top.

Though that somehow really wasn't a mystery. Magic, he reminded himself, and luck. It seemed their wells had run dry.

The most ironic part about it was that they weren't even going to be taken down by magic. Ron eyed the knife in the man's hand as if it were the most horrifying thing he had ever seen, which it might as well have been. If he would have known this was going to happen, he would have begged for an unforgivable curse. One Avada Kedavra was all it would took, a flash of light and a moment of pain and then you were gone. But this... This was a death from Muggle newspapers, horrible insane people who cut you apart piece by piece. Hermione had shown him enough of the stories for him to know they weren't pretty.

If he knew he was going to die young, he at least would have wanted it to be a bit more epic than this.

Harry spoke, his hands were clenched at his sides and Ron could tell he was thinking about some way to escape the situation, "Who are you?"

Hermione moved toward Ron, and he felt her reach blindly for his hand with her own, gently lacing her trembling fingers with his. He gave her what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, though he couldn't be sure. He was just as afraid.

"I'm the man that's going to finally kill the legendary Boy-Who-Lived!" the man sang out, brandishing his blade through the air so that it caught the light of the small sliver remaining from the twilight that had fallen with the last of the sunset, along with the light of the newly revealed moon, "and the Dark Lord is going to reward me so well, I'll never be looked down on ever again."

Another choke of a laugh came from behind, and this time he was sure it was the boy. His mind reeled.

"You don't have to do this," Harry stuttered out, it sounded a lot like stalling at this point, and he edged ever so slowly backward.

"Sorry boy, but after you're dead my life is going to get infinitely better, that's all I need," the man reasoned, his blade still dancing in the air before him, "you'd better stop trying to sneak away. I'm looking right at you after all."

Harry immediately complied, freezing, his whole body stiffened and Ron was torn between feeling like running to his friend and feeling like running away. But then again, the boy was behind them, and he still wasn't sure what would happen if he did turn around.

"Why like this?" Harry asked, "Why don't you just take out your wand and do it properly?" his tone was bitter and daring, and Ron didn't like it at all. He gasped, that had sounded rather like instigation after all, but Hermione shushed him. He clutched at her hand tighter.

The question obviously was the wrong thing to say, because the man's features twisted so violently that Ron was sure it must have hurt to change his expression so quickly. His face filled so full of rage that there was virtually no room for anything else to fit, and his grip tightened so hard on the blade's handle that it jerked frighteningly fast down through the air.

"Why don't I just whip out my wand, you ask?" he cried out, old eyes flashing with anger, "Well, it's because I don't have magic you little brat! I'm a squib!"

Harry gulped and Ron paled, mentioning magic had been an obvious mistake. The man's fury was palpable, pulsating through the air between them.

"Did he promise you magic?" Harry asked, taking another hesitant step backward.

"Don't take another step!" the man screamed, placing his other hand on the handle of the long knife and pointing it straight at Harry's chest. He moved forward slowly, his teeth clenched together in a terrifying grimace, and Harry's breath caught in his chest.

It happened so quickly that Ron couldn't even comprehend it, Harry getting cut. The man just moved forward, slicing through the atmosphere with the sharp steel and catching the boy in the middle of a clumsy dodge to the side. The sharp edge cut right through the sleeve of Harry's long shirt, pulling across his skin and bursting through that as well. A noise that could have been a yell and could have been a sob emerged from Harry's throat, and he grabbed at the new wound with desperation, fear in his eyes.

Ron's eyes were trained on the silver sheen of the blade, now tainted crimson with red, as it rose into the air above the man's head for another opportunity. Time seemed to slow down just so he could watch. Watch his best friend die in slow motion, as Hermione screamed his name beside him. Harry closed his eyes, turning his head away as his entire body tensed for the blow, backed against the wall of the alley, and no one even noticed the young man who had stood behind them only moments ago moving quickly forward.

Ed knew the moment that Harry had mentioned magic to the man that he was not going to waste any more time. He had read about squibs. They were like the minority of the wizarding world. They were magic folk, bu they had no ability to do magic themselves. Ed could imagine that would be motive enough. People did terrible things because of envy.

He would know.

He honestly didn't know what he expected, but it had not been this. Harry obviously had no tactic what so ever, and had clearly never been in a situation like this before. He had no doubt the man would strike, and no doubt Harry would be very much in danger when he chose to do so. But for the sake of observation – and the fact that he noticed the swing of the first attack wouldn't do much harm, especially with Harry's attempt at moving out of the way – let Harry have a chance to defend himself.

He had at least thought, after the first hit, that Harry would have enough sense to get the fuck out of there. Stop screwing around! He thought as he watched Harry's eyes squeeze shut and his head turn, waiting for what he clearly believed was the invertible.

This was no fun.

Ed sighed, taking care not to draw his exasperation out for too long, and threw himself forward, thinking fast.

He had read enough about both the magical and non-magical sections of this world to know a few vital things. One was that his alchemy would most likely not be well accepted – despite the fact that seemed as if it would be a great asset –, that his being "immune" to magic was an extremely rare occurrence, as he could find no one else in the wizard books so far who was, and that it was important that he keep his automail as well concealed as was humanly possible. The adults back at the "house" had seen, and he was grateful that it appeared they hadn't gone and blabbed about it yet. It appeared that in this world the organic technology that Amestris had developed concerning the sensitive subject of the human nervous system had not been reached yet. He was suspicious as it was, and he was sure his automail would not make that situation any better.

So it was because of this that as he ran toward the man that was attempting to kill Harry, he decided on a course of action that would in the end, be entirely more painful than another. But all the same, less troublesome in the end.

Instead of reaching up with his right hand, his instincts screaming at him to do so, he placed his thin frame between the two of them, his left shooting up and grabbing onto the blade.

It was a long knife, cutting straight across his palm and sinking easily into the calloused flesh beneath his glove. Ed raised up his head and pushed back against the weapon, feeling the sharp edge pushing further into his hand, looking up through blonde bangs at the shocked expression of the attacker. He barred his teeth with a growl and used his other hand to push Harry roughly backward and away from him. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he raised a challenging grin.

"Piss off," he hissed.

Ron didn't even see the strange boy move toward Harry. Suddenly he was just there,between the man and Harry, between the knife and Harry. Ron felt the bile rise to his throat as a horrible squelch sound rippled through the alley, and another loud whimper escaped Hermione's throat. The boy's hand wrapped around the knife in the man's grasp and he pushed back against it, blood flowing down his wrist and soaking into the white cotton of his sleeve and glove.

It seemed he may have been mistaken about whose side the boy was on.

His other hand ventured out behind him and pushed Harry back and away, so violently that he fell backward onto his butt, skidding slightly, and stared wide eyed up at the blonde haired teen who had just saved his life. Ron released Hermione's hand and rushed forward, kneeling down and helping Harry crawl hurriedly away.

"Piss off," the boy's voice ripped from his throat in a low grown, and he pushed up against the weapon again. Another fresh stream of blood carried down from his hand. Ron didn't understand, how could he even stand that?

"What?" the man was dumbfounded, "Who are you?"

The boy scoffed, "Does that even matter? Why does everyone want to know who each other are? Why don't you just take your third rate nonsense and get the hell out of here!" he nodded toward the knife, "you can take your kiddie toy with you."

The man scowled, twisting the blade further into the boy's hand in reply.

He grunted in pain, but did not let go, "That's the cheapest blade I've seen in a long time. Where'd you get it? An elementary school?"

Ron had to wonder what kind of a school this boy went to.

I could crush that blade to pieces with one of my hands." Ed whispered, venom coating his words. The man froze for a whole second before pulling the sharp end of the blade from his hand and holding it far above his head, poised to attack the same way he had before. Predictable.

The knife ripped through the air above the man's head and came down once more in Ed's direction. He paid it no heed, instead he raised up his let leg and kicked the man in the abdomen so hard that it threw him backward against the wall, moving slightly to the left simultaneously, so that the blade just barely nicked his left shoulder. He hit against the brick with the side of his face, and when he landed in a heap at the bottom there was blood streaming from a crooked nose and trickling down his chin away from a split lip.

Ed walked over to him, making his steps as loud as possible so that each sound echoed menacingly around him. His left foot placed itself atop the man's hand that still clutched onto the knife, and he crunched down hard upon the digits. The man yelped in pain, clawing at his hand with the other, panic in his eyes. Ed made a sound at the back of his throat and moved his foot away from the most likely broken hand, hoping sincerely that this bastard was a piano player, and back away.

He wasn't at all convinced that this man even knew how to use a knife. Sure, he thought he could, that much was clear by the way he held it, with confidence and assurance, familiarly, but he certainly didn't have any sort of skill in the area.

He tossed the man a cheerful smile, it had been a long time since he had had a good fight – although this didn't necessarily promise to fit that category – maybe a good two weeks, and the strange calm of this world made him jittery and anxious.

The man was moving again, and he had to resist jumping in excitement. Yes! For a moment there he thought he might not even try to fight back!

Ron and Harry scrambled backward, somehow ending up beside Hermione on their butts, and they moved to the opposite wall of the thin passageway, watching the scene unfold before them. Hermione hurried to join them, fearful on her own and so near to the two men who were fighting. So near to the fresh blood on the ground.

Ron was completely astonished. His mouth and eyes hung wide with shock, as the boy did not even glance up at the knife slicing toward him once more. Instead, he lifted his leg up...

(Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized the movement of the boy's leg. A stretch he'd witnessed maybe, or one of those strange balance exercises he always worked through after he stretched.)

...and kicked the man right in the stomach. So hard that the man seemed to fly through the air away from his limb simply from the sheer force of it.

Ron gaped, this was crazy! Like some insane action story except without magic, with blood and knives and strength instead. It felt considerably more frightening that way.

The man came away from the wall bloody and looking thoroughly defeated, and the boy wasted no time in returning to the fight. Which was appearing very one sided. His foot was grinding down onto the man's hand now, and Ron was torn between finding this unnecessary – the man already looked half-conscious, how dangerous could he still be? Was this just malicious intent now? – and cheering the blonde on. The man had, after all, tried to kill Harry. Had come only moments away from doing so, actually. He stepped away, looking at the man and smiling almost as if inviting him to keep up the fight. To get up and challenge him again.

Then, the man moved. He rose up from the ground, and some strange emotion flitted through the boy's feral eyes. Ron knew he should be able to recognize it, bu it was so clearly out of place that he was having trouble discerning the expression at all. When the smile pulled genuinely across his face, and an airy laugh chuckled its way out of his vocal cords, however, Ron saw it for what it was.

Excitement.

It seemed Harry and Hermione had recognized this as well. The air fell from their lungs in a way that spoke of surprise and fear.

There had been no point in stepping on the man's hand it seemed, as when he rose he still held the weapon he had all this time, in his other hand – unless he merely meant to break his fingers, in that case, he had definitely made his point. Not even when the man arrived shakily to the peak of his climb, unsteadily reared at his full height with a hand holding his face carefully. The boy just looked on, that odd smile still adorning his exotic features and his sunny eyes looking eerie and dangerous in the waning light, as the man pointed it at him once more.

Then, as if it was his last hope, one final battle charge in which he'd run screaming into the throng of enemy lines. The man turned toward them, and sprinted right in Harry's direction.

Ron yelped, taken completely off guard and feeling more terrified of the situation then he had been of any other before (no wand, no way to defend himself, no way out, surely). Which in turn, inspired Hermione's scream, or perhaps she had been saving up just one more for this moment. Harry was not alone in his stunned silence, however, and as he froze up in quiet fear, the boy let out a frustrated yell.

Ed seethed. This man had thefucking nerve to stop fighting him and go after that boy again? There were so many things wrong about that that he might as well give up now. This man was doing such a horrible job at this bad guy stuff that Ed almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.

He'd seen scarier butterflies – no joke.

Ron and Hermione screamed, and he suddenly remembered that he had self-appointed himself the job of bodyguard only minutes ago, and that something probably needed to be done. Honestly, it was like watching little children! They couldn't even take care of themselves! Plus, he was just so angry he wasn't sure if he wanted to beat this man into a bloody pulp, transmute his face into a big pile of good-for-nothing shit (oh, wait, someone else got their first, he thought with a sneer), or just grab him by the collar and bitch him out.

They all sounded pretty excellent right about now.

"Ah!" he let out in frustration, running toward the children and – being much faster than the man – placing himself between them, "Don't turn your back on a fight just for a cheap shot!" he snapped, and the man made to move around him, sweeping he weapon back toward Ed's body on his way, and Ed was enraged.

He grabbed his wrist when it came close, jumping up and using the man's own momentum – as well as his body for a platform – twisted his body around so that he landed behind him. The man's arm twisted behind his back. "Don't take that angle, it's a dumb thing to do. Don't piss off people who you don't know anything about," he twisted the arm in his grasp so hard that a loud pop echoed out in the night, followed quickly by the man's pained scream.

"Don't threaten to kill little kids!" he wrestled the knife easily from the man's hand, and angrily brought the blade down with his next sentence, "and don't," he began, before slicing quickly across the back of each of the man's thighs as emphasis when he continued, "be a thief!"

The man screamed out again, falling to his knees and reaching out his other (broken) hand toward Harry, who lay dumbstruck only a few feet away. Ed couldn't tell if he looked more like he wanted to kill him, or wanted him to help him.

"I'll kill you Potter! I'll kill you!"

Ed growled low in his throat, bending the man's arm further and feeling the bones protest weakly inside of the limb. He held the knife to his neck, adding enough pressure to slice through the thin layer of skin just beside his jugular, and watched the man stiffen instantly as a trickle of blood ebbed its way down his neck.

"Say it again," he warned, "One more time. I dare you."

The man gulped unsteadily, trying to shrink away from the blade. But Ed's grasp remained firm, and another bead of scarlet liquid eased down the broad column of his throat.

"I swear, when the Dark Lord finds out that –"

Ed decided that whatever the man was going to say, it sounded all together too threatening, and he didn't really care. He eased his pressure on the blade as to not accidentally kill the man, and wrenched his arm further in what he knew was very much the wrong direction.

Three loud cracks filled the air, and a noise vaguely akin to a sob and a whimper escaped Hermione. The man howled with agony, his now severely broken arm twitching in Edward's grip as he struggled.

"See to it that I never see this arm," one more twist, just for kicks, and he would be satisfied. Another yell tore through the air, "or your miserable face ever again." and then he rose up his right hand, and punched the man solidly in the back of his cranium. He dropped like a stone.

A/N: I think! I think! I need a beta! Someone want to do that? Anyone? And not necessarily just for this story, for others too. It would really be a help, I suppose.

This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I can just imagine Edward getting really angry because what he thought was going to be a fun fight was much too easy for him, and what wouldn't be? After fight father and all the other super epic fights he has had recently, this man must seem like a waste of his breath to even be in the same proximity as him. Poor Ed, it'll be so hard to ever really give him a thrill again. I'm sure murderers were scary at first, but by now their probably just a nuisance, like mosquitoes or something. Haha.

Picayune: of little value or account, small; trifling. Trivial. An insignificant person or thing.

Wow, that one doesn't look like English. I love looking for fancy words to make chapter names! It's taking me longer and longer lately.