Listen, I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter. They belong the respective people to which they belong, which ain't me. I ain't makin' money offa this, just doing it for kicks. Please don't sue me.

Chapter One

It was night, and the full moon bathed Number Four Privet Drive in its silvery caress. Harry Potter was sitting at the window, deep in thought. He'd been in a haze ever since the end of the last school year at Hogwarts, and the tragic death of his friend Cedric Diggory. He was thinking of nothing in particular when three shapes appeared on the horizon. A fourth appeared out of nowhere, and he was dive-bombed by his friend Ron Weasley's owl, Pig. Harry, long out of touch with his friends, eagerly grabbed the letter from the bird.

Dear Harry,

How've you been? I've been fine, mostly. Ginny's been sleepwalking, though. I found her doing vicious battle with a mop in the kitchen yesterday night. Mum and Dad say you'll spend the rest of the summer with us. Protection, you know. Dad is a Ministry Wizard. Be there in two days.

Ron

P.S. Errol and Hermes will be there soon. Happy Birthday.

Errol and Hermes, the other two Weasley owls, had arrived by the time Harry finished the letter. Between them was a package containing his gifts. That it was his birthday had totally slipped his mind. Inside were cakes, some Quidditch goggles, three packs of Dungbombs, some Fizzing Whizbees candies, and at the bottom a small, heavy paper-wrapped package marked, "To H., f/ F, G, B, C, & R. In case need arises to defend yourself, and a wand is unavailable. Take care."

Harry unwrapped the package to discover a small rectangle of black Kevlar, with pockets on it, and a mind-blowing array of straps, buckles, and snaps. Harry found the manual, a sheet of paper with diagrams on it. It was a set of three throwing knives, and the sheath could be configured to many different ways of carry. He laid it aside. The other owl he'd seen was a tawny with a package. It was a school owl, and the package contained a book. Transmutational Alchemy by Shau Tucker. A letter fell out.

Dear Mister Potter,

Due to the unfortunate failure of the Hogwarts staff to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the coming year, we will be unable to have that class. therefore, an expert in Alchemy will teach a course on his particular field. The enclosed book is the text for the course. It was purchased as your birthday present by Hagrid, and as a gift I have purchased all of your other books and supplies. They await you at school.

Albus Dumbledore

A post owl arrived an hour later with Hermione's gift, a silver pendant on a chain. It was engraved with supple, coiling Celtic designs, and in the center was a small green stone, with red flecks. It was a bloodstone. He put it with the knives and lay down to sleep.

His alarm went off three hours later. Harry glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven in the morning, and his guardians, the Dursleys, would be up soon. He glanced at the bedside table, and noticed his gifts. He put on the pendant, and tucked it under his t-shirt. He managed to decipher the diagrams on the manual, and after ten minutes of subdued swearing, he had it rigged as a shoulder holster and shrugged on a button-up shirt to cover it. By then the Dursleys were awakening. Harry quickly stashed the rest under the loose floorboard beneath his bed, and went out to meet the new day.

Two days later, Harry was still on top of the world. After much haggling and the threat of writing to his godfather, Harry was on his way to the Weasleys' home, the Burrow. Such were the perks of having a convicted killer for a godfather. He'd been slipping out at night to practice his knife throwing, and he was getting pretty good. He'd managed to figure out all the other carry modes, and switched them up daily. His favorite was the wrist carry. It seemed that he could take the individual sheathes of his knives, and fold them, so that they lay in a stack, strap it to his wrist, and a single flick would send a knife into hand, ready to go. Hermione was there, and everything was going great. She'd been doing nonstop research ever since she'd purchased her books, and she was poring over the text on alchemy on a daily basis. By the time arrived to go to Hogwarts, She knew the text inside and out, and had a theory on who the teacher was. She'd read recently in the Daily Prophet that the renowned alchemist Nicholas Flamel had passed away, so that ruled him out, unless he was like Professor Blinns, the History of Magic teacher, a guy so dedicated to his work that he taught as a ghost. She figured it would probably be the author, Shau Tucker. Or maybe one of his colleagues, maybe the man mentioned in the book as Tim Marcoh. Harry was somewhat curious, and Ron could care less. They boarded the train at King's Cross, and were off.

An hour or so into the trip, a knock was heard on the door of the compartment. It was a smallish child, with blond hair in a short braid. He was dressed in black, with a red coat and white gloves. A silver chain hung at his waist. "Mind if I take a seat? All the other compartments are full."

Harry replied. "Sure. We've got room to spare. I'm Harry Potter, by the way. This is Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger."

"Thanks. I'm Edward Elric. Most folks call me Ed." He sat, and in a few minutes was asleep.

The trip went smoothly for almost halfway, and then trouble arrived. Draco Malfoy opened the compartment door, and sneered at the sight. "Well, well. Didn't expect to see you here, Potter. Thought you'd have chickened out by now. And it seems your girlfriend is still here, too. I thought she at least would have some sense, but I guess intelligence isn't to be expected of Mudbloods." Hermione winced at the insult, but didn't react. Ron, however, didn't turn the other cheek. He roared, and went to swing on Malfoy, but his arm was caught in mid-swing. He glanced back to see Elric gripping his wrist.

"Ron, this kid isn't worth it. You, Blondie. Get out."

Malfoy regarded him with scorn. "Or what? I doubt you can do anything, Pipsqueak." Malfoy would soon learn the error of that statement. But before Ed could react, he compounded his mistake by making another. "Come on, you're so short you have to look up to look down." There was no sound, no indication of the anger that pair of sentences elicited, save only the powerful smack of a hard right to the jaw connecting on Malfoy's chin. Instant knockout. His toadies Crabbe and Goyle dragged the unconscious kid out of the compartment. All three students turned to him, staring.

"What? I hate being called short."