Mrs. Flamel handed Edward his old clothes, miraculously as good as new, and politely, though not without a chuckle turned her back for him to slip into them. Standing up made him feel slightly dizzy, and there was something wrong with his prosthetic automail limbs, but it was good to know he actually could stand.

Walking, however, presented a problem. His left leg, the prosthetic one, wasn't responding right and the first step almost landed him on the floor again. Saved only by Mrs. Flamel grabbing him by the shoulder surprisingly quickly for such an old lady, Edward steadied himself with some difficulty.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Flamel panted. "You'd better sit back for a while. I'll go get the others to help." With that, she left the room, leaving Edward on the edge of the bed. He pulled up the sleeve covering the automail hand and inspected it carefully. It seemed fine to him, but it didn't move right. The reflexes were definitely slower than usually. For a moment he wondered if his mechanic had made some mistake with the prosthetic, but quickly dismissed that as impossible.

"It's most likely the Gate got to it…" he muttered under his breath, brows furrowed.

"The Gate, you say?" came a voice from the doorway, startling Edward. He pulled the sleeve back down quickly, though there was hardly any point in hiding the automail anymore.

There were two old men standing in the doorway. The taller, thinner one was the one who spoke. The wrinkles around his eyes told of a merry nature, but his expression was serious. The shorter of the men push his way past the other into the room.

"Come now, Albus. We can talk at breakfast," he said giving Edward a friendly smile. The other one smiled at the words.

"I suppose you are right, Nicolas," he said stepping closer to the bed. Edward just stared at them both, lost at words. What was up with their outfits? Long robes? Not to mention the taller one had a long enough beard to be tucked under his belt. The shorter one was much more moderate with his facial hair, but both of them reminded Edward vaguely of Saint Nicholas. Or fairytale wizards.

"Mr. Elric? I'm Albus Dumbledore, professor by profession, and this is our gracious host Nicolas Flamel," the taller of the men leaned forward to shake Edward's hand. "I am sorry if I seem rude to you, but one can never be quite certain with such unexpected and unusual quests as yourself. I am quite willing to admit that your entrance took me by surprise," Professor Dumbledore continued, a twinkle appearing in his eye. "Mr. Elric?"

Edward snapped out of his thoughts.

"Oh, yes. Edward Elric, nice to meet you," he managed to say while giving Dumbledore's hand a little squeeze with his left one. Nicolas Flamel? He had heard the name in Germany, while he had searched for a way back home. According to a legend, a man named Nicolas Flamel had manufactured a Philosopher's Stone, and thus gained eternal life. Would the cursed stone haunt his life forever?

"Mr. Elric?"

Edward looked up to see the two old gentlemen rather puzzled, and realized that he had grimaced at his thoughts. He forced a vague smile on his lips.

"Did someone say something about a breakfast?" Edward ventured.

"Ah, of course!" Mr. Flamel broke into action with a warm smile on his face. He moved to Edward's left side in order to support him. Professor Dumbledore took position on right side and together the old men managed to assist Edward through the door and down the corridor into a cosy kitchen, where Mrs. Flamel was busy with breakfast.

Edward sighed with relief once they helped him into a chair by the kitchen table. He didn't think he had ever felt more like a cripple, as he did now, helped by two men who looked old enough to need help themselves. His automail felt stranger still. He didn't like it one bit – being stuck in a strange country, at the mercy of the hospitality of complete strangers and practically immobile. A temptation to try out a transmutation rose in his mind, but he dismissed it as idiotic. Alchemy hadn't worked in Germany, why would it work here? And even if it did work, it would hardly be wise to reveal such a thing. After all he knew nothing of this people.

A loud bang interrupted Edward's thoughts and nearly made him out of his seat. Mrs. Flamel smiled sheepishly at him from across the room, while the old men where busy trying to fish what appeared to be a tea pot from under the table. The floor was soaked with what Edward supposed was tea.

"Oh dear, Perenelle. I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid we broke it," Mr. Flamel emerged from under the table with the remains of the tea pot in his hands.

"It's alright dear, you know I can just- uh um- Would you like some orange juice instead, Mr. Elric? We got it from the supermarket, you know," Perenelle said obviously flustered turning to a strange white cupboard before Edward had time to answer. Professor Dumbledore busied himself by wiping the floor and looking like a man who tries very hard to look like nothing out of ordinary had happened, while Mr. Flamel shot anxious looks at his wife wringing his beard in his hands.

"Here you go, dear." Mrs. Flamel offered Edward a glass of orange juice. "Mind if I call you Edward, dear?" she said, sitting in a chair next to Edward.

"Uh, sure," Edward replied sipping his juice. Mrs. Flamel beamed at him and began a slightly one sided conversation about something called 'a supermarket' and how they had everything now days. In the background Edward could hear Mr. Flamel saying to Dumbledore in a low voice: "I'm too old for this Albus, can't you have him at –" the rest of the sentence was cut off by Mrs. Flamel saying:

"So Edward, how did you end up at our cellar?"

//AN: Hi there people! This is my first ever fanfic. The main reason I'm writing this is that I'm trying to improve my skills as a writer and my English (which, if you haven't guessed yet, is not my first language). And I just love reading HP x FMA crossovers, so I decided to give a go at writing one myself.

I wasn't going to upload more than the first chapter today, but as I had this finished too, I might as well upload it now.

I'd like to take this opportunity (because if I don't I'll forget all about it) to point out that I do not own Harry Potter or the Fullmetal Alchemist (a small Edward Elric figurine hardly counts). If I would, I'd probably have something better to do than write fanfics. Although the idea of J.K. Rowling writing fanfics on her own books is kind of hilarious… Also, this story is somewhat inspired by my favourite HPxFMA stories, Endless Moment and Mr. Elric, both by maboroshi-hime.