Hi guysss-thanks ever so much for all your lovely reviews! They were such motivators and it was great to hear what you all had to say! Now we're at the second chapter. Previously, Ed ended up being snatched away by one Nic Flamel in a distorted transmutation circle. Let's see where he ends up, now, shall we?
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The first thing Ed noticed when he woke up was that he couldn't really breathe. He let out a choked gasp upon regaining consciousness, flexing all of his fingers and toes to make sure his limbs (mechanical or not) were working properly. He attributed his lack of air-intake to the thudding pain in his back. He realized that he was lying on an uprooted slab of concrete between two buildings. An alley? He could smell tar and trash—there was a dumpster to his left—and something burning. He forced his eyes to relax, trying to destroy each little white spot that danced around in front of them with his mind.-
He groaned and sat up. Rubbing his head and quickly moving his hand down to rub his shoulder where he knew a fantastic bruise would be forming, Ed blearily stared at his surroundings, trying to figure out how the hell he had gotten there.
When everything came back to him in the next instant, he wished he hadn't tried so hard to remember.
An eye-searing light, Heinkel and Darius running at him, the old man—Flamel—smiling as his body disintegrated . . . Ed pressed his palms over his eyes, adding pressure to distill the images. Unfortunately, it didn't help other than to reignite the twittering white dots before his eyes.
Your alchemy . . . this world . . . in order to get you where you're needed . . . You will make it back . . .
Flamel's words echoed in Ed's head like a great, clanging bell. If he was understanding the implications correctly, then . . .
"Shit." He repeated the word about six more times. And then he punched the ground for good measure.
It didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense at all! A different world? How was that even possible? How could passage through realms be triggered by an alchemic reaction? He'd never heard of such a thing.
No, he must be jumping to conclusions. He must just be in a different part of Amestris—a different country, even. There were theories, of course, but no one had ever delved into actual study of interdimensional travel because the entire idea was a joke. The energy required would be more than what equivalent exchange could offer, but then Flamel had traded his whole self for Ed.
One life for a one-way ticket, perhaps?
Ed took a controlled breath. He couldn't think about this anymore. It was too messy. This had to be some sick attempt to muddle up his wits by Father and the homunculi. It had to be.
Then he heard the screams.
Forcing himself to his feet, Ed scrambled out of the alley and quickly understood why there was a foul burning smell in the air. All around him were houses on fire. Flames were licking past the rooftops at the early twilight stars, the sun curdling behind the haze of smoke as it receded from the scene at an agonizingly slow pace.
That's when Ed noticed that not all the flames burned with the same orange and red tones as he was used to seeing spout out of the Colonel's fingertips. Good bulks of the fires were a sickly, noxious green, and others a deep maroon tinted with purple. He vaguely wondered if throwing water on these flames would even douse them.
Ed snapped back into action, focusing on where he had heard the screaming from before. There was a house, which was about seven feet from the alley he had woken up in, with some of the disturbing green flames beginning to feast upon the outer edges. He made a mental note to avoid those at all costs.
Another piercing scream cut through the air and Ed expertly launched himself over the gate surrounding the house, landing in a small yard. He hurried over to the slightly open window, prepared to punch through it with his automail fist until he saw what was inside.
A young mother was shrieking, being held down by slithering ropes that were cutting into her wrists, as her two young children writhed on the ground, their own screams adding to the chorus of terror.
There was a red light that enraptured the older boy—probably seven or eight—and it maneuvered itself over to the little girl. She was maybe four. The hellish light bouncing between the two siblings was coming from a stick held by a malicious looking woman with wild, black hair. Ed suddenly remembered Flamel's stick, and how it had been some sort of channeling mechanism for the old man's own alchemic inductions. But this didn't look like any alchemy he'd ever seen.
Ed bit his tongue when a tendril of green fire lashed out at his ankles, forcing him to leap about two feet from the window. He looked at the glass in horror when the woman began screaming again.
"Please, stop, please! Don't hurt them—my babies—stop!"
Her voice was trumped by a shrieking laugh that made Ed sick. He tried to aim at the window again, but the green fire was intent on slowing him down, completely obstructing his path as he punched the glass. He drew his fist back in alarm, the metal sizzling from contact. He deduced that the fire was toxin-based; he didn't necessarily understand how it had been created, but he concluded that it would probably melt off his flesh if he came in contact with it rather than just blister like a normal fire.
"Your turn, muggle filth!" sang the same voice that had laughed. Ed tumbled out of the way as another flame shot towards his chest, reminding him of Lust's malevolent talons.
He realized, unexpectedly, that, while he understood the muffled voices perfectly, they weren't speaking Amestrian.
There were several flashes of a green light inside the house that resembled the evil flames, and a resounding crack.
"Damn it!" roared Ed, clapping his hands together, narrowly avoiding yet another flame. The fire was growing. He pressed his palms to the earth and it overtook the flames, suffocating them under feet of soil and rocks. A few flames seemed to try to sneak away, as absurd as it sounded, creeping up the side of the house until Ed squandered them by putting his hands on the house and compressing them between layers of brick.
And then, he took out the wall.
Racing inside his newly formed entrance, Ed came to an abrupt halt. The young mother had a look of horror on her face, sticky tears streaking down her cheeks, but she was very clearly dead. The two children simply looked twisted, their bodies distorted in positions that no human body should be able to form.
Ed felt a wave of nausea hit him when he realized the woman was pregnant.
Carefully, his stomach turning, he repositioned the corpses so that they were lying next to one another. He closed their eyes, trying not to look at the terribly blank glaze that had fallen over their dead stares; it was a very unnatural death.
His ears flickered on again when he heard the same, unnerving laugh that he had heard coming from this room; this time it was outside. Anger coiled through his bloodstream. He ran out the front door, forcing the images of the blank eyes and the mangled children out of his head.
There were people outside, more people with sticks who looked to be dousing the fires with other bursts of color that should not be coming out of sticks.
Ed swiftly ignored them, deciding that as they were fighting the evil flames, they were not immediate dangers—as well as the fact that they were all wearing the same kind of cloak and robes that Flamel had been.
The awful phrase other world floated across his mind, and he squandered it like his boot would a beetle.
He heard something whizzing at the back of his head as he examined the area around him and immediately ducked, covering his face when the blast exploded on one of the building walls forming the alleyway. Ears ringing only slightly, Ed heaved himself up and began running. He didn't know if this was the way that sick hag had gone, but he didn't have much of a choice. He heard more whizzing, and propelled his legs faster. There were jousts and calls coming from behind him, but if he could just get to the top of the hill overlooking the line of houses that this street led to, then maybe he could formulate an actual plan on what to—
Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground, and Ed found himself with a mouth full of gravel.
"You're gonna get yourself killed, kid!" reprimanded a masculine voice. "Stay down! I can help you, but only if you—"
"Get off of me," hissed Ed, spitting some rocks out of his mouth. He realized that the stranger had pulled him down behind a bench; though, it was hardly sufficient cover from the flying blobs of color and sparks that were streaming through the air. The man had shaggy black hair and an obnoxiously structured face that reminded Ed an awful lot of the bastard Colonel. The man gave him an annoyed look that didn't really help his case in Ed's mental comparison.
"Look, these guys are out of your kind's league. They'll kill you if they find you—"
"Sirius!" there was a loud popping sound that made Ed nearly jump out of his skin, and another dark-haired stranger landed in a crouch next to them. His hair was spiking in every direction. "You okay? We lost track of you . . . " he stared at Ed. "You found a survivor?" He grinned, his glasses going lopsided across his face, and then he ruffled Ed's hair. "You're a lucky kid, you know that?"
Ed seethed under the first man's grip.
"Yeah, I don't know where he came from, but my lovely cousin and one of her fellow lackeys were following him as he ran up the hill."
The messy-haired stranger was about to respond when the first stranger jumped into action and pushed both of them out of the way of a green flash of light. The park bench exploded with the gooey green flames that Ed had become so fond of.
"Well, well," jittered an irritatingly screechy voice. "Looks like my blood-traitor kin is living up to his weakling-loving name after all."
She tutted disapprovingly. "Helping muggles, now, are we, Sirius? Be a darling, and hand him over, will you? I want a little more fun before the rest of your goody group shows up and spoils it." Her smile was yellow and more rotten than her eyes.
Ed barely had time to ask himself what the hell a muggle was before he had shoved both of the strangers off of him. The woman raised an eyebrow at his antics, but her smile didn't wane.
"Hey," he started, fighting down a growl. "Did you kill that family down there?" He jilted his thumb in the direction of the street of houses. It looked like most of the fires were out. There were more people in cloaks coming in this direction. Only the man on the woman's right was wearing a mask, though. Hers was slung around the back of her neck.
Her smile stretched into a grin. "What family, little muggle?"
Ed's glare was withering. He ignored the two men as they scrambled to their feet behind him, the Mustang-look-alike guy hissing at him to stand down. "Two kids. Young mother. House on the left."
The woman cackled, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Why?" she crooned. "Did the little muggle know the pathetic muggle family?"
"You're lucky I didn't, you hag!" Ed bellowed, eyes narrowed into slits. The woman's grin turned malicious, and she waved her stick. Ed was ready, mentally crossing his fingers.
The red blast hurdled out of the tip of her stick just slower than he could blink. He raised his arm in front of his face, and it split across his automail, his arm completely unaffected, just like after the green fire had touched it. His coat's sleeve had ripped a bit, but the metal was still mostly covered.
For the first time, the woman's smile faded. Ed noticed that both men had stopped trying to grab at the back of his pant legs and coat, too.
"What is this magic?" the woman questioned aloud, eyes lowering to Ed's shiny arm.
Ed actually snorted. "Magic? Yeah, okay."
The woman did not find his inquiry quite so amusing. "So, the little muggle thinks he can play with me, does he?"
Ed felt a vein snap in his forehead. That's three times now! "Don't call me little!" He clapped his hands together, and before anybody could react, he slammed them down onto the concrete, blue energy crackling out from underneath his palms. Portions of the street came shooting up, pummeling the woman from the side and sending her flying. Ed quickly transmuted a small wall to block the two strangers from earlier when the woman's friend began shooting blasts out of his stick like rapid fire.
"That's for those two little kids, you bitch!" Ed snarled, watching her skid across the pavement. He jumped into action when another cloaked figure with a mask appeared out of nowhere. He caught the man by surprise and jump-kicked him, hearing a resounding crack when his foot connected with the man's jaw.
Flipping out of the way of the first masked man's blasts, Ed jumped and dodged with ease until he was within arm's reach, snapping the guy's head to the side with a quick left-handed punch.
It was obvious that these people had no experience with hand-to-hand combat; they seemed to prefer to fight at a distance and aim with their energy-sticks. He still needed to figure those out . . . And, please. Magic? He was surprised something so childlike had exited the psycho woman's rancid mouth.
Two more pops brought Ed back to the fight at hand. He was getting really irritated that they were literally coming out of thin air. He fought the urge to calculate the possibilities in his head. He needed to focus.
Quickly transmuting his automail into a blade, Ed shot down into a crouch to avoid a particularly nasty-looking purple blob of sparks and jumped into the air when the offending masked figure ran at him. Ed twisted in the air, bringing his left leg around to crush into the man's face; the guy flew across the street into an octagon-shaped sign.
Upon landing, Ed immediately bent backwards to avoid another set of red sparks and took off after the shooter. These sticks are really annoying, Ed thought to himself as he dodged yet another flay of sparks. The masked figure was waving his stick frantically, but since no more sparks were shooting out of it, Ed disregarded the movements. With one neat sweep of his right arm, the stick was in two pieces.
The man was screaming curses at Ed now, wailing about his broken stick. Ed sighed, and punched the guy in the mouth with his left fist. The man fell to the ground, swearing, with blood drizzling down his chin.
"Stand down, you idiots!"
Ed glanced up, shifting into a fighting stance when he saw that the woman was back up on her feet. She didn't seem to be keen on meeting him in round two, however, and was busy yelling at her fellow masked freaks.
"Get out of here, now! The Order has arrived." There were several cracks in the air as three of the four masked figures popped away into nonexistence. The fourth simply whimpered at his broken stick.
"You," the woman seethed, her grin revealing two missing teeth under wild obsidian eyes as she looked at Ed. Blood dribbled down her chin. "This isn't over, boy." And then, she too disappeared with a pop.
Scowling at the lack of her visage, Ed didn't quite realize that he was surrounded until it happened. Two robed figures were on the man with the broken stick, ropes somehow flying out of the tips of their own sticks to apprehend him. Ed warily took a few steps back, searching through the people—twelve of them, maybe—until he found the faces of the two dark-haired strangers who had been hounding him earlier. They had matching expressions of bewilderment.
"Who is this kid?" a voice echoed in the circle. Ed clenched his fists.
The first stranger—Sirius—shook his head in amazement. "He took down five Death Eaters in less than six minutes. He didn't even use magic." Magic, again? Okay, so maybe they were all crazy. Murmurs erupted from many of the robed figures around them. Ed slowly brought his arms up.
"Whoa—hang on!" the second stranger with the messy hair spoke up. "We're the good guys—you had it right before!" Ed paused, but took a step back regardless of the man's plea. He deemed it best to simply get out of here before anything else happened. He needed to clear his head and figure out where he was, exactly.
A white-hot pain suddenly exploded from his side.
Gasping, Ed's hands went straight to where his side wound was now bleeding profusely. The thin layer of skin that he had merged with sloppy alkahestry felt almost completely torn. The wound itself hadn't opened up entirely . . . but considering the sudden dizziness, things weren't looking good.
How . . . how had he forgotten about it? How had he not felt it since waking up?
This won't heal it, unfortunately, but it will give you the energy you will need.
Flamel's voice sounded, once again, in Ed's thoughts. He recalled the massive adrenaline rush the man had somehow afforded him, and felt irrationally angry. "That bastard," he croaked out, wincing, and fell to the ground.
Voices rang around him, and he could hear the messy-haired guy trying to talk. A hand was slapping lightly at his face.
"Hey kid, kid! Come on, wake up!"
"James, he's bleeding—"
"C'mon, let's get him back to base . . . "
Ed continued to curse Flamel's name until he completely faded into unconsciousness.
Sirius frowned. "We're not chaining him down, Moody."
"And why not? I saw what the little fellow did—some sort of dark, wandless magic, no doubt." Moody's scarred chin stretched as he gruffed, his glass eye momentarily spinning around in the socket.
"Well, chains won't exactly stop the bleeding, will they," chirped James, ahem-ing to get Moody to move over as he levitated the blond kid down on the table. Blood immediately drizzled across the tabletop. "Sorry about this, Molly," James continued, looking up at the fretting redheaded woman as she descended the staircase of her home.
"Oh my, oh my," she waved James off, shoving him over to look at the kid. "He's just a child—did he get hit by a spell?" She began rolling up her sleeves, preparing to heal his wound.
Sirius shook his head. "No, it was like it just appeared out of nowhere—or that he had forgotten about it before he started fighting in the first place."
Molly's head snapped up. "Fighting? Is he a wizard?"
Moody made an animalistic sound. "Hardly. The brat's dangerous, though. We need to get him prepared for questioning—"
"A child is bleeding to death on my table, Alastor. I am going to heal him before you and your paranoia get a hold of him." Molly's piercing look made both Sirius and James take a step back. "Where are the other members, anyway?"
"Oh, they're coming," hummed James.
"Yeah, the little guy made quite an impression back there," agreed Sirius, ignoring Moody's electric blue glare, and stepping around to examine the kid again. He was blond, with startlingly gold eyes, if Sirius was remembering correctly.
"He hardly looks older that Bill," Molly sighed, stroking the bangs out of the boy's face. Sirius imagined the eleven-year-old redhead in his mind. The blond kid's face still had a bit of childhood roundness, but he had a strong jaw. He was definitely in his early-teens, at best.
The door to the Burrow slammed open. "James! Oh, I was so worried—they said you had gone off to stop an impromptu attack and then it was taking so long and—" Lily paused from suffocating James with her hug and stared in shock at the boy on the table. She paled.
"He's alive, love, take a deep breathe," said James soothingly, rubbing her shoulders.
"I don't think I can watch anymore children die," Lily said softly. She looked up at Sirius. "What happened to him? Is he a muggle?"
"Yes and no?" said Sirius at the same time as Moody declared, "He's a demon."
"He's not a demon, old man!" said Sirius, annoyed. "Why did you have to be the one to follow us back, again?"
Moody growled in the back of his throat. "Well, he's not all human. And you were lucky to get me as an escort, Black." His protruding eye zoomed over to the boy. "Look at his right arm, and his left leg."
Molly huffed. "Well, I need to get his shirts off if I want a better look at his wound, anyway. Boys, hold him up for me, will you?"
Sirius and James obliged, making sure his head and neck were straight before lifting him up. Deftly, Molly dragged off the boy's blindingly red coat, quickly unhitching the black jacket that was underneath, carefully avoiding his side as she pulled that off his left arm, and then his right . . .
There were several gasps. Sirius let out a long whistle. The metal that had somehow deflected Bellatrix's curse from earlier wasn't merely some sort of armor, as he had been thinking. It was the kid's entire arm. There was something resembling a port on his shoulder, from which the rest of the limb seemed to pivot off of. There were thick, silver bolts embedded into the port that stretched above his shoulder a few inches, and they were obviously molded into his skin, creating dark, unpleasant welts and scarring that snaked form under the edges of the metal and reached across his right pectoral. There were plenty of other scars marring the boy's body, but none quite so deep-set.
Well, besides the gory mess of blood and skin making up a good portion of his front left side and going through to his back.
Molly had snapped out of her daze the fastest, removing the poorly prepared bandaging splayed across the boy's stomach—Sirius had never been so good at healing spells. She was already beginning to bind the wound back together with magic when the door erupted open again.
Fabian and Gideon Prewitt stood, wrestling in the doorway.
"I wanna see him first—"
"You got to see him do his electric magic already—it's my turn!"
"I can't concentrate with all of this ruckus!" barked Molly, silencing her brothers. She looked up dangerously from her task. "Get out, now. Alastor, you too—make sure nobody else comes barging in." She paused, and then, reluctantly, "Please."
Moody narrowed his one good eye. "I'm standing watch over him," he jerked his head over to the kid. "No telling what'll happen if I leave you fools in charge."
Molly pursed her lips, but said nothing in return. She turned and glared at her brothers. They took the hint, slowly creeping out of the room, craning their necks to get a look at the kid before they left to guard the door. "That's strange," the redheaded woman muttered. "The scar isn't healing."
Sirius observed the wound. "He's not bleeding . . . "
"No, that's fine," Molly insisted, leaning closer to the boy's stomach. "His injury is healed, but the scar tissue isn't regressing. It's as though something is coating that part of his skin."
"A curse scar?" grunted Moody, eye focusing on the wound as well.
Molly shook her head. "I suppose that could be it, but the gouge itself didn't indicate any sort of curse or spell . . . "
Lily spoke up, confused. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand. Why didn't anyone from the Order heal the boy at the scene, and then obliviate his memories? Why bring him here?"
"The kid isn't a regular muggle," answered James. "He manipulated the earth with some sort of magic, and channeled it through his hands. He also knocked out about five Death Eaters—"
"Including Bellatrix," cut in Sirius gleefully, letting out a snicker. "His fancy ground voodoo knocked out some of her teeth!"
"—with his fists. Four of them woke up and apparated away, but we got Amek Carrow, thanks to the kid slicing the guy's wand in half with some sort of dagger!" James finished, embellishing with a fake sword.
"So, we kinda just brought him with us before anyone else could say otherwise." Sirius grinned.
Moody stomped his wooden leg on the floor. "Black, allow me to remind you of your recent membership with the Order. You don't have the authority to make calls like that," he croaked out. Sirius thought he rather resembled a bullfrog whose buggy lunch had gotten away from him.
Simply rolling his eyes in response, Sirius shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and ignored the older man's fuming. This seemed to successfully increase the said fuming; Sirius inwardly rejoiced.
When Ed woke up, he couldn't help but think that he was much more comfortable than the last time he had shaken off unconsciousness. His throat and mouth were dry, and he groggily wiped away some drool that had gathered on his chin as well as the front of his pillow; the evidence of sleeping with his mouth open was already less than sticky and somewhat hardened. He grunted sleepily, but forced himself up into sitting position. His head was hindered by a dull throb at the base of his skull. He'd probably hit it when he blacked out earlier; the soreness indicated that he hadn't been out for long.
Blearily gazing around at his surroundings, Ed concluded that the un-masked robed people who surrounded him earlier hadn't, in fact, killed him. The circumstances actually felt rather accommodating . . .
Eyes widening, Ed slapped a hand down to this side, where the steel beam had pierced through his abdomen not a day previous. There was a slight bulge from the healed scarring that his attempted medical alchemy had produced, but other than that . . . he was healed. Ed yanked his shirt up, fingers prodding the lumpy skin before moving around to his backside, and feeling similar results there too. His arms fell limply against the bed's maroon comforter, closing his eyes tightly.
Ed wondered, for a moment, if he was going insane.
He had not imagined the bone-splitting pain that the wound had provoked; that, he was sure of. But this . . . it was yet another thing that lacked the sense he was currently craving. He needed logic; facts and figures and solidarity were what kept him stable. How was his life-threatening injury gone? There was no explanation.
Magic. The thought whispered through his head. Ed mentally transmuted a flamethrower and burned the thought to a blackened crisp.
Ed cracked his back before he got out of the bed, his shoes hardly making a sound on the floorboards as he crept towards the door. He slowly opened it, thankful that it didn't creak. He could now hear voices clearly coming from underneath him, and he realized he must have been up a floor or two. Crouching low, Ed looked both ways before cautiously leaning out of the doorway. He glanced upwards, starting for a moment when he saw that there were still about six floors above him. The building he was in seemed like a house . . . but maybe it was some sort of robed-cult infrastructure?
"...going to do with him, then?"
"Dumbledore has been alerted. I'm sure he'll be on his way shortly."
Ed's ears perked at the voices. There was a good hum of sound, suggesting that there had to be about six to ten people on the first floor. They weren't doing a very good job at keeping their conversations a secret, so it was safe to assume that they weren't expecting him to wake up as soon as he had. Ed took another look around the area outside his door; the stair banister was about four feet away. The building also seemed extremely narrow . . . even if he made a door on the other side of where the group was speaking he would probably still be heard.
Turning around, Ed made his way to the large window that was about two feet above the headboard of the bed. There was a hinge to the right. He clicked the latch up and the window swung open. Ed clambered up onto the bed and looked down, wincing. He was still about two or three stories up. Dimly, he realized that he could still hear voices, as he had forgotten to shut the door, and he keyed in on the sounds.
" . . . whatever he decides. I'm going to go check on the dear now."
"You might want to hurry with that, Molly. The brat is about to jump out the window."
Ed almost lost his footing on the edge of the windowsill at the gruff comment. He whirled around to the doorway, mouth agape. What, could these people see through walls, too?!
It had gone silent downstairs for about three seconds before there were frazzled shouts of alarm. His grand escape was failing before it had even started.
He placed his other foot on the windowsill, tugging frantically at his coat when it got stuck on the corner of the headboard.
Making a frustrated sound, Ed sucked in a quick breath and jumped. His braid whipped the back of his neck and his stomach whooshed as he fell the twenty-five feet to the lawn below. Luckily, he and Al were frequent victims of cliff and roof jumping from their many escapades (and from simply being shoved off areas of high vicinity by Izumi when they were kids), and he landed correctly, rolling front ways from when his toes initially perched upon the grass, and ending up on his automail knee after a jumbled somersault.
Ed grinned and didn't bother to look back up at the window he had just leapt from. He figured he had about thirty more seconds to vacate the immediate premises. He quickly got onto his feet and began to sprint away.
Unfortunately, he didn't see the hole in the ground.
"Ack!" His left foot snagged, and Ed face-planted into the grass before he could blink.
Eyebrow twitching, he pushed his face out of the dirt and stared directly into yet another hole. Upon closer observation, he saw that there were about half a dozen holes around the oversized garden that he was in.
Suddenly, a small, pointy-faced little creature zoomed out of the hole Ed's position forced him to stare into. It was chittering at him, in what he imagined was an angry manner, and Ed wasn't sure if he was seeing things from the fall or if he was actually being told off by something that was a cross between a rabid chipmunk and an Optainian midget . . .
Slowly, Ed brought up his left hand and flicked the creature in the nose.
The little thing looked stunned for a moment. Then, with a rapidness Ed didn't expect, it clamped down on his finger with what felt like a hundred dagger-sharp teeth.
"Yeeeeoooowwww!"
It was after Molly had dashed upstairs that they heard the kid shout. James expected that he'd at least have broken one of his legs, if not both, from such an idiotic escape effort. He was not the only one surprised when, after they had all rushed out the front door and around the back yard, the boy seemed utterly fine and in one piece.
Well, except for the gnome currently gnawing on his finger.
"Get off, you little bastard! Get off get off get off!"
James probably would have laughed if the kid hadn't just jumped out of a third story window and survived. Sirius, a few steps behind him, actually did start laughing. Most of the other Order members who arrived about twenty minutes ago simply looked bewildered. Vance, a new member, held her wand out, and looked back and forth between Moody and the little blondie, brows furrowed in confusion.
The kid finally jerked his arm up hard enough that the gnome went flying. It hit the ground in a jumped heap, shook its fist at the boy, and then dove down a hole. The kid turned to face them furiously, irritation sporting off of him in waves.
Sirius broke the silence, grinning. "You want a bandage for that, kid? Gnome bites are nasty." If the kid had known Sirius as James did, he probably would have noticed the mocking tone. As it were, the kid simply continued to glare.
"C'mon," Sirius continued. "Can't you at least tell us your name? We did patch you up, and all."
The kid stiffened, but made no move to speak up. He actually seemed determined to not speak, judging by the way his jaw was clenched shut. His arms were held tightly at his sides. James noticed his eyes sweeping the lot of them before glancing to each side and realized that he was mapping out the best route to get away from them all.
"Don't even think about running, twerp," Moody grouched from behind him, seeming to have noticed the same thing. "We've got you surrounded."
The boy flushed an angry red. "Who're you calling twerp, you rickety old gimp?!"
Evidently, the kid wasn't so good at the whole silent treatment thing.
As Moody and the kid locked one another in a battle of leering, Molly shoved past James and walked over to the boy, hands placed on her hips. "And just what were you thinking, hmmm? Pulling a stunt like that—" she gestured to the window—"you could have died!"
This time James did chuckle, because the kid took a step back, his expression boggled at Molly's full on mother-mode.
"What?" the blonde started, half-annoyed, half-taken aback. "I'm fine. Just call your guard dog off me," he sneered at Moody, "and I'll be on my way." James watched as Mad-Eye's complexion turned a purplish color, obviously not taking well to being called a dog. The auror took a step forward, lifting his wand up—at the motion, the kid narrowed his eyes, getting into some sort of position—
Molly intervened, once more. "I'll not be tolerating any sort of argument, boys." She turned a needlepoint glare onto Moody. "Alastor, the last thing we need is your superiority complex taking over this situation. We'll wait for Dumbledore before starting onto any sort of questioning, understand?"
James thought that she looked particularly frightening, in that moment.
"As for you." She looked down at the boy, who took yet another step back. She smiled. "How about we get you something to eat, dear."
The kid seemed rather put out by the sudden mood change, though, it didn't stop him from protesting something fierce as Molly grabbed the sleeve of his coat and started to drag him in the direction of the front door, griping about how he could make his own food or something. The rest of the group followed, wary and confused.
James trotted over to Sirius, who was examining the exchange between the plump, redheaded woman and the skinny blonde kid with a good deal of interest. "So," started James casually, raising his eyebrows at his best friend. "What d'you make of him?"
"Not sure yet," said Sirius. "I like him though."
James grinned. "As do I, Padfoot. Think we can get the little guy to talk?"
"But of course, Prongs. And if we can't, it'll be jolly good fun trying."
A/N:
No major cliffhanger (this time . . .). The next few chapters are essential in setting things up for the rest of the story, so bear with me. That's why I let this chapter start with some good, ol' action-y goodness.
REVIEWS ARE BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE FROGS. Also the more I get, the more likely I will be to update sooner. That's all.
Mwah!