A/N: For us, the candy bowl thing worked because nobody ever climbs up our giant hill. So I never had to worry about someone stealing the whole thing hehe. Thanks for reviewing! I just did a whole bunch of planning, though it comes in a little later, so that's always good.

Did you know that it's a theory that Madam Pince (Hogwarts Librarian) is Eilleen Prince? As in, Snape's Mom? Interesting what you can find on the internet. And by the way, something no one seems to realize in FMA/HP fanfics, yes Alchemy is actually a class taught in Hogwarts. I quote from the HP wiki (which admittedly isn't 100% reliable): "If there is enough demand, Alchemy is an optional subject taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to sixth and seventh-years." And, Ed and Lupin aren't the only one with "yellow" eyes. Madam Hooch has that too. So, yeah. That's just something interesting. By the way, anything about Tom or other side characters that come in later is probably not canon.

I'm absolutely terrible with this weekly update thing. Not that I'm having trouble meeting the deadline – it's that after I write the chapter I really want to publish it soon. So instead of waiting until tomorrow, since my planned day is Saturday, I'm posting today... I'm really not sure what day of the week it'll end up being.

Muggle Trouble
Phase 4.

Ten masterpieces stood before him. Ten figurines made out of dirt, depicting every Halloween horror imaginable: ghouls, ghosts, zombies, haunted graves. Ten works of art that made him swell with pride and thing: I made this. I made this without alchemy.

And today, he was going to destroy them.

Oh, he had begged Al, begged him, that they could just keep them there, because the lawn looked so much better now anyway. Before, it was just plain green grass, undecorated. Now, it was beautiful. Why would Al want to destroy something like this?

Yet his little brother had not succumbed to his pleas. The dirt-statues would go, he said, claiming the landlady would make them pay a fortune if she ever saw them.

That argument was the sole reason Ed was even considering destroying them. That, and his little brother could be very persistent when he wanted to be.

He tried one last time. "Please, Al? Please can we keep them here for just one more day?" But Al's mouth was set in a firm line as he handed over a shovel.

"Brother." His tone, too, brooked no argument. "Take it." And reluctantly, ever so reluctantly, Ed took the shovel into his own gloved hand.

"Fine, fine," he said at last. "But you're helping, right?" Al loosened into a victorious grin, and Ed felt the deep disappointment of having given into his little brother so easily. It happened ever time.

"Yeah. But first –" he held up a hand, containing something much smaller than a shovel, something meant for – "we need to scrape off the paint."

Ed groaned. How did Al always come up with these torture devices?

It was tiring work. His little brother insisted on getting off every damn scrap of paint ("They have toxic chemicals in them!") before doing the actual work of smashing the statues back into dirt. It made Ed grouchy and snappish, but he took vicious satisfaction in that sometime, he would get Al back for this. Someday. He knew Al was only doing this to annoy him. A little paint mixed in with dirt wouldn't do anybody any harm.

However, if that part was bad, it was nothing compared to the dismay Ed felt at the prospect of crushing the statutes he had worked on so meticulously. Was this another part of Al's evil plans? No matter what Al's intentions were, this part of the process of cleaning up the lawn took up more time than expected. After all, Ed had to spare a few moments of silence to respect those works of art that had been lost that day. And mentally prepare himself before destroying another statue. It was emotionally exhausting work (and the fault of one certain twelve-year-old, Ed didn't fail to point out with a glare).

The last and final step was to replace the grass. In this world, there were stores that actually sold rolls of it, and Ed was hoping they could find some at the big hardware store nearby, HomeBase. Unfortunately, his little brother was right on this point; the landlady probably would freak if she came by one day to see her lawn missing.

However, by the time they were finished flattening the lawn, Ed was starving.

"Al..." he complained. "I'm hungry." His stomach let out a convincing growl. Al frowned.

"Wouldn't it be better if we finished this up first?"

Gr-r-ow-wl.

His stomach did all the answering for him.

"Well... I guess we could stop by for something on the way to HomeBase," Al proposed. A moment later, his face brightened. "Hey! I think the Leaky Cauldron is on the way." Ed perked up.

"The Leaky Cauldron, huh? I guess that kills three birds with one stone."

"But –" Al pointed his paint scraper at Ed threateningly, "we need to clean up before that." Ed rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." Al had gotten so nitpicky after they ended up in this world. What was a little bit of dirt smudged there, or some machine oil spilled on his coat? Nobody would notice.

But just like always, he gave into his little brother's demands. And so, less than thirty minutes later, an exceptionally clean duo of brothers stood in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

Ed opened the door to the sound of a small jingle, low muttering, and dishes clanking. The pub wasn't as busy as the time before; instead, it felt more relaxed. Welcoming even.

"Hey, you two!" the balding man at the counter greeted. "Come back so soon? Looking for another drink?" Ed slid into a stool by the counter, Al following right behind him, and gave the man a grin.

"No, we were actually looking for a meal this time around. What do you have?" Tom shrugged.

"Not many choices for lunch. Mostly people come over for a drink, but we do have some snacks. Cakes, icecream, perhaps some omelets." But Ed had brightened at the prospect of icecream.

"What flavors of icecream do you – ow! Al, what did you do that for?" he held his side protectively after Al had elbowed him.

"What Brother means," Al said, "is that he'll like an omelet." Ed's eyes widened.

"An omelet? But... Al!" I wanted –" A laugh interrupted their argument.

"Usually it's the younger one who's asking for the icecream," Tom remarked, and Ed glared at him. "But I think Alphonse is right. Omelets go better as lunch." By the end, Ed's mouth was gaping wide open. Why did everybody take Al's side?

"But –" he managed before Al turned on him again.

"Brother." Damn it, Al was now giving him the puppy eyes. Why did he always give him the puppy eyes?

Ed sighed. "Fine, fine." It was yet another victory for his little brother.

"Omelet coming right up," Tom said as he left to the kitchen, rubbing even more salt into the wound.

He really needed to figure out how to beat Al.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Tom smiled as he watched the two brothers through the glass as he fried the omelet. He was old, and it was refreshing to have two youngsters like them come by. And they weren't like all those other teens in these times, snotty and rude, but rather... friendly. Yes, the older one wasn't as respectful as he could be, but the younger's sweet gentleness made up for that easily. And if he was reading into this right, the brothers cared for each other very much.

It made him think of his own family. Most of them were gone by now, but he had precious memories of his twin brother and their sweet little sister. Oh, they had fun in those days, teasing her while they went off to hang out with their friends from Hogwarts. Tom and his brother had been close, just like these two boys, and had run the pub together when they successfully took over after the Charing Cross Road incident.

Tom chuckled at the thought. Yes, those had been the good times. No one would stand for the pub being demolished for a muggle road, and after dozens of memory charms and confused architects, they had managed to save it. The ministry had tried to convince them it was a lost cause, but here they were.

And it had all been worth it to see those architect's faces as they wondered how their design plans had gone so wrong.

He wondered if these two boys had any such adventures. He had seen them when they came into his pub, nervous and obviously shocked at the display of magic. Yet, the moment the older spoke to him, he had been so cocky, almost to the point that he had mistakenly labeled him as one of the snotty brats.

Almost.

It had been the looks on their faces as they entered that stuck with him. They weren't from around here, that much was clear. But how far away was "away"?

Were they even from the Wizarding World?

This question was the reason he hadn't mentioned the two boys to anyone yet. He knew what was expected of him if he suspected muggles had somehow wandered in here. He knew, but he was also sure he would not obliviate them. If they were muggles, so be it. The pub had a long-standing tradition of welcoming anybody into its fold. And besides, they must have had some kind of magical talent if they could see the place, much less enter it. So it wouldn't be like he was knowingly breaking the "Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."

He smiled. No, he wouldn't be the one to turn them in, even if they were muggles.

A few moments later, the eggs were fried and he was making his way back to the two brothers. He neatly slid the hot omelet into a waiting plate, picked up two forks, and dropped it all in front of them with a flourish.

"Two omelets served." They thanked him, but he waved it off easily. "There's nothing I won't do to gain two good customers like you two." The older boy raised an eyebrow.

"Good customers?" he asked questioningly. Tom chuckled.

"Well, you all pay the same, don't you?" It was only half of the truth, but worked well enough in the situation. Saying he felt he could relate to them would only sound creepy.

However, instead of putting Edward at ease, his response seemed to agitate him. The teen's eyes widened and he bolted from his chair, as if coming to a sudden realization.

"I forgot to pay you last time!" he blurted out, before a hand began frantically searching his coat pockets. "Can I –" He stopped when he saw Alphonse, holding a thick wallet. "Hey, how come you have that, Al?"

"You gave it to me. Remember? You said that I was more responsible and –" Ed's face was flushed pink as he snatched the wallet back.

"I'm responsible!" he protested, before turning back to Tom. "Erm... Anyway, how much do I owe you?" Before Tom could stop him, he pulled out a ten pound note. "Is this enough?"

Really, it was only ironic that right after Tom had made the commitment to not turn them in, they would do this to him.

As quickly as he could, he snatched the bill from the boy's hand. He realized his mistake when he saw their shocked expressions, but tried to rectify it with faster actions.

"What are you doing?" he whispered harshly, trying to get them to understand. "You can't just walk around handing out muggle money." Their confused faces said it all. He had been right. They were muggles.

"Listen," he stared, then paused, his eyes roving past them over to his other customers. Many were already looking curiously at the bar. It was less packed since it was only about noon, but that would only make this odd event even more interesting. People would talk.

So he turned away and tersely told the two, "Follow me." After a moment of hesitation, they trailed after him, to another room where nobody should be able to hear. However, as soon as the door shut with a nice click, the silence erupted into angry questions.

"What the hell was that for?" Edward asked. It took Tom a moment to realize what he was talking about before he returned the crumpled bill from his clenched hand. He took a deep breath.

"You're muggles." Somehow, it was all he could find words to say.

"What's a muggle?" Alphonse asked. However, now that Tom looked at him again, he didn't seem to be the sweet little kid he had been only moments earlier. No, it wasn't that Tom had suddenly learned the kid was a muggle, but rather... he seemed older, somehow. Older than he had any right to be at that age.

Tom almost shivered, but instead brought himself to answer the question.

"Muggles are non-magical folk." It was the shocked response that surprised the old barkeeper even more.

"You mean... not everybody can do magic?" Edward said disbelievingly. "But... that doesn't make any sense!" Tom frowned. As far as he knew, that was not the common reaction to magic. Nevertheless, he continued his explanation.

"Yes, that's right. And because of this, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was created. Muggles can't know about the Wizard World, or something like the witch trials might happen again."

The look on Edward's face was suspicious. "And you're telling us this why?"

"So you'll be more careful," Tom answered shortly. "Don't try giving wizards muggle money again. It makes them look down on you and they won't accept it."

"But –" Alphonse's eyes were wide when he spoke. "They're discriminating against people just because they didn't know about magic?"

Tom sighed. Truly, he was too old for this.

"Yes, that's the way it is. Now, listen, there's a bank called Gringotts in Diagon Alley where you can convert those pounds into galleons. And," he continued before they could ask more questions, "You can get to Diagon Alley by going through the back and tapping the bricks in a counterclockwise order. Then you can pay me back, and get your books. Alright?" He sighed in relief when the two nodded. He had done his part. They'd be fine.

"Then let's go back and you can finish your omelet."

It felt strange walking back into the pub, where many curiosity eyes were still watching the door as they came back in. The three of the walked stiffly, silently, and it only added to the discomfort churning in Tom's guy. Even after they had left, he was still wondering.

"H-Hello, T-T-Tom." He was startled from his thoughts by a stuttering Quirnus Quirrell. He had been a regular before he had gone to Albania, and still was, but that place had changed him. Damaged him. Tom felt the brief feeling of pity for the man. He heard he was going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in Hogwarts this year; that was going to be hard for him.

"What can I do for you, Quirnus?" he asked casually, letting no sign of pity show on his face. Customers tended to dislike that.

"M-May I ask... Who were those – those two boys?" Inwardly, Tom let out a small groan. He had hoped no one would ask. But he had a friendly smile plastered on his face, and he had to keep up the facade.

"Just some new customers, Quirnus. Nothing you need to worry about."