Chapter 3 : A Painting of Home

"That... was hardly necessary," Albus calmly stated.

Edward slowly looked to his brother from where he stood over Alastors slumped form.

"I'm guessing he didn't break in or something then?"

"I'm afraid not; that is my dear friend Alastor. One of my best statigests and comrades. He has helped me quite a bit thus far. I truly hope he's not concussed." Al replied with an unworried smile. With a quick levitation spell, he floated Moody over to the rickety couch.

"That was your best strategist?" Ed snorted, "Clearly you need more help than I thought."

"For what we're up against, it's sufficient," Al replied.

With a huff, Edward followed him into the living room. It was old and grimy and smelt like the crackling fireplace in the corner. Not to mention the room looked like a tornado came through it, with broken furniture and ripped curtains. There was even a hole in the wall, and through it ed could see the kitchen.

"It's usually not this bad," Al tried.

Rolling his eyes, Ed started towards the fireplace. There he placed his coat on a dust-coated chair, next to which he noticed a bottle of fire whisky.

"If you want some, take it now," Albus stated. "You won't get it ever again while you're here."

"Whatcha mean?" Ed said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we have a bit of a problem," he replied.

" You? A drinking problem? Never would have guessed." Ed snickered.

"That's not what I'm getting at," Al stated solemnly.

….

Ed glared.

"You are not going to have me charade as a kid, are you?"

Albus at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"It's the best course of action."

"Give me one good ReAsON AS TO WHY-" Ed started.

" Oneofourmembershas a mental connection to the enemy," Al quickly interrupted.

"And there are people sleeping up stairs, so don't raise your voice."

Ed shut his mouth and raised an eyebrow, encouraging his brother to continue.

"Harry Potter, Fleamont Potter's grandkid, was cursed by voldemort. They seem to occasionally share visions and memories. I can't have Voldemort knowing that you are my brother and that you don't age. Who knows what could happen?" Albus confessed.

"So for the time being, I thought that it would be best if you played the part as my brother's grandson. And after a dreadful accident, you were placed under my care, as I am your last living relative." He continued.

Flopping down on the chair near the fire, Ed mumbled a couple of swear words under his breath. At least he isn't yelling, Albus thought.

...

There was silence for a while.

Then Albus remembered something.

"By the way," he told his brother. "I wouldn't sit there if I were you."

Seconds later the fire roared green.

And out of the floor popped Tonks.

Ed rolled out of the chair, just narrowly escaping.

"What ThE HE-" Albus slapped his hand over Ed's mouth.

"Tonks dear, It's good to see you! Do you think you would help Edward h

ear up to the guest room by the library?"

Startled Tonks replied, "Professor! What are you- I was supposed to meet mood-" Looking over, she saw Alastor passed out on the couch.

"It's alright, dear; I've got it all handled," he replied.

Ed was kind of confused as to how she believed him with how odd the situation was and how destroyed the room looked.

"Alright then, professor," she said with a bright smile.

And with that, Tonks eagerly dragged him out of the room and up to the 3rd floor, prattling on about random nonsense that Ed never bothered to tune in to.

When he finally escaped her and entered his new room, he quickly flopped down on the bed.

Too much had happened in so little time.

He needed a break.

Glancing over at the coffee table next to his bed, he noticed something. It was a small painting of fields and sheep.

That night, he dreamt of Amestris.

Of Resembool.