Disclaimer: Yep! Its official! I totally own FMA and HP cause I'm awesome like that! What, you say I'm lying? Well...your right. I don't own! Hehe.

Hey guys? How are y'all?

I know you've all been waiting for this moment to arise. And it's finally here. I present to everyone, the first chapter of the second part!

Hehe, this part will be even more AU then the first part. It'll still be close to the book, but not AS close. Get my drift?

Hope you guys enjoy!


He was flying.

Colors were all around him. There was no up or down, no time or space.

He could sense it. All around him, absolutely nothing.

Yet here he was, flying.

The vapid and rapid colors all around him were blurred together, impossible beauty that has never been seen before on Earth. And never again.

Never again.

The colors blurred together even more, his haunted eyes were wide open, unable to close, accepting of the colors as they grew brighter and brighter, becoming blinding.

He struggled to move, struggled to leave. He couldn't leave like this! Not knowing, most likely never knowing. He couldn't leave. Sure, he fulfilled his promise; that damn promise that has hung over his head for years and years, speaking of the sin he committed, stepping onto God's territory, staring into the abyss.

But that's all he did, last time he was here, or, back there, as it is now. Last time he had stared into the abyss, seeing all, how it was, what it needs to be, almost everything there was. Almost. But that was last time. He had been young. So young, so stupid, staring into the face of God, the abyss, like that.

Now, he's fallen into the abyss.

He never seems to learn, does he?

The colors, rushing by him faster and faster, brighter and brighter, becoming a blinding white light.

White: The color of purity.

White: The color of nothing.

White: The color of fear.

His fear.

And everything was rushing faster and faster, dragging him along with it. The secretive words of pure Truth echoed in his mind, a mantra of who he is and what was happening. A mantra, forever repeating inside his ears, on his body, deeply within the abyss.

And within his mind, his sin replaying, again and again and again. All the blood, staining stumps of flesh. His own flesh and blood, staring at him with muted gold eyes, torn apart by black arms that knew no mercy, did not care for age, gender, or race. Arms and hands, made by the darkness of the world's underbelly, tearing and ripping, only knowing of its own brand of justice, a justice known as 'Truth.'

And as his sin replayed, along with his last moments. The raw words spoken by monsters, fearful and true. The screaming echoing around inside a hollow metal shell as it was ripped out and spirited away to somewhere familiar and warm, but so dangerous and deadly.

And even along that last scene before everything became a confusing mess, and his sin, was him watching that monster be torn apart by him and even before that, a human in monstrous flesh falling down before him, muscles becoming gaunt and tight, an indescribable look chiseled onto its features before becoming dust and flying away into the venomous night. And his scream. Full of life and regret. Pain and suffering of committing an act that dark, something he swore never to do.

He continued to fly.

He knew nothing.

Saw nothing.

Was nothing.

And his mind and senses fell blank.

Well, all but one sense. A sense that was all mindless gold, surrounded by warm and liquid white with a single black point puncturing the middle.

Time passed…or maybe it didn't. He didn't know. It could've been fluttering heartbeats deep within his chest, formed by his broken heart. It could've been millions of years, everyone dead. Nothing but dust, dancing in the midday sky.

He did not know.

He would never know.

But as his eyes, stained with the image of white: pure nothingness and fear, continued to gaze, deep within the abyss's invisible and intangible walls, he saw it.

A spark.

Not just any spark either. Not a spark of electricity. Or alchemy. Or life. No. It was a spark of something so much more to him, breaking the inane monotony the plagued him.

A spark of pure and beautiful color. So bright and refreshing.

His mind was reeling.

He had forgotten what it looked like. Yellow…warm and delicious. A sour and sweet taste dripping down his throat; created by sunshine fruit growing on trees with something…white and grainy and something refreshing and clear.

More yellow appeared.

Something warm was beating on his skin. Warm and nice. He stared upwards, above him completely empty except patches of blue the punctured the white. Deep and light blue that screamed of both nothing and everything.

He moved his eyes downward. The warm yellow and soulful blue was mixing, creating something new and exciting. New and demanding.


He saw more images. Blades of green. Soft on his feet…foot. All around him. Warm and enjoyable. A bright yellow circle hung in the sky, full and inviting, light blue surrounding it, a warm nest for the bright egg.

Everything was enjoyable and his torn heart fluttered.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Another color punctured the abyss. Deep and loud. Speaking of everything.

A color known as red.

Sharp and loud. Quiet and soft. Passion, life, and death.

The color red spoke all.

And in his mind, he saw so many images. Sharp and strong against the soft images of yellow, blue, and green.

A red coat, fluttering on mismatched shoulders.

Red liquid, thick with life, dripping from his chest as he fell to the ground.

Red watery substance, filling him with power and danger, tearing him apart from the inside out.

So many images were related. Yet the most common was the crimson liquid that dripped out of people. So many people. People he knew, but couldn't name. People, who were faceless, yet described perfectly in his mind's eye.

And the red liquid continued to flow.

Another color burst into his vision, wonderful, alien, and strange.


Nothing came to his mind. Royalty and plush seats. Strange, yet subtle. Full of mystery, yet proud for the whole world to see.

A color that fit him, yet not.

A color that fit everybody and nobody.

And last but not least, a bright and nonsensical color appeared.


Full of madness. Full of weirdness.

A completely bizarre beauty that warmed him with a sharp and fiery light.

A color that burned him.

Burned everything he owned.

As the six colors whirled around him, more colors were created. His mind matched them with names, filling him with wonder and joy.

Brown. Maroon. Burgundy. Indigo. Lavender. Periwinkle. Pink.

So many colors.

As they continued to twirl, all around him, the storm of colors became shapes.

A large car-like thing with wings, flying around a deep and cold blackness, far, far away.

Large glass box buildings, reaching high into the sky.

Small and simple homes, side by side, different but the same.

A huge city with rivers instead of streets.

Huge gothic buildings, reaching high and strong.

Dirty people, struggling to make a living on poor farms.

The colors disappeared. White returned. He fell forward.

The colors came back. This time, in definite shapes.

The colors had names. The blue sky above him, filling his vision, sun hanging low in the sky.

The water below him, filled with green algae. Brown rocks jutted out as well, dangerous and deadly.

Though he was falling, he was happy. He had escaped the abyss. Somehow, he had done it.

He was free.

The teal, algae filled water came closer.

His happiness disappeared.

As agony filled every inch of him, a new color took his vision.

Oppressing and terrible.


He hadn't escaped through the abyss.

He had fallen through and into the other side.


Harry scowled as he stormed down the street. His knuckles were tight and gaunt on the handle of his trunk.

I'm done. Done with that lot! He thought viciously. His trunk bumped against the pavement, dipping at every line and crunching every rock.

Harry walked on, his face red and steaming. Rage coursed through his veins, fiery and hot. Memories of what just happened continued to replay in his mind, unable to disappear.

Marge. The dog. The Dursley's. Accidental magic.

Harry slowed down his fast and violent pace as his mind came across the worried and cursed words of 'accidental magic.' Last year Dobby had caused him to get a warning, even though it wasn't even his fault. Now, he did do accidental magic, blowing his aunt up and letting her fly away.

Harry swallowed thickly, fear stinging his mind. Would he be expelled from Hogwarts now? His wand split in two? Unable to escape the Dursley's?

Harry shook his head violently and picked up his pace again. No. He won't go back there again. He won't. But where else could he go? If he was on the run for using accidental magic, then he couldn't go to Hogwarts. He would have to stay in the shadows, somehow find some money and a place to stay. Or he could let himself get caught. Let his wand get snapped. Maybe he would be able to live with Hagrid and help him with his duties as Keeper of the Keys?

Harry watched as the untamable fiery sun started to dip below the horizon, falling underneath the Earth. Pausing his fast walk, Harry took a second to admire the star as it took its nightly journey. As darkness fell all around him, Harry held tightly onto his trunk and walked on, much calmer than before. His mind went blank as he focused on everything that was going on around him, which wasn't much. Besides a light breeze that lightly blew his hair, everything was incredibly quiet. Every boring house on the street had their lights out, all ready for bed.

The night was cool, but oppressive, a slight creepy feeling hanging in the air, not strong enough to put fear into Harry's heart, but strong enough to send nervous shivers racing up and down his spine.

Harry walked and walked, ignoring the growing tenseness in the air. His trunk hitting every line in the sidewalk was the only noise worth noting penetrating the still air.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Over and over and over again.

Harry continued to walk until he came across the park. Staring at the metal playground, Harry was swamped with memories of both being bullied terribly by Dudley along with him running away to sit and think, escaping torture from other kids and adults. It was one of the places he went when he could escape the house.

Sitting down on the curb, Harry felt his wand in his pocket, reassuring him. If anyone or anything came out to get him…well, he already broke the rules, hadn't he? A spell to defend himself wouldn't make his charges more severe. At least, he didn't think so.

Without the constant thunks of his trunk, Harry could clearly hear every abnormal and creepy noise that happened. The slight creaking of the swing set behind him, the light rustling of trees as the light wind blew them to and fro. The very small crunch, crunch as something stalked towards him, hidden in the shrubs…

Harry jumped up with alarm, fear and adrenaline pumping through his heart and veins.

Crunch. Crunch.

Harry felt panicked as he realized he was all alone. Alone, and practically defenseless. It doesn't matter how terrible the Dursley's are or how angry he was. It was safer back in that horrid house than out here.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

It was getting closer, bolder. Harry fumbled as he withdrew his wand. His hands were shaking terribly, unable to grip the comforting wood.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Harry dropped his wand, the dark concrete swallowing up the stick easily. Bending down quickly, Harry felt around for the weapon in the dark, keeping his eyes wide opened, staring and unblinking at the shrubs across the street from him.

Crunch. Crunch.

Harry was able to grab his wand. Fishing it up from the hard and rough concrete, he pointed ahead of him, at the bushes.


It was here.

Harry make out much, but there was clearly something there, hiding from the light, deep in the darkness. Though all Harry could see was a large, roughly animal shape, fear spiked through him. Harry could clearly feel the creatures eyes on him, dark and animalistic. Though Harry couldn't see it, he knew that the thing across the street was dangerous. Could feel it all the way to his bones. Those hidden eyes were glaring at him, ready to pounce and chew. Staring ahead, pure fear causing him to freeze, Harry knew that what was before him was not just as animal, but something terrifying and dark.


Light blinded Harry as a large gunshot-like noise cracked open the air, spilling its tenseness and oppression into the street and down the sewage. Harry fell backwards right onto his butt. Though the noise and light surprised him, he was able to keep a good grip on his wand this time. Looking up, Harry was greeted with a friendly face staring down at him from a purple…bus? Yeah, it was definitely a bus. Triple decker by the looks of it. On its side, it said in swirly script, The Knight Bus.

The friendly looking man leaned out the open door, light spilling all around. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve-"

The conductor's loud voice fell silent as he caught sight of Harry who was still sitting on the ground. Scrambling up to his feet, Harry stuffed his wand back into his pocket. Looking at Stun, Harry was a bit surprised when he saw the man was just a few years older than him with a few noticeable pimples and very large ears.

"What were you doin' down there?" Stan asked, dropping his professional manner.

"Fell over." Grunted Harry.

Stan sniggered. "'Choo fall over for?"

Irritated, Harry said, "I didn't do it on purpose." Rubbing his tailbone in pain, Harry dusted some dirt off his shirt. Remembering the terrifying black thing that had been watching him moments before, Harry quickly peered around the bizarre purple bus. The sidewalk and shrubs were alight and nothing was there. Glancing at the ground, Harry noticed that the thing didn't even leave footprints.

Like it was never even there.

Biting back a shudder, Harry turned back to Stan who was now looking at him as if he were crazy.

"'Choo lookin' at?" Asked Stan.

"Um…nothing." Harry dismissed quickly. He wasn't so sure what he saw was even real. Though, if it wasn't real…well, he was pretty sure seeing things wasn't good in the Wizarding World either.

"Woss that on yer 'ead?" Stan continued abruptly, staring at his forehead.

Flattening down his hair over his scar, Harry barked out a quick "Nothing," He didn't want the Ministry of Magic tailing already.

"Woss yer name?" Stan persisted.

"Neville Longbottom." Harry said quickly, thinking of the first name that came to his head. "So, this…bus, did you say it can go anywhere? Harry continued, trying to distract Stan.

"Yep." Stan said, puffing up with pride. "Anywhere you like on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. 'Ere," he said, looking at Harry suspiciously, "you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out yer wand 'and dincha?"

"Yes." Harry said quickly. Thinking hard, Harry slipped his hand into his back pocket unconsciously. However, he didn't expect to feel a rumpled piece of paper inside. Blinking, Harry smiled slightly as he remembered who gave him the scrap of paper. "Listen, how much would it be to get to London?"

"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but firteen will get you a 'ot chocolate and fifteen will get you a 'ot water bottle an' toothbrush of the color of yer choice."

Rummaging in his trunk, Harry extracted his money and gave the correct amount to Stan. Pocketing the money, the two lifted Harry's trunk, Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus.

Stepping into the bus, Harry noticed that there were no seats; instead there was a half dozen brass bedsides stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning hot inside brackets besides each bed, making the wood-paneled walls glow with a warm yellow light. An old wizard with a nightcap muttered strange things as he slumbered. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, unlit candles still dripping small bits of wax.

"You 'ave this one." Stan grunted, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was an elderly looking wizard with thick glasses. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Neville Longbottom, Ern."

The elderly driver turned around in his armchair, giving a short but friendly nod to Harry. In response, Harry nervously flattened his bangs once again and sat at the edge of his bed.

"Take 'er away, Ern." Stan said, sitting down in his own armchair next to Ernie's.


Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backwards by the speed of the purple bus. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, Harry moved the curtain to the side, staring out at the dark night, seeing a completely different street. Everything was blurring together, a whirl of dark and moody colors. Stan watched Harry's stunned face with enjoyment.

Turning away from the blurry and dark night, Harry glanced at Stan, noticing him uncurling a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading, tongue gripped between his teeth with concentration. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair stared back at Harry. He looked vaguely familiar.

"That man! He was on the Muggle news!" Harry gasped in surprise, forgetting his troubles for a moment.

Turning to the front page, Stan looked at the picture and chuckled.

"Sirius Black," He said, nodding. "'Course he was on the Muggle news, Neville, where you been?" He gave a superior chuckle at the blank look Harry gave him and removed the front page, handing it over to Harry.

"You oughta read the paper more." He bereted.

Holding up the paper to the warm candlelight, Harry read the article


Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm." Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?" While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

Harry stared into Black's shadowed eyes, the only part of his thin face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he'd seen pictures in his Defense against the Dark Arts classes, and Black looked just like one.

"Scary-lookin' fing, isnee?" Stan said, having watched Harry read the article.

"He murdered thirteen people," Harry gasped, handing the paper back to Stan. "With one curse?"

"Yep. In front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Earn?"

"Ar." Ernie muttered darkly, eyes still focused ahead.

Stan swiveled around to face Harry completely. "Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-Oo. When little 'Arry Potter got the better of 'im…"

Harry nervously flattened his hair for a third time.

"All 'is supporters was tracked down. Most knew it was all over an' came quietly. But not Sirius Black. The cornered him in a street full of Muggles. Black took out 'is wand an' blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles got in that way. Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.

"What?" Asked Harry, staring at Stan with wide eyes.

"laughed." Stan said. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. 'es mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"

"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now." Ernie muttered in his slow voice.

Harry swallowed thickly, thinking back to what he did a few hours before. He had broken the law, just like Black. Would he be sent to Azkaban? Harry didn't really know much about the prison, but what little he's heard of it, he could tell it was a fearful place. Hagrid had only spent a few months there last year and Harry couldn't forget the look of terror that crossed his face every time it was mentioned and Hagrid was one of the bravest people Harry knew.

The Knight Bus continued to barrel through the night. As the night continued on, passengers slowly trickled out of the bus, finally reaching their destination happily until Harry was the last one on the bus.

"Right then, Neville." Stan said, clapping his hands together merrily. "Where to in London?"

Reaching into his back pocket, Harry fished out the little scrap of paper. Unfolding the rumpled paper the best he could, Harry read of the address printed messily in pen.

"Ain't that a Muggle place? Well, 'Old tight, then…"


The bus thundered along the new road, buildings tall and proud squeezing the side of the bus as it dodged Muggle cars that sped along the road. Harry stared outside, noticing the sky getting a little lighter. If anyone could help him, it would definitely be Edward. The man did say to come over whenever he needed to and based off his personality, Harry could tell that Edward didn't exactly always listen to the rules. Or, in this case, laws.

Finally, the bus shuddered to a stop besides some normal looking flats. Thanking both Ernie and Stan as jumped off the steps, his heavy trunk having already been lowered by Stan. Taking the handle, Harry ignored the large BANG! That shot through the air as the Knight bus took off once again. Holding the little scrap of paper in front of him, Harry quickly found Edward's flat.

Heaving his trunk up every step, Harry was gasping for breath by the time he reached the top. Staring at the black painted door, Harry hesitated briefly before knocking loudly three times.

A few moments later, Harry heard the sound of someone tripping and something falling down. Muffled curses in an unknown language were heard through the wooden door. Backing away from the entrance, the black door swung open, revealing a pair of tired golden-eyes and a head of unbound messy golden hair.

"Harry?" Edward muttered, sleep in his voice.

"Hey, Edward. Um, I…kinda need help…" Harry said awkwardly and nervously.

"Help?" Edwrad asked, his voice growing stronger as he woke up.

Harry swallowed. "Yeah…you see…I'm kinda running from the law."

Edward straitened his back immediately, all sleep gone from the messy man.



Well, look at that! Things are already vastly different from the book! I did good.

Anyways, nothing much has been going on. I'll try to get the second chapter out soon, but it might be a while.

Right now, I'm balancing two fanfictions. The next chapter for this fanfiction will be posted after I post the fourth chapter of Blue Magic

When will that be? I...have no clue. It's been slow going but it shouldn't take too long. Hopefully.

Oh, and I forgot to mention. Back when I was proof reading the first part, I noticed I put in a lot of easter eggs by accident.

And I mean a lot.

So, because I'm not going change it or anything, I'll make it a bit of a game. See if you can find all the easter eggs I've accidently put into this story.

the easter eggs can be anything, song titles, bits of lyrics, band names, TV show names, pop culture, theories, conspiracies...ect.

Now, rereading this chapter, there is an easter egg hidden in it. It's pretty obscure in this chapter, (ok, really obscure) but see if you can find it.

Anyways, as always, thanks for reading and drop a review if you want! You guys know by now that I love 'em!