Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist or Harry Potter. They belong to Hiromu Arakawa and JK Rowling, respectively. Dear Muse, why must you plant ideas in my head and make me impatient to begin writing them if you know I'm still working on so many other things?
Please disregard the last few manga chapters. I just want to say that Ed and Al beat the Homunculi, and Mustang isn't blind. It's so much harder to make an arrogant ass out of a blind man.
If you asked Edward Elric, he would say that he was overworked. Having no rest since the battle on the Promised Day, he was not happy to be called into the Colonel's office. This was especially true because of the fact that Al was still out on a mission. When he had gotten his body back, he insisted on becoming a State Alchemist like his older brother. The Golden Alchemist was off helping with the reconstruction in Liore.
But back to Ed. As it was, the FullMetal Alchemist had just come back from a mission in the North. It was a diplomatic mission to try and reestablish ties with Drachma. He had literally arrived back in Central an hour before Hawkeye had told him to report to Colonel Mustang's office.
So there he was, standing outside the Colonel's office debating on whether to knock on the door politely and then yell Mustang's ears off, or simply bust down door.
While still deciding (and heavily leaning towards the latter), the door decided to open in spite of him.
A little confusion replaced the anger, and he walked into the office. Inside, he beheld a very strange sight.
Mustang was sitting at his desk, as usual, but sitting on one of the two couches was a strange looking man in purple robes and a pointed hat.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Elric, correct?" asked the man. He was speaking quite plainly, but he had a weird accent that Ed had never heard before.
"That's me," Ed said. "Who are you, old man?"
"Ed," Mustang said in a warning tone.
Oddly enough, the old man laughed. "No, it's quite alright," he said. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."
It was the strangest name the young Alchemist had ever heard, and Ed had been around quite a lot. He had heard some odd names before.
"I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the man named Albus continued. "It is a school for magic."
Ed raised an eyebrow. "Magic doesn't exist," he said. "It would bypass Equivalent Exchange. You can't just forget about the laws of the universe!"
"I assure you, Edward," Dumbledore told him, "that magic does exist."
"I assure you, old man," Ed retorted, "that I do not believe you."
"Then I shall prove it to you," the old man said. He drew a long, thin stick out of his robes. He pointed it at a couch. Immediately, the couch was on fire. It made even Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, jump a little. Then, quickly as it started, the flames went out.
Edward went over to the couch and looked at it. There were no burn marks at all. He put his flesh hand on it. It wasn't even hot! The Flame Colonel couldn't do that.
Ed looked back at Dumbledore, who had a look of a little kid who was going to say, "I told ya so!"
"So, what does this have to do with me?" Ed asked.
"There are two things, actually," Dumbledore answered. "First, I have decided to resurrect a class that has not been taught at Hogwarts for a long time. The class would be, of course, Alchemy. As such, I need a skilled Alchemist to teach said class. I do like having the best, and your Colonel says that would be you."
Ed smirked. What could he say? He liked compliments. "But what's the second thing?" he asked.
"Well, as I doubt you are aware," Dumbledore began, "the Wizarding World is on the threshold of war. Of course, much of our world is doing its best to ignore it. As such, there is only a small group of us who are willing to fight the man behind it before he makes himself known. We are known as the Order of the Phoenix, and it would be quite beneficial to our cause if you would lend your skills to our cause."
"And who is it you're fighting against?" Ed asked.
"He is a dark wizard who goes by the name of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore answered (Ed was beginning to think that all of these people had weird names). "His followers are known as Death Eaters. So, what do you say?"
Ed shrugged. "Why not?" he said. "I really have nothing better to do. And these guys can't be worse than the Homunculi, can they?" Mustang agreed.
"Perfect!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "I will give
"Perfect!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "How long do you need to pack?"
"Not long," Ed answered. He was used to traveling light. Then he remembered something. "Wait, what about Al? He's in Liore right now."
"Your brother will be fine," Mustang assure Ed. "He's under me, remember?"
"That's what I'm worried about," Ed muttered.
"If you can go collect your things," Dumbledore said, "do you think you will be ready to leave by this evening?"
Ed nodded and left to pack,
While loading things into a suitcase, Ed realized that he must be mad to be doing this. Still, it sounded interesting, and he was an impulsive person.
When he met up with Dumbledore once again, he showed him an old boot.
"What's with the boot?" Ed asked.
"This how we are getting to London," Dumbledore told him. "Grab hold."
Warily, Ed took hold of the boot. For a second, nothing happened.
Suddenly, Ed felt a jerking sensation behind his navel and was spinning around.
Just as he was getting dizzy, he fell face down on pavement.
He was in a neighborhood he didn't recognize. It was dark, and he could barely see a thing.
"Here," Dumbledore said, handing him a piece of parchment.
Ed almost jumped at the voice, because in the confusion, Ed had forgotten about the old man. Still, he took the parchment.
"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," he read out loud.
Instantly, a house materialized between two others, looking like it had always been there.
Ed realized that it was definitely going to take a long time to get used to this magic stuff.