Been a while, huh. I wanted to post this on 503 day but life got in the way ╮(─▽─)╭. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Mr. Weasley woke them after only a few hours' sleep and Ed could see the others weren’t thrilled about it. Waking up early for two days straight must have been hard after the sleeping in for so long. Not to mention after the shitstorm that was last night. Ed himself had a hard time sleeping since he got Al’s body back. Now that his brother’s body didn’t rely on him for sleep, Ed didn’t need to sleep as much as he used to. But his body was still not used to it so he’s stuck in between, where his mind is fresh after sleep but his body feels lethargic.

He watched as Mr. Weasley used magic to pack up the tents, and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague “Merry Christmas.”

“He’ll be all right,” said Mr. Weasley quietly as they marched off onto the moor. “Sometimes, when a person’s memory’s modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while... and that was a big thing they had to make him forget.”

Ed felt a little sick and from the look on Winry’s and Al’s faces, they felt the same way.

Getting to the portkeys was a mess since everyone wanted to get as far away from here as possible. Everyone was freaked out by the mob yesterday. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley got them a portkey quickly, and they were on their way to the Burrow.

“Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!”

Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

“Arthur — I’ve been so worried — so worried —”

She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley’s neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Ed took the newspaper from the ground when he saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.

“You’re all right,” Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, “you’re alive.... Oh boys...”

Ed watched as she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together. He didn’t get why all the wizards looked surprised. She almost just lost all her family because some jerks couldn’t handle their liquor and were assholes. But he didn’t get why only the twins were getting this treatment.

“Ouch! Mum — you’re strangling us —”

“I shouted at you before you left!” Mrs. Weasley said, sobbing. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn’t get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred... George...”

‘Oh yeah… That happened.’

“Come on, now, Molly, we’re all perfectly okay,” said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prying her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. “Edward,” he added in an undertone, “can you give me that paper, I want to see what it says....”

When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of some liquor. He scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

“I knew it,” said Mr. Weasley heavily. “Ministry blunders... culprits not apprehended... lax security... Dark wizards running unchecked... national disgrace... Who wrote this? Ah... of course... Rita Skeeter.”

“That woman’s got it in for the Ministry of Magic!” said Percy furiously. “Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn’t specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans —"

“Do us a favour, Perce,” said Bill, yawning, “and shut up.”

“I’m mentioned,” said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

“Where?” spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. “If I’d seen that, I’d have known you were alive!”

“Not by name,” said Mr. Weasley. “Listen to this: ‘If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.’ Oh really,” said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. “Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods... well, there certainly will be rumours now she’s printed that.”

“Wow. Talk about fake news.” Suddenly a thought came to Ed. “Wait, is that the only newspaper printing here?”

“Well, there are some but none of them are as read as the Daily Prophet.” Mr. Weasley said before he heaved a deep sigh. “Molly, I’m going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over.”

“I’ll come with you, Father,” said Percy importantly. “Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person.”

As the kitchen bustled, Ed walked up to their room, giving Al a pat to let him know. Just as he got in, his pet named Calypso (named by Al) came slithering towards him.

“Hey little guy. Miss me?” he asked, the snake coiled around his finger. He took a paper and a pen (because there was no way he was using a quill unless forced!), went to his bed and started writing.

Colonel Bastard,

I see you still haven’t gotten that promotion yet. Better make it fast, you ain’t getting any younger. The mission is… going, I guess. Contact with Harry Potter has been made, but there has been no further progress. There was an incident with Moldevart or something’s followers at the Quidich? game last night. It would have been nice to know the guy is the boogyman of the wizard community. Every one of these nuclear bombs are scared of even uttering his name.

Integration into Hogwarts is complete. We are placed in the same class as the target, but the ridiculous rules of this school may cause us to be in separate dorms. Don’t know about you, but I don’t see how such a prejudiced society will be accepting towards Amestrian kids.

Edward Elric

Fullmetal Alchemist

He folded the letter into an envelope and went to get Winry’s bird, Ezra. “Give the bastard a few pecks for me, alright?” Ezra hooted and quickly flew away. Ed knew the bird would obey his request. If there was one thing they both had in common besides the eyes, it was that Ezra liked annoying others just as much as him.

(｡･ω･｡)

The week before school neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was home much. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up and returned well after dinner every night. Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Ed found this clock pretty cool. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family’s names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. “Home,” “school,” and “work” were there, but there was also “travelling,” “lost,” “hospital,” “prison,” and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, “mortal peril.”

Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the “home” position, but Mr. Weasley’s, which was the longest, was still pointing to “work.” Mrs. Weasley sighed.

“Your father hasn’t had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who,” she said. “They’re working him far too hard. His dinner’s going to be ruined if he doesn’t come home soon.”

“Well, Father feels he’s got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn’t he?” said Percy. “If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first —"

“Don’t you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!” said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.

‘Why did I agree to stay here again? I was totally fine at the Leaky Cauldron.’ Ed thought tiredly, looking away from another fight between the mother and son because the son was an insensitive prick.

He watched Fred and George, sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.

“What are you two up to?” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.

“Homework,” said Fred vaguely.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still on holiday,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Yeah, we’ve left it a bit late,” said George.

“You’re not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?” said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. “You wouldn’t be thinking of restarting Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?”

“Now, Mum,” said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. “If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?”

Ed snorted as everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley. Of all the Weasleys the twins would be his most favourite. That is when they weren’t pranking him, anyway.

“Oh, your father’s coming!” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.

Mr. Weasley’s hand had suddenly spun from “work” to “travelling”; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on “home” with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.

“Coming, Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.

A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

“Well, the fat’s really in the fire now,” he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. “Rita Skeeter’s been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she’s found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that’ll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago.”

“Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks,” said Percy swiftly.

‘Go any farther up his ass and he won’t even be able to shit you out.’ Ed thought, irritated. He might not have much patience, but Percy was scratching on his last final nerves for far too long.

“Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn’t found out about Winky,” said Mr. Weasley irritably. “There’d be a week’s worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark.”

“I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?” said Percy hotly.

“If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!” said Hermione angrily.

“Now look here, Hermione!” said Percy. “A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants —”

“His slave, you mean!” said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, “because he didn’t pay Winky, did he?”

“I think you’d all better go upstairs and check that you’ve packed properly!” said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. “Come on now, all of you....”

(●__●)

“Please tell me I’m not the only one who felt awkward there!” Ed said as soon as they reached their room.

“What are you talking about brother?” Al asked, cradling his little kitten, Jin.

“I mean about how this prick of a son keeps acting like he’s all high and mighty. Mustang is one thing, but at least he doesn’t act like he’s the only right one.”

“You might be right, Ed, but it’s not really something we should be concerned about. It’s their family’s business.” Winry said and Ed could see that she was right. Still, it didn’t mean that he didn’t feel an unexplainable feeling to tape that guy’s face up. “Did you guys check your dress robes?”

“Dress robes?” Ed asked, confused. Winry throw a packet at him. Ezra had come back yesterday with three packets and a letter. Ed smirked as he remembered Mustang’s… suggestion on how Ezra had behaved when she arrived in Amestris. He had promised more information on the bogyman. For now, they only had sent what Dumbledore had revealed but Mustang would soon sent an investigation team with the Fuhrer’s permission.

He opened the packet Winry threw to see a set of robes that looked like a suit and…

“Oh, hell no!” he yelled, taking out an Amestrian military uniform, presumably in his size. “Why the hell did he send this?!”

“Maybe there might an occasion where he wants you to wear it?” Al said.

“I never wore this back home. Why the hell would he think I would wear this in that crack pot school?”

“I thought you didn’t wear one because they didn’t have one your size.” Winry teased.

“Who are you calling a shorty that can barely fit in clothes?!”

“Brother, stop!”

So I might be a bit hard on Percy, but in fairness he pisses me off in these books. More of my opinions on the Harry Potter characters might come out in this fic but that's basically why I started writing this fic soooo....

I also have a question: How many of you would be interested in a Phineas and Ferb reaction fic? I recently watched the first movie again, and I got the idea to write it.

I'm not going to not write it just because no one is interested, but it would be nice to know someone will read it if I post it.

Bye!