Stand

By Ammie Hawk

Disclaimer: I own neither FMA or HP, not now or ever.

Summary: When Ed and Al went back through the Gate, they didn't quite end up where they expected to be. What will they make of a school, nay an entire world, full of magic? How will they make it back to their own time and place with crazed Dark Lords lurking in the background and a community that doesn't believe it is possible?

AN: Okay, so I shouldn't have started this one either, but... I found myself lacking in decent FMA/HP stories that had what I was actually looking for... so this is my attempt at creating the fic I want to read. Takes place HP book 5 and post FMA first anime, not Brotherhood/manga compliant. BTW, I did use a large section out of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, just to show where this story began, and hopefully I will veer way off the book, cause while I do use it as a reference I don't want this fic to follow the same lines as Castle Guards.

Prologue: One Door Closes

"So what now?" a dark haired man surveyed the vehicle and the blond boy, no man, in front of him through his uncovered eye.

"I need to go back," the blond looked over his shoulder into the plane behind him.

"Wait!" another blond, behind the one eyed man's back, lurched forward. "Brother no! I just got you back, you can't go again!"

"I have to break the Gate on their side," gold eyes surveyed his younger brother fondly. "I need you to stay here, Al, and destroy it on this side too, so the portal can never be opened again."

"Fullmetal... Ed," the dark haired man shook his head, "you don't have to rush off right away. You could at least say good bye this time."

"I guess a few minutes wouldn't hurt, Colonel," Ed sighed, looking back at the airship. "I'll have to send the ship ahead, though, the fuel won't last long, and I'm not sure about the landing."

"Show me what to do," Al ran over to his older brother. "I'll have a suit pilot it back."

Colonel Roy Mustang watched the two brothers with a ringing sense of nostalgia. If there way any way humanly possible, he would not let those two separate again. With that thought firmly rooted in his mind, he followed the pair, a faint smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth.

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Harry waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner into Magnolia Crescent and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.

"Hey, Big D!"

Dudley turned.

"Oh," he grunted. "It's you."

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.

"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.

"Cool name," said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin. "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."

"I said, SHUT IT!" said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?"

Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control.

"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asked, his grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago—"

"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley.

"Oh yeah?"

"He cheeked me."

"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true..."

A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It gave Harry enormous satisfaction to know how furious he was making Dudley; he felt as though he was siphoning off his own frustration into his cousin, the only outlet he had.

They turned right down the narrow alleyway where Harry had first seen Sirius and which formed a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley said after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"That—that thing you're hiding."

Harry grinned again.

"Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time..."

Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.

"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"

"They haven't," said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Harry laughed softly.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Dudley snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen for your information," snarled Dudley, "and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out—"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley.

"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled.

He had stopped walking. Harry stopped too, staring at his cousin. From the little he could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphantly look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" said Harry, completely nonplussed. "What—am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?"

"I heard you last night," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talking in your sleep. Moaning."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.

Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter then adopted a high-pitched, whimpering voice. "'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric—your boyfriend?"

"I—you're lying—" said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying—how else would he know about Cedric?

"'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!'"

"Shut up," said Harry quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!"

"'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to—' Don't you point that thing at me!"

Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. Harry could feel fourteen years' hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins—what wouldn't he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers—

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM—"

Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless—the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could—then his reason caught up with his senses—he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear.

"W-hat are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I—"

"I said shut up!"

Harry stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up—he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing...

It was impossible... They couldn't be here... Not in Little Whinging... He strained his ears... He would hear them before he saw them...

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do—?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis—"

But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut—"

WHAM!

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting Harry off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of Harry's eyes; for the second time in an hour he felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment he had landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown out of his hand.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could only mean one thing. There was more than one.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. "Where's—wand—come on—Lumos!"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search—and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand—the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his feet, Harry retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain—concentrate—"

A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry's ears.

"Expecto Patronum!"

His voice sounded dim and distant... Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand—he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell—

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter... He could smell the dementor's putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him—Think... something happy...

But there was no happiness in him... The dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat—the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head—"Bow to death, Harry... It might even be painless... I would not know... I have never died..."

He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again—

And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath—

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand, but it wasn't needed. Just as it was about to charge, something very solid landed right on top of the dementor leaning over Harry. Emerald eyes widened as the figure shifted off the dementor. The dark creature slowly began rising into the air, as if pulled upwards into a giant vacuum.

"THIS WAY!" Harry shouted at the stag. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft, completely ignoring the fallen figure for now, there were more important matters to deal with at the moment. "DUDLEY? DUDLEY!"

He had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped over his face; a second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prizing them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as thought about to kiss him...

"GET IT!" Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag he had conjured came galloping back past him. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when another figure fell on it and, like its fellow, it was sucked into a dark swirling vortex in the sky before it suddenly disappeared. The stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into a silver mist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, talking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors here, in Little Whinging...

A low groan sounded from the second figure that had fallen beside Dudley. In one swift movement it was on it's feet, looking wildly around.

"Brother!"

It was a boy, around the same age as Harry himself was, possibly a year or two older, with dark blond hair pulled back into a long tail. His brown eyes were scanning the alleyway almost frantically. They bypassed Harry after a cursory glance before landing on the other figure that had fallen on Harry's dementor.

"Brother!" he rushed over and rolled the other over, so he was face up. "Wake up, brother!"

"Al," the other groaned quietly, "you're sitting on my arm."

"I'm sorry!" the first, now identified as Al, shifted slightly. "Brother, where are we?"

"The other side of the Gate, Al," the other slowly pushed to his feet and began dusting himself off. "But I don't think we're in Germany."

Harry shook his head and turned his attention away from the pair, at the moment they weren't a threat. Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, but then heard loud, running footsteps behind him; instinctively raising his wand again, he spun on his heel to face the newcomer.

Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbor, came panting into sight. Her grizzled gray hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist, and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry made to stow his wand hurriedly out of sight, but—

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

Ammie: Okay, so I did it... kill me why don't ya. Okay, please don't, then Duo will be free to roam the earth and no one will be able to contain him. Anyway, I hope you like the beginning of my new fic.