Finally, after a very, veeery long wait, here is chapter 20! I'm very sorry about the delay, but I won't entertain you with excuses about why it happened. Let's just hope I don't take so long with the next chapter.

Chapter 20

Alastor stepped out of the fireplace so late that it was already early in the morning of the day following what was already coming to be known as the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

Alastor thought that "battle" was a far too generous term to describe what had happened.

Albus was waiting at his desk, his expression sombre and his eyes heavy, not quite as calm as he had looked at the Order meeting a few hours ago.

There was a glass of firewhiskey frozen with a stasis charm on the desk before the seat across from Albus. Alastor walked over, waved his wand to dispel the charm, downed the drink, and plopped down on the seat.

"You'd better have more of that," he said.

Albus waved his wand and a bottle flew over to the desk.

Alastor drank again, and Albus simply waited him out in silence.

"All right," Alastor finally started, "what in Merlin's name happened last night?"

Earlier, Albus had assured the Order that everything was fine with Mustang, to varying degrees of comfort from the Order members.

"As you saw, Roy is quite the proficient fighter."

Alastor snorted.

"Way to put it. What I want to know is why he is here. Mustang clearly doesn't need the Order's protection. Hell, he could protect us. So why did you lie?"

Albus closed his eyes, and Alastor knew he wouldn't receive a straight answer even before Albus opened his mouth to speak.

"I can't tell you, Alastor. Don't mistake my words, I wish I could, but it is a very delicate matter."

Alastor stared, making his displeasure very clear. He knew he wouldn't get any more information than that.

"Do you trust him?"

"I do."

"I don't."

"I'm aware. And so is Roy. I'd appreciate it if you didn't curse him, though."

"If he doesn't do anything suspicious, I'll try not to. I don't want to get roasted."

When a small burst of fire startled Aurora Sinistra awake and dropped a piece of parchment on her bedside table, she nearly fell out of bed in her haste to read it. It was a summons to the staff room in an hour's time, written in the familiar handwriting of Albus Dumbledore.

There was no chance she'd waste time after that.

Aurora dressed up far quicker than was her custom, throwing on the first set of robes she found in her closet, and she rushed out of her rooms. It was early in the morning, so early that not even the portraits were awake, but late enough that both prefects and professors were long since done patrolling. She doubted even any students who'd broken curfew were still around.

Aurora stopped by a window and used the reflection to check her appearance. She straightened her clothes, charmed her hair into a semblance of order, and continued on her way.

She wasn't the first one to reach the staff room.

Argus Filch was there, his expression sourer than usual. Pomona was sitting in one of the plush armchairs, nursing a cup that smelled strongly of coffee. Seeing the wisdom in Pomona's choice of drink, Aurora headed for the side table the house elves had set up with snacks and prepared herself a cup.

She settled on the armchair next to Pomona.

"Do you know what's happening?" Aurora asked.

"Some of it," Pomona replied, a vicious glint in her eyes. She shifted to sit sideways, facing Aurora as much as the armchair allowed. "Late last night aurors came to the school and arrested Umbridge for attempting to use the cruciatus curse on Harry Potter."

Aurora nearly dropped her cup. She blinked, half-expecting Pomona to say it was a joke. But Pomona's face was threatening to break into a smirk, and nobody would dare to joke about something as serious as finally being rid of Dolores Umbridge.

"And you didn't tell me?" Aurora asked instead. She would feel offended were the news not so good.

"Filius thought it best to keep it quiet after Robards showed up. The only reason I know is because I was with Filius." Pomona leaned forward. "But I expect the students will already know about it."

Aurora raised her eyebrows, silently asking for more details. When Pomona pretended she didn't get the message, Aurora gave in and asked.

"And why is that?"

"Half of the Inquisitorial Squad and part of Potter's defence group were there. And that's not even the best part." This time Pomona did smirk. "According to Robards, it was Roy who told them about Umbridge. And Umbridge looked pretty bad off when they carted her away."

"Roy?"

Aurora jumped in place. She hadn't heard anyone approach, but now Charity Burbage was leaning over the back of her armchair to listen to Pomona, surprise written across her face.

"Are you sure?" Charity asked, placing a hand on one of Aurora's armrests. "Roy Mustang? Nice, charming Roy?"

As they spoke, other professors had arrived at the staff room, but when the door opened again it was to let in Dumbledore and Roy. Aurora, along with many others, stood up when she saw Dumbledore in all his multicoloured, shimmering glory. She'd never thought she would be glad to see his personal brand of style anywhere, but here she was, grinning at the mere sight of him.

Merlin, she'd missed Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in that way of his.

"Ah, I see we have all developed a penchant for arriving early to meetings during my absence," he said, voice full of amusement. "Shall we begin, then?"

It took fifteen minutes for the meeting to begin.

To Filius' complete lack of surprise, his fellow professors all wanted to welcome Dumbledore back to Hogwarts before they moved on to anything else. Once they were finally settled around the table, Dumbledore began to update them on everything that had happened last night. Filius already knew about Roy's run-in with Umbridge, of course —and he had to admit a certain level of curiosity over the spell Roy had used to stop her— but he nearly fell off the pile of books on top of his chair when Dumbledore told them about the Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic and his own duel with Lord Voldemort.

"As you can no doubt imagine, the Ministry can no longer deny Voldemort's return," Dumbledore continued, his face disturbingly sombre as he retold the story. "They are in quite the upheaval now, and I expect they will continue that way until they replace Cornelius Fudge at the very least. We shall take advantage of this period to right all the wrongs Dolores Umbridge has wrought at Hogwarts this past year. All of Fudge's educational decrees have, of course, been annulled, and the Inquisitorial Squad has been disbanded. All of you have been here for the last months while I was not, and I expect you have a better idea of which issues should be addressed first."

Dumbledore fell silent, opening the ground for suggestions.

Filius looked around, trying to decide which of the many issues plaguing the school were more pressing. They had all been so caught up in their passive-aggressive resistance that the ease with which the problem of Umbridge had been solved in the end had caught everybody off-guard.

"You should fire Filch."

Everybody turned to the source of the words to see Roy on his armchair, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table and his hands clasped before his mouth. His expression was one of complete seriousness.

Argus was the first one to react. He jumped to his feet, a livid expression on his face.

"Fire me?! How dare you, you little—!" Argus cut himself off. Roy was giving him a very dark glare, one that gained a lot of weight with the knowledge that Roy had been in a fight against Death Eaters and come out of it unscathed.

"If I remember correctly," Roy began, his voice calm and cold, "you were delighted when Fudge authorised you to whip students. And I am certain you would have done it if I hadn't destroyed your whips."

All of Filius' curiosity and slight amusement vanished at the reminder, at the memory of Argus shoving his way through a crowd of students with that horrid slip of paper that allowed him to whip students.

"That was you?!" Argus demanded, his face red with anger.

Roy ignored him and turned to Dumbledore instead.

"I understand that you don't want to leave Mr. Filch in need, but I am certain any of the many people who will be falling over themselves to get back on your good side would be more than willing to find him new employment. Hopefully somewhere he won't be in contact with children."

The Great Hall was abuzz with whispers. Ginny was stopped by three different groups on her way to the Gryffindor table. The story of yesterday's run in with Umbridge and the ensuing skirmish between Dumbledore's Army and the Inquisitorial Squad, as well as Umbridge's arrest, had made the rounds throughout the school, and people wanted details from someone who'd been there.

Ginny herself felt elated.

Not even in her wildest dreams would she have expected the aurors to come and arrest Umbridge after Professor Mustang had left, but that was what had happened. Mad-Eye had also taken a moment to tell them that everybody was fine before he and that auror with him dragged Umbridge out of the office. After that, Flitwick and Sprout had shooed the members of Dumbledore's Army back to their common room, saying they'd take care of the bound —and in some cases unconscious— members of the Inquisitorial Squad.

Ginny was disappointed to see said members still at the school today, but their crestfallen and angry faces almost made up for it.

The volume in the Great Hall suddenly decreased. Curious, Ginny raised her head and she felt her jaw slacken when she saw Albus Dumbledore walk up to the head table from the side door members of staff used sometimes.

She had no idea what had happened yesterday outside of Hogwarts, but she found herself grinning and joining the sudden boisterous applause that greeted the Headmaster.

Hogwarts was back to normal.

Draco wasn't hungry.

He kept his head down and ignored Dumbledore as he rattled on about who-knew-what stupid thing the old coot thought important to address now that he was back at the school.

Earlier today, so early Draco had still been in his dormitory, an owl from his mother had arrived. It only carried a short note, written in a barely perceptible shaky hand. In it, his mother told Draco that his father had been arrested. There were no details, no information. She didn't know more, at least not through whatever meagre explanation the aurors had deigned to give her, and she couldn't risk giving away anything else through a letter now that the mail was no longer safe for Slytherin.

His father had been arrested.

Draco clenched his jaw until it was painful. Officially, they may not know more information, but he was no idiot. Potter's ravings yesterday when he'd tried to use Umbridge's floo left little up to the imagination: his father had been on a mission for the Dark Lord.

And now Draco's world was turned upside down.

Yesterday, he'd led the most powerful student organization in Hogwarts and his family had been firmly favoured by the Dark Lord. Today, students were free to despise him without repercussions and the Dark Lord was no doubt livid for whatever had happened.

Draco didn't look forward to going back home this summer.

The Daily Prophet made no mention of yesterday's Death Eater incursion. Roy had half-expected as much, given that the Ministry of Magic was likely still too panicked to even make a statement. It didn't, in fact, mention anything about yesterday, despite the fact that at least Umbridge's arrest should have reached their ears on time for the morning edition.

"They won't do anything without the Ministry's permission," Albus said, breaking Roy out of his contemplation of the bland articles. "Given the control Fudge has exercised over the paper this last year, they wouldn't dare."

Roy snorted, completely unsurprised. He set the paper on the desk and crossed his arms, looking up at Albus.

"That will be a problem as the war advances," he pointed out, reminded of Amestris' own media and how little people thought of it. Taking Mrs. Bradley's fabricated story to the radio during the Promised Day had been a risky bet, one that Roy was still amazed had been taken so well by the radio's workers.

"I'm aware. It's fortunate then that the population have other papers to turn to now, isn't it?" Albus said, a twinkle in his eyes.

"The Quibbler?" Roy asked. It was true that magazine had been all people could talk about for weeks, but it was a monthly publication with too many whacky articles to be relied on as a steady source of information.

"I believe Xenophilius will take good advantage of this opportunity," Albus said with a nod.

Roy shrugged. He wasn't here to talk about wizarding media.

"How was the meeting yesterday?" he asked.

"It went better than you doubtlessly fear," Albus replied with a smile, his eyes twinkling. "I even convinced Alastor to refrain from cursing you unless you provoke him."

"Oh, wonderful," Roy deadpanned. "What about the non-paranoid members of the Order?" he asked, though he could imagine the answer.

"Their reactions varied considerably. I'm afraid Molly Weasley was rather scared of what Remus shared about last night, but some people —like Sirius— appeared more thoughtful than anything else."

Yes, of course. Roy would eat his gloves if he needed two hands to count those people.

"Speaking of Sirius," he said, taking the chance to broach a topic he'd been thinking about for a while, "now that the Ministry has those Death Eaters and they can no longer deny the war, it would be a good time to have his name cleared."

"I agree," Albus said, an easy smile tugging his lips up, "and as soon as there is a new Minister for Magic I intend to address Sirius' situation."

Roy nodded, glad that they could agree on this.

"Is there anything we can do now?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Albus admitted. "Tom is regrouping, and so is the Ministry. We can't do much more than wait and see what will happen. I do, however, have good news."

"What is it?"

"I believe I have located one of Tom's horcruxes."

Roy spent the remainder of the day holed up in the study in his rooms. On his way out of Albus' office he'd received some awed looks from the students he passed that made it clear the news of how he'd dealt with Umbridge had spread. Even if he knew he couldn't escape the consequences forever, the thought of children being in awe of him for burning off a person's hand was sickening.

Thus, Roy chose to spend as long as he could get away with sequestered in his rooms and focused on his research. Albus locating one of Riddle's horcruxes meant Roy would have a chance to test an array soon. Now he only had to get on with it and finish the damned thing.

Roy didn't emerge from his rooms again until Sunday morning, after an owl with that day's Daily Prophet arrived with his copy. The news about the Death Eaters were finally out, and he wanted to observe people's response to them. Having something to distract the students from Roy himself was an incentive.

He arrived at the Great Hall for the second half of breakfast, hungry despite the fact that house elves had been popping into his rooms over the last two days to bring him food.

As Sunday went by, people could be found all over the school whispering to one another, in many cases holding copies of the newspaper. Hostile glares were exchanged between students, noticeably those students whose families had participated in opposing sides of the previous war. No fights broke out, but the tension didn't bode well for the foreseeable future.

That day, both Minerva and Hagrid returned to Hogwarts.

On Monday, a pantomime of normalcy settled over the school. Classes resumed, and it was the professors' duty to try and keep the students calm and focused on the present. Roy spent that last week of classes evaluating the alchemy projects and fending off questions about how he'd dealt with Umbridge. While no student had drawn the connection between the fire and alchemy, many had asked to be taught the "spell" Roy had used. He'd had to state in every class that he had no intention of teaching anyone the technique. He didn't disabuse them of the belief that he had used a spell.

Meanwhile, Albus had been reinstated to all the titles he'd lost last summer, the Ministry was doing everything it could to save face after their year of denial of Riddle's return, the pranks throughout the school had stopped (Filius had even removed Fred and George's swamp, though he'd left a small part of it as a memento), both Firenze and Trelawney would share the position as Divination professors, and Filch kept throwing murderous glares at Roy every time they crossed paths. Albus had heeded Roy's words, and Argus Filch wouldn't return to Hogwarts next year. Someone had caught word of this news even though there had been no official announcement yet, and the students didn't bother to hide their glee and relief over it, something that did nothing to appease Filch's animosity. Roy couldn't care less about what someone like that thought of him.

Roy was vegetating on the couch, taking a break from the formulas and calculations for the array, when there was a knock on his door.

Sighing, Roy stood up and walked over to the door. The very complex wards he'd cast on the wood hadn't been triggered, which suggested the person on the other side bore no ill intentions.

Roy was ready to clap his hands all the same.

When he gestured the door open with a lazy use of wandless magic, Minerva McGonagall stood in the hallway.

Roy blinked, allowing himself to show the surprise he felt.

"May I help you?" he asked, taking a step back in case Minerva wanted to come in.

Minerva did indeed accept the offer to walk inside, and she subjected Roy to a long scrutinizing look before she answered.

"I hear you have spent a lot of time on your own," she said. Waving a hand, she made a chess board materialise on the coffee table. "I understand that having so much attention focused on you may be daunting, Roy, but you won't gain anything by holing yourself up here."

Roy looked at her, at the expectant look she was giving him and the lack of judgement and reprimand in her face. He smiled, and was surprised to find the expression was genuine.

"Of course. You'll have to excuse me, Minerva, it's been a while since I last played chess. I'm not sure if I'll be a good match."

As a fifth year student, the only class Hermione had to attend after her OWLs was Alchemy. This meant she, along with every fifth and seventh year student, had most of the last week of term free to do as she wished.

Hermione Granger had never been one to laze about with no purpose and so, after three days spent talking with Harry and Ron, she marched down to the second floor.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous, but she wasn't afraid. No, past the initial shock, Hermione had quickly realised she had no reason to be afraid. This was Professor Mustang, who'd gone out of his way to help them and had saved them from Umbridge on Thursday. It was something they had all agreed quickly on.

And so, with determination coursing through her, Hermione raised her hand to knock on the door to Professor Mustang's office.

After a short pause, Professor Mustang called her in, and Hermione pushed the door open. She found him sitting behind his desk, a pile of parchment pushed to one side despite the fact she knew he had nothing left to mark, with one of his green pens on top of it.

"Miss Granger," he greeted her, nodding at one of the chairs before his desk. "How can I help you?"

Hermione closed the door behind her and walked over to the chair. She sat down, her nerves making an attempt to come back that she managed to resist.

"I want to ask you a favour," Hermione said before her nerves took the better of her. There, with the words out she wouldn't back out.

Professor Mustang raised his eyebrows, though he looked more amused than anything else. He leant forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

"What kind of favour?" he asked, and the way it took him a moment too long to close his mouth made Hermione think he'd been about to say something else.

"We've been talking, with Harry and Ron, over the weekend, and we'd like to resume the lessons with Dumbledore's Army next year." Professor Mustang's lips twitched at the mention of the defence group. Hermione belatedly realised it must have seemed amusing to the professors. "But we want to do it right," she added.

"And you want me to back you up when you ask the Headmaster?"

Hermione nodded.

"That won't be necessary," Professor Mustang surprised her by saying. "I'm sure the Headmaster will be more than willing to authorise your defence group, especially under the current circumstances."

Yes, despite Harry's doubts, Hermione had thought as much, but that wasn't the only reason she was here.

"Maybe, but I read in Hogwarts: A History that student clubs that use more than basic spells need a professor to supervise them, and I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to do it for us." The last part of Hermione's sentence had been rushed, and she felt her cheeks heat up.

That had been the main point of contention during their arguments the past few days: convincing the boys, and especially Ron, that Professor Mustang was the best option for the DA. Ron had wanted to ask Professor Flitwick, because he'd been a champion duellist in his youth. As for Harry, at first he'd wanted to ask Hagrid, but he'd conceded quickly that Hagrid wasn't the best choice around delicate magic and kids that had to be taught said magic. Professor Mustang was the best choice; not only had he helped them set the DA up, but he was the professor Harry was willing to trust the most after Hagrid. Professor Mustang had cemented Harry's trust in him on Thursday.

Professor Mustang's eyebrows were back up in his forehead.

"You want me to watch over your defence club? You do realise, Miss Granger, that I'm no Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"

That last question was clearly meant to point at Professor Mustang's lack of fighting skills, something Hermione wasn't too sure was true. Not only because of what she'd seen, but because his absence during dinner on Thursday made her think he'd actually gone to the Department of Mysteries with the other Order members. He hadn't looked any worse for wear on Friday.

"You wouldn't have to teach," Hermione said anyway. "Just make sure we don't do anything dangerous. Check over our spells and whatever other things we want to learn," she said, and gave him a very pointed look. Like you did, she didn't say.

Professor Mustang smiled with amusement, as if accepting her unsaid point.

"Very well, Miss Granger. Tell me when you go talk with the Headmaster. I suppose we'll have more than enough time to work the details out over the summer, am I right?"

Hermione nodded, unable and unwilling to hold back her grin. They'd have the DA next year to keep learning, and they'd be able to teach even more students now it was an approved club.

Hermione did seek Roy out to go talk with Albus, and he accompanied her, Harry, and Ron Weasley to the office and watched with some amusement as Albus agreed to approve the club and give them a classroom with no argument on his part (this made Roy wonder briefly where the DA had been meeting this year and why they didn't want to use the place anymore). Once the students left, Albus did raise some concerns with Roy, and Roy promised to keep him updated on the comings and goings of the defence club.

"I won't limit them," Roy said at one point. "Riddle and his Death Eaters have shown time and again that they won't hesitate to attack children, you know this even better than I do. If we can't keep them out of the war, the least we can do is give them the tools they may need to survive."

Much to Roy's surprise, Albus didn't argue his point the way he'd done last year. His expression grim, Albus closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"Unfortunately, you are right. And I believe there is no better person to teach someone to get through a battle, Colonel."

Albus clearly meant it as a vote of confidence, perhaps even a compliment, but hearing his title after so long felt like a blow to the stomach to Roy.

Still, for once, being Colonel Mustang would help him do some good.

Roy nodded.

The remaining days of term ended in an odd mix of cheerfulness over the arrival of the holidays and apprehension over the impending war. The mood in the hallways could go from excited to grim in a matter of a few paces, and this year, when the end of term feast arrived and Albus gave a speech much like the one he'd given last year, Roy knew the worry, the fear, and the scattered determined looks he saw on many of the students' faces wouldn't fade over the summer.

Now, unlike last year, there was no denying the threat of Lord Voldemort for anyone.

A grim part of Roy wondered how many of these students would be able to return to Hogwarts next September. The darkest part of this thought was the knowledge that it was almost certain that not all of them would make it back.

To be continued

I'm exhausted, so no notes today (if I forget something I should mention, I'll come back here to edit another day).

Remember that you can find me on maisstories dot tumblr dot com