Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is mostly an interlude chapter, written in the few days before April Camp NaNoWriMo kicked off. The last bit was written April 1st, and I was planning to release this sometime over the month. But y'all understand these Quarantine Doldrums, right? I just never got around to it. So, here it is! Beyond this chapter, I have about 10,000 more words yet to be sorted into a coherent chapter or chapters (also written in April. Yes. I'm trash.)

Anyway, finals are done. Got a 4.0 GPA for the first time in my graduated-high-school-with-a-2.4-life, so I'm very proud. TSL was going to be my main priority this summer, but I need money so I'm trying to write a few original shorts for magazine submission, too. Wish me luck!

Disclaimer: Don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. Don't own Harry Potter. Don't ever claim the contrary, don't make any money off the online publication of this free-to-read fanwork.

Chapter 26

Apology Lessons

Ed knew that going into the Great Hall together after a supposedly covert meeting wasn't the subtlest of ideas. But fuck subtle, right? Dumbledore wasn't the worst leader Ed had ever come across (Bradley's puppet regime dug the bar so low that nobody would ever be able to crawl under it). He'd get over blatant conspiracy eventually, Ed was sure.

When Ed, Al, and McGonagall walked into the Great Hall late for dinner, Dumbledore was back at his spot at the Head Table. He distinctly noticed their entrance, but his twinkling eyes gave nothing away.

They'd find out what he felt about it later. Ed gave Al a light pat on the shoulder, indicated the Ravenclaw table.

"Have a good meal, Professor, Bruder," Al said at the dismissal. His eyes looked at them both warmly, but Ed knew the day's conversation had fucked him up. We wondered how Al would do with it. The panic he should have felt in McGonagall's office still hadn't surfaced, but there was still some sort of feeling roiling in the back of Ed's mind.

"Sanks, Al," he said.

"You too, Mr. Elric," said McGonagall, placing one of her own hands on Ed's shoulder. McGonagall was tall enough for Ed to mentally categorize her as a freakish giant; beyond her physical height, she carried with her a sort of presence that made Ed feel small. And he wasn't small, damnit. He looked up at her, offered an arm. "Why thank you, Professor Elric," she said.

Ed shot a last grin at Al, who smiled. It was the sort of smile Al wore when he was thought Ed was about to dive headfirst into a train wreck and there was nothing Al could do about it except choose to find it adorable.

Please, Al. This wasn't going to be a train wreck. Ed liked to think that he and Dumbledore had some sort of uneasy understanding. This would be fine. Taking comfort from McGonagall's arm, Ed steered the two of them to the Head Table. He could practically feel Alphonse walking away from them, to his customary spot with the Ravenclaws.

Ignoring the pang that came with watching his brother walk away, Ed turned his attention to the important task. "Professor Dumbledore," he said, pulling out McGonagall's chair for her before taking his place on her left. "Busy weekend?"

"Quite productive, I must say," Dumbledore said. "I got very little in the way of Headmastering done, but I managed to clear some pressing issues."

"I can imagine," Ed said, snorted. "Glad I don't have to do zat paperwork."

"It is probably best for all involved that you stick to your grading," Dumbledore said. "I wouldn't want to put any more clerical tasks on a Professor in their first year."

That asshole. There were multiple insults layered in that genial statement! McGonagall must have been able to sense Ed's rising ire, because she chose that moment to insert herself into the conversation. "Indeed," she said. "It seems like there's more work to grade every year. More lessons to plan."

"I'm caught up," said Ed. "I know how to get srough paperwork." He wanted to see them teach themselves to write with their off hand because their prosthetic kept snapping the pencils.

"Just off the college days of red bull and liquor, are you?" That was from Snape, because the man could not keep his long nose out of anyone's business to save his life.

Ed scowled at him, said, "Yes. I am. Humboldt Universität keeps zeir students busy."

"Do they?" said Dumbledore. Ed looked at him. The old man was dressed in gold, his half-moon spectacles polished to a shine. Cradled in a fold of the glittering robes, however, Ed could see that the Headmaster's right hand was blackened and curled in on itself. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed that before. He'd seen it. It wasn't registering in Ed's memory as new. But he must not have really processed it.

Ed drew his eyes slowly from the Headmaster's hand to his face. Dumbledore gave him a small smile, noticed Ed noticing. McGonagall, in her seat between them, looked very close to letting out a string of swearwords in that other language she spoke occasionally – Ed wondered what language, precisely, it was and decided that he needed to investigate the languages of the British Isles more thoroughly. He liked being able to swear in as many languages as possible.

Maybe Al would know – Ed had been so single minded during their preliminary study sessions and even as they'd begun to adjust (Just get to England, he'd thought. Just get a job, he'd thought. Fuck these fucking wizards, he'd thought) that he'd learned deeply and not broadly. Being unable to understand McGonagall's swearwords – to the point of not even having the name of the language they belonged to – was the unfortunate tradeoff.

In any case, McGonagall wasn't swearing now. She had too much adultly dignity to do so in the Great Hall. Ed had a feeling she wouldn't swear in front of her boss, either. Colonel Bastard could attest that Ed had no such compunctions. Maybe that was just because he was sixteen, maybe it was just because he was used to being surrounded by military people. But Ed liked to think that it was just who he was.

He'd worn vulgarity like an armor ever since he'd put his brother in one.

Well that was a train of thought that Ed did not have time for today. He decided to stir up trouble instead of reflecting, said, "Did you enjoy Berlin, Professor McGonagall?"

Her eyes narrowed, mouth firming. She clearly hadn't expected Ed to go there but, fuck it. "It was lovely," she said, turned to Dumbledore. "You should have joined me, Albus. There was a fabulous coffee shop."

Ed looked back to the Headmaster. His eyes had lost just a bit of twinkle in favor of displaying a mild hint of steel. Ed grinned, looked back at McGonagall. "You'll have to tell me what you sink of my home city! I would be happy to show you around whenever you next decide to visit."

"Berlin, Minerva?" said Snape. "May I ask the purpose of your visit?" The glint in Snape's eye said that he knew that some sort of political battle was on.

"She was running some errands for me," said Dumbledore, which, woah, was almost the truth! Good for him. He must be busy exercising that truth muscle. Ed should give him a 'congratulations' card, but with no cards available, he settled for grinning broadly at him.

The usual diners of the Head Table were all in attendance, looking studiously at their food. Ed was pretty sure that the woman he'd been introduced to as the Head of Hufflepuff House was laughing into her plate of mashed potatoes. He couldn't resent her for it – Ed was internally laughing himself, and he was actually caught up in this colossal clusterfuck.

"Oh?" said Snape, giving a tight little grimace.

Slughorn, down the table, took a swig of something that was decidedly not pumpkin juice. "Do tell us about Berlin, Minerva," he said. "The current British ambassador to the German magical government was a student of mine."

McGonagall shot him a disdainful look. "I believe the only people who didn't teach Geraldine Tarnad at this table are Severus and young Edward."

Slughorn went pink about the ears. "Yes, well. She was a particular favorite."

The Hufflepuff Head, who's name Ed thought had something to do with plants, snorted audibly. Slughorn flushed deeper, whirled to face her. "Do you have something to say, Pomona dear?"

"Oh no, Horace," she said before shoveling a large spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Ed needed to make a point to befriend this colleague of his. He remembered, belatedly, that she'd been kind to him when he'd first arrived at Hogwarts (Was that only two weeks ago? Incredible).

Slughorn sniffed before returning to his own meal. "Anyway, Minerva. How is Berlin in autumn?"

"Rather cold," said Minerva, then looked Dumbledore in the eye. "But it was a satisfactory trip." She took a slow sip of the tea that had materialized at her place setting when she sat. The Hufflepuff Head – Pomona, apparently – choked on her potatoes.

This was going nowhere fast. Deciding that he'd had enough of laughing at this distinctly awful conversation, Ed loaded up his own plate. He went heavy on the mashed potatoes – if Pomona had been so focused on them, they must be good.

There were no further discussions of Berlin, and the Hogwarts staff fell into an uneasy silence punctuated by the sounds of Ed's frantic chewing.

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley watched the Head Table with narrow eyes. It didn't take a genius to see the tension that had fallen over the staff table, and she was sure it was the reason for Professor Elric's cryptic ass note. She drummed her wand idly on the table. Next to her, Dean Thomas watched her.

Ginny knew he was worried. He was a sweet boy and she really didn't mean to worry him. But she needed to get stronger if she wanted to survive the coming war. The Prophet had gone idly quiet for a good couple of days, but that just meant that Voldemort was working covertly. Covert hadn't been his style since the Department of Mysteries, but something in her gut told her that this odd silence wasn't a good thing.

She'd brought it up off-handedly with Hermione, who'd abruptly changed the subject. Hermione was always willing to investigate the enemy. She was less paranoid than poor Harry, but she pursued knowledge with a singular drive that would shame any Ravenclaw. Hermione changing the subject hadn't happened since Ginny tried to ask for Harry advice back when he'd been pining after Cho Chang.

Hermione, then, and probably therefore Ron and Harry, knew something about the recent silence of the media. There was a reason why they'd been inducted into Elric's Gym Club early and Ginny hadn't been.

She wasn't sure what was happening, but something was. She looked at Dean, who was picking at a hearty helping of pie.

"Do you want to join Professor Elric's Gym Club?" she asked, deciding that she wanted his solid emotional support. She slid her wand behind her ear and picked up her fork. "He's giving me a lesson after dinner tonight, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined."

Dean blinked at her. "I enjoyed the DA last year," he said, warily, "And Snape's not pleasant, but he's actually decent at teaching Defense."

Ginny knew that Dean had not been at the Department of Mysteries. But somehow the information hadn't absorbed; she kept on expecting him behave as though he'd been there. Kept on expecting him to carry the same sureness of impending disaster as she did. "All training's useful," Ginny said. "You never know when you might need it. Besides. What's it Hermione's always on about?"

"I have no idea what Hermione's always on about," said Dean. "We don't talk much."

Ginny waved impatiently at him. "It's important to learn things from as many perspectives as possible. While I don't think she meant combat, it probably applies."

Dean took a bite of pie, probably to delay having to give an answer. Ginny rolled her eyes, took a bite of her own dinner. The special tonight was bangers and mash – a personal favorite. She tried to keep her portion moderate, because she would never forget her very first quidditch practice, where she'd made the mistake of eating too much the morning of and had thrown up on her broom handle at a hundred feet.

She shuddered at the memory, looked at Dean. She tilted her head. He finally swallowed what must have been a very over chewed bite of pie. Well, whatever had him nervous meant that he'd probably be fine for exercise. "I suppose you're right," he said, looked at the clock on the main wall of the room. "What time did Professor Elric say?"

Ginny smiled, triumphant. "An hour after dinner."

"It wouldn't hurt to show up," he said.

"No," said Ginny. "It wouldn't."

Ginny had to eat those words when her lesson with Professor Elric started. He took one look at Dean before barking at him to run around the castle, so that he could get an idea of Dean's level of fitness. Truly hippogriff shit.

"I vas going to get you up to speed on recent events," Ed said. "But clearly zat won't be possible."

"Bugger off," she said. "If someone wanted to tell me about 'recent events' they would have done it already."

"We wanted to tell you. But we couldn't let you come – if you knew you would haff insisted." That fucking bastard. Ginny's temper flared and she whirled on him, taking the sort of practiced turn that she knew made her hair look like a blaze of fiendfyre behind her head.

"Couldn't let me come?" Ginny said. "Why? I'm too young? I'll have you know that Alphonse and Luna are no older than I am and are clearly in on it. I was at the Department of Mysteries last May just like the rest of them!"

She met Professor Elric's eyes – a little below hers – and tried to harden the hurt in her chest into anger. He didn't say anything. The wind picked up his bangs and he bobbed his head slightly. His ridiculous looking hair antenna straightened slightly.

Finally, he said, "It was a question ov numbers. Zat's all. It wasn't zat you wouldn't be good, it wasn't zat anybody sought you incapable – even Ron, who most wanted to keep you out ov it. It's just zat our force was too large as it was."

"Numbers," Ginny said, words sour. "Because of numbers. Then why was Luna? No. Strike force? What exactly did you do?"

But Dean was coming back around the castle, and Ed jerked his head tellingly at him. Ginny looked at her boyfriend, both pleasantly and unpleasantly surprised that he'd made it around so quickly. "One more time around, Dean!" she said.

He looked to Professor Elric for confirmation – Ginny was vindicated a little to see him nod. Dean took in a theatrically large breath and put on an extra burst of speed. Ginny watched until he disappeared around the far corner.

"What did you do?" she said, turning back to Elric.

He gave her a long look before saying, "We went to Malfoy Manor to rescue Ollivander and Alphonse temporarily killed zee Mold while we were zere."

What the fuck? Stunned, the only thing Ginny could think to do was aim a roundhouse kick at Elric's head. Later, she would ask what the hell temporarily meant, but right now, she needed to fight. In the rush of her approach, she could see his eyes widen with surprise – and relief? – before he grabbed her ankle, lightning fast, and redirected her.

She spun out - but she was Ginny Weasley, star Gryffindor Chaser! She recovered, followed the kick up with a swift jab to the nose. That hit, but Ed caught her below the ribs in the same instant. Backing away for a moment to breathe, Ginny watched her professor. There would be time to process his impossible statement – she just couldn't do it right now. Instead, she focused on mapping Elric's form. She knew he favored his right shoulder; she could see that his weight was anchored more heavily on his left side. There was something tilted about his stance, and though Ginny knew that he was by far the better fighter, she was determined to exploit his weaknesses.

Course determined, she aimed an elbow for his injured shoulder. By the time Dean rounded the corner, Ginny had settled into training thoroughly enough that there was no need to send him around again.

Word Count: 2,658

Published: 6/25/2020. Drop a review and tell me what you thought! This was mostly a transition chapter, but it proves that I didn't forget Ginny and her odd apprenticeship. She's not interested in the alchemy, but damn is she down to fight.