Wow, I'm really happy to see you guys like this story so far :) I have to admit I was worried between the pairing and the crossover.

Here I am with chapter 2! Let's hope you like it too :)

Chapter 2

It wasn't until after they had heard everybody else in the house head to bed that Roy and Olivier put down the newspapers. Once the original shock over the moving pictures had passed, they had decided to split the papers between the two of them to scan them faster.

"This is a rag," Roy commented, setting aside the paper from the fifteenth of July (because they had somehow gone from spring to summer on top of everything else). For every article that could be considered real news, there were at least ten of nonsense and gossip.

"A propaganda rag," Olivier agreed. "They seem really invested in praising this Minister of theirs."

"It's reminiscent of Bradley's days, don't you think?"

"Unfortunately. Let's just hope there's no Father around here," Olivier said and Roy grimaced. "At least we do have some useful information," she pointed out. "I'd say the kid, Harry, is a wizard," she spoke the word with great reluctance, "and the family are what the papers call muggles."

Roy nodded in agreement. From what he had read, and the events they had witnessed earlier, it was clear that there was some animosity between the two groups. Or at least with those muggles who knew about magic. From the way some articles were written one would think muggles were dim little creatures who didn't notice what happened around them.

"Anyway, we should probably try to sleep," Olivier said, standing up.

"I'm not really tired, I think I'll look over the books," Roy said, and he wasn't surprised when Olivier threw him a sceptical look over her shoulder.

"Of course, and it doesn't have anything to do with whatever happened back in the alley, does it?" she asked drily, gesturing him over.

Sighing, Roy stood up and walked up to her.

"I'm not sure what happened, but I... I remembered some unpleasant things," Roy admitted, focusing on lowering the zip of Olivier's dress when she turned her back to him. He slid his hands up her back to reach the straps of the dress. "You know, when I saw you in this dress, I expected to remove it in a very different situation."

"I'm aware. You're not as subtle as you like to think you are," Olivier retorted. She turned around as soon as the dress was on the floor, her visible eyebrow raised (despite having given in to her family's insistence to put on a dress for parties a couple years ago, Olivier still refused to do her hair in any way other than her usual style). "How are you holding up?"

"I'll be fine," Roy replied truthfully. "It wasn't anything I haven't thought of lately, I simply wasn't expecting it."

Olivier scanned his face with her piercing gaze before nodding.

"You should get out of those clothes," she said, moving to the bed.

Roy glanced down at himself.

"Speaking of clothes," he said, removing his jacket, "I probably should transmute these into something that'll draw less attention. Or maybe the bed sheets." Roy had checked them earlier, and they were made of cotton, which worked well enough for this season.

"Do both. We'll need a change of clothes," Olivier said.

Roy turned to set first his jacket and then his shirt on the desk's chair. His pants followed.

"You weren't the only one who expected this night to go differently," Olivier said suddenly, and Roy turned around to look at her. She had set both her bra and gun on the nightstand and he held back a sigh. What a lost chance.

"Oh? Did you have something in mind?"

"Maybe."

This bed was large enough for two people, though it couldn't hold a candle to the luxurious bed in Olivier's bedroom that Roy had spent his entire train ride from East City daydreaming about.

Olivier was now asleep, curled on the side of the bed closest to the nightstand and with her hair brushing Roy's thigh. He had chosen one of the books, The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1, and was sitting with it angled in a way that the light from the lamp on the nightstand shone on the parchment pages.

For the third time in so many minutes, he went back to the introductory section, where the author spoke of the advantages of learning spells with a wand for an easier use. Which meant a wand wasn't necessary to cast magic. Roy glanced down at his gloved left hand. Hadn't Harry mistaken his alchemy for magic? (And Roy wasn't thinking about the absurdity of magic or what he had read, much less of watching a man appear and disappear into thin air, thank you).

Glancing down to ensure that Olivier was still asleep because he knew he wouldn't live this down otherwise if nothing happened, Roy raised his left hand in the direction of their clothes, then looked down at the page that showed the first spell.

'Pronunciation is key' the author insisted repeatedly. Roy double-checked the spelling depiction.

"Wingardium leviosa," he muttered under his breath. One of his pant legs shivered on the chair before settling down again.

There were no air currents in the room.

"Huh."

Fuhrer Grumman leant back in his chair, looking at a bland painting across his office.

Today had started as just another anniversary of the Promised Day. Olivier Armstrong had marched into Central Command clad in her formal uniform, glaring daggers at whoever crossed her path to storm into Grumman's office and commandeer his coffee and snacks until her presence was required for the first of the many formal acts of the day. Roy had arrived shortly after in a night train from East City, accompanied by Riza. He had looked like he hadn't slept all night and brought the Elrics' yearly excuse as to why they couldn't make it to the celebration: Alphonse had returned to Xing shortly after Edward's wedding, and Edward didn't feel comfortable leaving his pregnant wife alone, even though Grumman knew Mrs. Elric was just three months along. Roy had entered Grumman's office carrying a suitcase that held his formal uniform. Usually Grumman didn't miss a chance to tease Roy and Olivier about their semi-public relationship, but on this day he knew better; if he wasn't stabbed, he'd be burnt to a crisp. So, instead, he had left them in his office and had dragged Riza off for breakfast. He didn't have many chances to spend time with his granddaughter, and he took advantage of every single one of them.

Afterwards, the day had proceeded as usual. The parades, honouring the fallen from that day (the fact that Bradley was always mentioned first never lost its irony), speeches, the formal lunch, more speeches and, finally, the less militaristic evening party.

But from then…

Grumman focused back on the here and now.

"Nothing?" he asked Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, who was sitting across from him and doing his best to appear calm.

"No, sir. The library is a mess, and we are still trying to obtain a clear outline of the array, but it's a slow process."

"And the prisoner?"

Armstrong shook his head.

"Captain Hawkeye has been interrogating him for hours, but he has said very little. He seems, however, very pleased that Brigadier General Mustang was at his house."

Grumman hummed. That was vague; it could as easily mean that this alchemist held a grudge against Roy or that he believed Roy's involvement with his research might prove useful.

"Are they alive, then?"

Armstrong clenched his hands.

"He thinks so. But that is all he'll say."

"Well, we can't have our national heroes missing," Grumman said, twisting his moustache. "Whatever you need, Lieutenant Colonel, just ask for it."

"I'd like to bring in some help, sir."

Olivier woke up to find her bra floating above her head. She blinked and shot her hand out to the nightstand to grab the gun. She sat up and looked around the room, but the only one there besides herself was Roy. Roy, who was looking at her and smirking in amusement.

"Mustang," Olivier hissed, lowering the gun. "What the hell?"

"This has instructions," Roy said, gesturing at the book on his lap. He waved his left hand in the air and Olivier's bra did a jaunty little dance as it lowered itself to the bed.

"Instructions," Olivier repeated, deadpan.

"It's a spell book," Roy said easily, ignoring her expression and tone altogether. "You should try it," he added, offering the book to her.

Olivier bit back the first two scathing comments that came to mind. She had seen too many bizarre things over the past few years to discard any possibility without previous consideration, and yesterday...

"How does it work?"

"The most important part is getting the pronunciation right. Aside from that, I've found that aiming your hand at the target makes it easier than just looking at it. Just thinking the words works, too, but it's harder to obtain any results that way."

Olivier nodded, then looked down at the open pages.

A repairing spell?

"This isn't to make things float."

"Oh, no, I mastered that one hours ago," Roy said, and Olivier looked more closely at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, but the shadows in them were gone. It wasn't even up to debate whether he had slept at all or not.

Olivier rolled her eyes.

"Alchemists," she muttered. "Whatever, be useful and get started on our clothes."

She held back another eye roll when Roy put on an exaggeratedly hurt expression.

"What? I don't even get a good morning kiss? I've—"

Olivier grabbed him by the nape of his neck and shut him up with a harsh kiss. Roy returned it, his smirk clear against Olivier's lips for a moment before she parted them and let in his insistent and oh-so-very-skilled tongue.

They eventually parted for air and Olivier frowned.

"There, now get to work."

"Yes, ma'am," Roy replied with a smirk.

Olivier would have shoved him onto the bed had they been somewhere safer.

Harry woke up early that morning and got dressed. He waited until he heard noise in the guest room before climbing down the stairs and going to the kitchen for breakfast. He was sure the Dursleys wouldn't deny him food again the day after learning they were being watched, much less with a witch and a wizard in the house.

Harry wouldn't miss what would happen this morning for all the gold in the world.

Aunt Petunia was already downstairs, washing some dishes. Uncle Vernon was eating breakfast at the kitchen table despite the fact that Harry knew he should have left for work already. Dudley wasn't anywhere to be seen. The Dursleys didn't tell him a word when Harry went to the fridge, though Uncle Vernon glared at him when he saw the bacon. Harry ignored him, he had already decided to mention his guard whenever things got ugly, and he started to cook his breakfast.

He was almost done piling bacon on his plate when he heard feet moving down the stairs. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tensed up. Harry bit back a smirk and sat at the table to start eating.

The woman walked in first, dressed in dark cargo trousers with large pockets on both sides and a shiny blue short-sleeved t-shirt that clung to her body in a way that Harry couldn't help but appreciate. She had transfigured the painful-looking high heels from last night into more reasonable flat sandals that didn't hurt to look at. The man entered right afterwards, dressed in black trousers and a grey short-sleeved t-shirt that had a blue-ish armour depicted on the front of all things. His shoes looked less formal, but were still black leather. Oddly enough, he was wearing white gloves.

They were both carrying backpacks that hadn't been there last night.

Harry had to give it to them: they were amongst the few wizards he had ever met who seemed to know how to blend in with muggles.

"You didn't have those bags last night," Aunt Petunia said, and she looked torn when Harry turned to her. It was as if she didn't regret her accusatory comment, but was worried about how wizards would react to it.

"Now we do," the man replied genially, a charming smile on his face. Harry was sure it would have worked on Aunt Petunia if he wasn't a wizard.

"If you've stolen anything—" Uncle Vernon started, rising to his feet, but the woman cut him off with a snort.

"You'd have to have something worth stealing for that," she said, walking to the fridge. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were left spluttering indignantly, and Harry stuffed a slice of bacon into his mouth to muffle a snicker.

The man sat next to Harry, an amused smile on his face.

"I left what you lent me on the guest bedroom's desk," he told Harry. "Thank you again, it was a good distraction."

Harry nodded absently, looking at the man. He had shadows under his eyes, but nothing as bad as what Harry got after a sleepless night. The boring going ons of the wizarding world must have lulled him to sleep at some point.

"Oi, Mustang," the woman called from the fridge and the man —Mustang— turned to look at her, "do you know how to cook or are you too pampered for that?"

"I believe if anyone here were to be too pampered to know how to cook that would be you, my dear Olivier," Mustang said with a pleasant smile.

The woman —Olivier— whipped around to direct such a glare at him that both Harry and Uncle Vernon recoiled at the sight. Mustang didn't even lose his smile.

"Get over here, you brat," Olivier snapped in a way that not even Professor McGonagall would have accomplished in her angriest moments.

Mustang let out a theatrical sigh of suffering and stood up. He caught the package of eggs Olivier threw at him mid-air. They both ignored Aunt Petunia's horrified shriek at the action and started to move around the kitchen as if it was theirs.

Albus Dumbledore left Arabella Figg's house in a pensive mood. Some muggles stopped to stare at him, but he just smiled politely and continued on his way to the Dursleys' household.

From what Arabella had told him, Albus agreed it was very unlikely that the mysterious witch and wizard worked for Tom, but everything else made them... interesting. Brave, certainly, for not many people would stay and fight dementors, much less without a wand (casting a wandless patronus was remarkably difficult, and Albus didn't know anyone other than himself who could do it). Out of the ordinary, because not many wizards would bother to learn to handle, much less carry around, muggle weapons. Wandless fire spells were difficult, which meant that at the very least the man was powerful. And their appearances...

Albus had asked Arabella to describe them to the best of her capacity, and they didn't sound like anyone Albus knew.

"They're both very attractive," Arabella had said with a snort, "and he's just a little taller than her, but neither of them stand out there. He has dark hair and dark eyes, the sort of guy that would've definitely made all the girls sigh at Hogwarts. Around thirty, I'd say. She looked older, late thirties or early forties. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, very pretty and serious. I could've mistaken her for some pureblood high class if she hadn't been carrying a gun."

Those descriptions didn't bring any former Hogwarts students to mind. Albus could easily remember most of his students, especially from the later decades, and he was curious.

Homeschooled, or maybe they had attended another school.

Number four came into sight and Albus rearranged his robes, aware that he would need a good deal of patience to interact with the house's residents.

He waved at a neighbour who had been watering the same flowers for a full minute, walked up the drive and knocked on the door.

Petunia Dursley opened the door, a scowl on her face that showcased her displeasure, and ushered him inside.

She led Albus to the kitchen, where her husband stood with an angry expression that turned his face red, glaring at a man and a woman who fit Arabella's description as they calmly finished their breakfast. Harry sat on a chair, watching the entire display with an air of amusement.

Everybody turned to look at him when Albus entered the room, one of his best smiles in place.

Vernon Dursley went from red to purple, Harry looked genuinely surprised to see him here, the woman raised her visible eyebrow and the man returned Albus' smile with a pleasant one of his own.

"Good morning," Albus greeted, and didn't wait for an invitation that he knew wouldn't come to take a seat on one of the remaining chairs. "My name is Albus Dumbledore," he said, addressing the man and the woman, "Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Vernon and Petunia flinched as if they had heard Tom's alias and took a step back each. "Might I ask for your names? I'm afraid it slipped Arabella's mind to ask with all the excitement from last night."

"Are you the idiot who tried to expel the kid for defending himself?" the woman asked brusquely instead of answering, and Albus found himself pleasantly surprised. That wasn't something a firm believer in the Ministry would ask, and it hinted to a type of mindset that Albus was looking for in these dark times.

"That would be the Minister," Albus replied easily. "I had to remind him last night that the Ministry of Magic doesn't have the authority to expel students from Hogwarts."

The woman nodded curtly in what Albus thought might be approval. She was a remarkably hard to read person.

"I'm Olivier Armstrong and this is Roy Mustang," she introduced, gesturing with her right thumb at the man, who nodded politely in greeting.

Armstrong and Mustang, those weren't wizarding surnames. Muggleborns, then. That explained her comfort with muggle devices.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Albus said. "Could you tell me what happened last night?"

"We were asking the kids for directions when the dementors showed up," Olivier summarised quickly, then pointed to Harry. "He drove them away."

"So I've heard," Albus said. "Arabella mentioned you didn't have your wands?"

"We don't," Roy confirmed, folding his gloved hands on the table before him. "I'm afraid there was a bit of a... mishap that brought us here unexpectedly."

"Anything I can help you with?" Albus offered, his curiosity piqued. It must have been some type of wandless magic to have brought them here (maybe an experiment?), which only made them even more interesting in Albus' eyes. A means of transportation that didn't require a wand, portkey or fireplace was something worth looking into, even if so far it had only been used by accident.

Roy and Olivier exchanged a glance, Olivier nodded and Roy looked back at Albus with a sheepish smile.

"Could you tell us where to acquire new wands for the time being?"

Albus met Roy's eyes and took the chance to discreetly delve into his mind to have a better idea of how much he could trust these people. He found himself in an endless sea of whiteness with no path deeper into Roy's mind and backed off immediately, doing his best to keep his surprise in check.

"I'd recommend Ollivander's, he has an amazing selection of wands to try," Albus replied amiably, folding his hands on his lap under the table.

Roy nodded, by all appearances unaware of Albus' attempt to enter his mind, and Albus truly hoped his slip of not even a second had gone unnoticed. Those were the strongest occlumency shields he had ever encountered, even better than Severus', and Albus' guess that he was dealing with powerful people was confirmed. He chose not to risk an attempt on Olivier's mind.

"Of course," Albus continued as if his mind wasn't running through endless possibilities, "it's a bit far from here, and we don't have a nearby floo access, so you will have to use muggle means to reach Diagon Alley." Albus wasn't about to create an illegal portkey no matter how easy it was. If Roy or Olivier were amongst the few who could apparate wandlessly, they didn't say so. "I believe Harry will be able to give you directions much more accurately than myself," he added, directing a quick glance in Harry's general direction.

Harry looked surprised for a moment, but he nodded quickly.

"Yeah, sure."

Albus left the Dursleys' house with one last reminder that Hogwarts was open if Roy and Olivier ever needed anything. It had quickly become clear that they wouldn't share what their experiment had been about and that they intended to return home through their own means. Albus wondered if that experiment had been entirely legal, then chuckled to himself. After meeting them, Albus was nearly convinced that they weren't dark wizards, and he knew how... restrictive the law sometimes was for creativity.

Albus found the closest alleyway to apparate and shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think about past experiments.

He apparated outside the school's gates and opened them.

Olivier Armstrong and Roy Mustang. While muggleborns had been Albus' first thought, it was also possible they were half-bloods with their muggle parent's surnames. They didn't have much of an accent, so Albus was inclined to believe they had been raised in the country, but he would ask Madame Maxime if she had any former students with those names.

Meanwhile, Albus would check the list of potential students whose parents had refused to send to Hogwarts in the past few decades.

In these dark times, any potential ally was worth consideration.

To be continued

In case anyone is curious, Roy's occlumency shield is Truth's doing (I kept that one from my other crossover). After all, it wouldn't make sense to have people pay a toll to cross the Gate if then someone can come and pull that knowledge from their minds.