Well. This is embarrassing. I mean, I had half of this chapter just sitting on my computer for about a month. But between track, testing, and life, it just never got written. That, and I'm at a bit of a roadblock as to where exactly I'm going with the story. But hey, it's a super-mega double-length update, so that's cool, right?

This chapter marks the beginning of a two-part arc to bridge the massive time gap between where it is now, and where it needs to be. Just writing 'months later' wasn't doing it for me.

ON WITH THE STORY!

Ed strolled through the dim hallways of the Department of Mysteries. Sure, he could have used the magic doors, but actually knowing the layout of a building came in handy. That, and he didn't exactly trust the magic in the doors not to fail halfway and cut him in two. He'd seen stranger things, working with Fermier.

In the weeks he'd been unofficially employed, Edward had realized that even by wizarding standards, his boss wasn't quite sane. But he'd also been reassured that most reasonably powerful wizards had neurotic tendencies of some sort or another.

That wasn't very much consolation when he'd walked into the lab once to find Fermier testing the elasticity of small mammals under various magical conditions.

All in all, it was like working with an even weirder group of State Alchemists. Fermier was constantly breaking the fundamental laws of thermodynamics in multiple ways, Flamel was usually calculating alchemic potions compounds whose equations spread across entire rooms in glowing, floating script. The generic lower-level researchers were all working on various spells, artifacts, and strange beings. Explosions quickly became an ignorable phenomenon.

Everybody in Espionage gave him looks. Everyone. It wasn't personal, though. He saw them giving those looks to each other, too. They didn't appear to trust anybody who they hadn't known for years. That entire section of rooms and halls was to be avoided, he'd decided.

And then there were the Operations wizards. Sure, they were by far the loosest out of the three divisions, but they were also the most trigger-happy. He'd seen the same thing in some of the Ishval veterans, if they were surprised too badly. Needless to say, every muted explosion from the bowels of the Research division sent every hand to a wand, sword, or other implement of painful death. Also, the few Operatives he'd dueled in the free time he got between small missions had all been very tricky opponents. It was like all they did was duel and go on jobs.

The one time he'd walked into Croaker's office with the intent to annoy, he'd found himself quite suddenly and violently sent through a door-portal and into Fermier's labs. Needless to say, he didn't try to seek entertainment from that source again.

All in all, there was very little to do in the Department of Mysteries, besides explore. And so explore he did. He'd found more than a few doors that wouldn't open for him, and a few more that he'd shut very quickly once he'd seen what was behind them. Tentacled brain chimeras? No thank you.

And now, reaching the end of the hall, he pulled open the door at the end, revealing what seemed to be a library for extremely large marbles. Each one sat on a cushion, and all seemed to be filled with a pale, luminescent mist. Wandering slowly down the rows, he idly read the names on them, all initialed, all from somebody to somebody else, with what seemed to be a topic underneath. Letters, maybe? But why would they be stored here? Was it a record of the Unspeakables' correspondence? The cool silence of the room was comforting though. It was rather peaceful, and he found himself enjoying creating stories for those whose names were on the spheres.

He turned a few corners, walked down a few rows, and then his eyes were caught by a specific ball, nearly directly at his eye level.

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord and

(?) Harry Potter

He couldn't believe his luck. All these weeks of pointless meandering, halfheartedly searching for clues of a presumed-dead Dark Lord, and here was something that literally had the names he'd been looking for on it. He reached out, with the intent to bring it back to Fermier for an explanation, but as his gloved palm came to rest on the glass, the sphere lit up like a miniature sun, and Edward knew no more.

"I can't believe that fucking idiot!"

Nicolas Flamel watched impassively as Head Unspeakable Croaker stormed around his office, nearly ripping out his hair as he ranted.

"Four petrifactions! Four instances of some of the most dangerous Dark Magic still left in Britain, and what does the old fool do? He fucking brushes us off." Croaker gave a small laugh of hysteria gesturing as he continued his rant.

"I mean, it isn't like we're trained professionals in this sort of thing or anything, no, and besides, if the great Albus Dumbledore doesn't want any Ministry 'interference' in 'matters we have no need to be involved in' then who are we mere mortals to disagree?"

He stopped, arms hanging by his sides as he stared at the wall, and sighed heavily. Quite suddenly, his face lit up and he spun on his heel to point at Flamel.

"You. You can go to Hogwarts under whatever pretenses. Talk to him about your supposedly missing Philosopher's Stone, whatever. You've got an excuse that he can't just brush off."

The aged alchemist regarded his part-time colleague with no small amount of weariness. After all, he had just listened to the man vent about this latest obstruction of his duty for the last fifteen minutes.

"And what, pray tell, Saul, might I accomplish with such a visit? We already have the letters from the children, and I'm not sure what it is you expect me to find in an hour or two that the children of your employees don't notice in the weeks they've had to observe the circumstances."

Croaker sat down at his desk again, pouring the latest of numerous shots of Firewhiskey.

"I don't know, Nicolas. Something. Anything." He knocked back the drink in one gulp, setting the tumbler heavily back down.

"You know the stakes we're playing here. Very few people are at Hogwarts that were there for the attacks in the forties, and there's one name on that list that I'd rather double check is absent."

"You don't mean to imply that—" Flamel was cut off by a knock on the door. Fermier poked his head through, and regarded his two superiors.

"Sir, there's been a bit of an incident. You might want to get over to the labs. It's about Elric."

Pride blearily opened his eyes, recognized his surroundings as a hospital room, and began running an injuries check.

Ribs? Fine. Skull? Undented. Spine? Still intact. Various extremities were all in place, two metal limbs were still attached to his person, and he appeared unharmed.

So why the hell did he feel like he'd been run over by a bus?

As he sat up, the old alchemist and the strange scientist walked in, both silently watching him watch them watch him.

Fermier broke the silence.

"I won't ask what you were thinking touching a Prophecy orb, as nobody told you about the rather negative effects of removing one not meant for you. However, I do want to know why you're so intent on investigating one Dark Lord Voldemort."

Pride glanced away, down at a corner, and began examining the walls. It was a small room, just two beds. Probably just a smaller first-response deal until they could get more extensive treatment at a hospital.

"I don't know much of what the brat was doing, you'd have to ask him. I was just going through memories, wasn't paying much attention to the strings in active consciousness."

Cutting off what was sure to be a question on the inner workings of Edward's mind, Flamel stepped forwards and spoke.

"Then please put him in charge. I want to know why he is hunting a man presumed dead by nearly everyone for over a decade."

Reluctantly, Pride slipped back into the subconscious, and Edward blearily and confusedly looked at his two associates.

"What happened?"

Fermier cut to the chase.

"You were knocked out briefly by some very powerful, very archaic magic guarding the prophesy you tried to take. What I want to know is why you are so interested in the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Ed winced.

'Any suggestions? I can't exactly say that God put me up to it.'

"Just bluff. You're good at that. Say you don't want to talk about it or something."

"…It's kind of personal. Has to do with my family."

Flamel's expression softened somewhat.

"Ah. I see. Well, if you feel like bringing it up, we-" he glanced sideways at Fermier, then revised his statement.

"-I'll be willing to lend an ear." Flamel took his leave. Fermier regarded Ed silently for a moment, then turned and followed the alchemist out of the room.

"He's hiding something."

"Of course he is! This is the Department of Mysteries! Everyone's hiding something!"

"No, I mean that he's purposefully avoiding expressing the reasons for his interests in a deceased Dark Lord."

"Technically deceased."

"Yes, yes. Technically. Any thoughts? He could legitimately have family who were hurt by Voldemort, but I doubt that's the whole story. Someone with that amount of power would have been known in Britain, and Voldemort never made it abroad."

"What, you think he's from the original war?"

"Or older. The man's immortal, who's to tell?"

"But back to the point, why would his grudge against Voldemort be a bad thing? If the Dark Lord manages to rise again, Edward would only be a benefit."

"It's an unknown. I don't like not knowing things, and an immortal master alchemist suddenly coming out of the woodwork is definitely a mystery. I. Want. Answers."

"Fine, fine. Do your researcher thing. Just don't blame me if you come up with nothing."

It took several days before Edward was able to do anything more strenuous than read. Every time he attempted a transmutation, or even to walk, everything would go blurry and dark and he would wake up in the hospital bed again. Pride was unable to detect the magic keeping the spell active, and none of the wizards from Research were able to help.

"The enchantments on the Hall of Prophesies predate the existence of the Statute of Secrecy," Fermier had explained.

"They're from a time when magic wasn't calculated, and spells could go horribly wrong at a moment's notice. On the other hand, magic in general was much more potent, and very hard to counter and unravel. Which puts us in the situation of being unable to identify the source, the effects, or even what you were hit with. The only thing we can do is wait to see when the spell seems to fade."

In other words, nobody had a goddamned clue.

Finally, two weeks into his forced confinement, Ed found that he was—finally—able to move again. Fermier responded to the good news by giving him another assignment.

"You want me to do what?"

Fermier gave him one of his familiar looks, looks which not only conveyed an entire sentence but did so in a bitingly sarcastic tone. This particular expression was saying 'I just explained it in the simplest terms I felt your feeble mind could manage.'

"We need you for an infiltration, to get into the Russian Ministry and find out what happened to the last Unspeakable who went missing while on monitoring duty. If they're working on something that they shouldn't, destroy the project and, if possible, capture those involved. If our man is still alive, get him out."

Ed blinked. This was… actually pretty new. Sure, he'd done breaking and entering before, but international espionage?

"And you want me, whose specialty is large-scale collateral, to go on a spying mission against a country Britain only recently got back onto speaking terms with?"

"As unbelievable as it is, yes. Your mission is very simple, and you're being assigned as backup to an experienced Unspeakable from the Espionage division. She's the one who will be doing all the subtle work, your job is to be the muscle for when things inevitably go wrong."

Edward cocked his head.

"You…expect everything to go up in flames, and that's why you're sending me, who will only ensure that things go up in flames?

"Exactly. We're just preparing for the worst, and you're basically the closest thing there is to a failsafe in terms of firepower."

Ed thought for a moment, then smirked triumphantly.

"I don't know Russian. You can't send me."

Fermier raised an eyebrow.

"You're speaking with me now using the translation runeset I put into your coat. Those are good for any given dialect of any given language you care to name. The only thing they won't work on is an active Occlumency shield, so don't talk to anybody actively fighting off a mental assault."

"…This is punishment for the thing with the Prophecy, isn't it."

"Possibly. Here's the file, you leave early tomorrow."

Airport security, Edward found, did not have provisions for those with metal limbs. After several tense minutes in which he repeatedly walked through the gate, set off the alarm, and then walked back, his partner had finally gotten a hand on her schadenfreude and managed to stop laughing. After quietly Confunding the security, she then proceeded to Confund everyone in the vicinity, and everyone they met from then on, all the way up to getting on the airplane. The result was a very, very quiet flight, in which slightly unnerved flight attendants conducted discreet inquiries as to the sobriety of their passengers.

It was just as well that everyone else was spelled out of their minds. Edward didn't think he could take much more stress on top of what he was already experiencing.

Hands clenched firmly to armrests, jaw tight, heart in his throat, Edward squeezed his eyes shut and sent up a silent plea to Truth that he wouldn't fall out of the sky. Sure, he'd been over the physics, and the engineering, and even the specific blueprints after he'd been told he was going to Russia in a flying machine. And yes, he should be able to repair himself if worst came to worst.

That still didn't mean he fine about hurtling through the sky in a metal box with wings far faster than evolution could possibly have prepared a human being to withstand.

"Remind me," he gritted out, "Why we couldn't just take a Portkey? Or Apparate?"

Or take a car, or a train, or fucking walk, for all he cared.

Espionage-class Unspeakable Susan smiled widely.

"Any form of magical transport into Russia would be detected, traced, and reported by the wards they've still got up. The defensive measures haven't fully been scaled back from the Cold War, and given what we're going to Russia to investigate, we can't risk any implications British agents were ever present. An airplane's the next fastest way to Moscow."

A flight attendant walked up.

"Excuse me miss, would you like-"

"Confundo."

The woman tottered back the way she came, wearing a befuddled expression and shaking her head. Edward stared at his partner.

"You can't just keep doing that to everyone we meet."

She shrugged.

"It'll wear off in a few hours, and by the time we land, all they'll have are a few vague memories of an uneventful flight. This way, everything's nice and quiet and nobody saw us get on or off the plane."

Leaning back into her seat, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"Plus, this way I don't have to deal with any loud children or idiots who think they can crush my knees with the back of their seat."

Six hours, a small bit of turbulence, a corresponding panic attack in which Ed mentally prepared a circle to transmute his coat into a makeshift parachute, and they were safely disembarking at Domodedovo International Airport. Susan hailed a taxi in perfect Russian and in no time they had accommodations at a hotel in a well-to-do quarter of the city.

Susan had not, however, stopped Confunding people.

"So…" Ed began, "What's the plan?"

Susan lazily glanced at him from her position by the door.

"Simple. Tomorrow we break into the Russian Ministry, get down to their Research Department, and figure out what they wanted to keep quiet so badly. We trash all the dangerous stuff—that's where you come in—and then if we can we figure out what happened to Unspeakable Fleming. Confundo."

The latest bellhop to push a cart by their open door didn't seem to react to the undetectable bit of magic, but thirty seconds later there came a crash from the end of the hallway where he'd run into the wall instead of taking the turn.

Pride continued to laugh, just as he had done for the last six victims of the Confundus Charm. Edward's eye twitched.

"I'm going out."

"It's getting late."

"I don't need sleep.

"You have no money."

Ed clapped, tapped the wallpaper, and two hundred rubles peeled themselves out of the wall in a small lightshow of sparks.

"…You don't speak Russian."

"I've been assured that there are some very comprehensive mind-reading translation charms in my cloak."

Susan paused, searching for another reason to keep her charge nearby. She drew a blank, and waved a hand at the grinning alchemist, sighing theatrically.

"Fine then. Be back tomorrow morning, don't get lost, don't leave witnesses, blah blah blah. Have fun."

Susan woke to the alert of the proximity wards she had set up around the room. From outside came the sound of muffled curses, the handle of the door rattling, and then a brief flash of light followed by the door swinging open.

Ed stumbled in and collapsed forwards the moment he crossed the threshold. Susan levitated his weakly mumbling form out of the way, then closed the door and transfigured the lock back into something recognizable as its original form.

"What happened to you?"

"Went exploring," came the muffled reply. He had not bothered to roll over. Susan gave his prone form a once-over. Several tears in his jacket, bloodstains on the gloves, pant legs, and boots. The slightly messy braid was in disarray, and there was a strong scent of alcohol.

"You got in a barfight."

Ed rolled over, groaned, and pushed himself upright.

"No, Pride got in a barfight. After downing several bottles of what I'm fairly certain was some vodka strong enough to actually get him drunk, which made the translation charms go screwy so Pride ended up swearing in tongues at the other patrons, and there must have been enough Slavic dialects to give them the gist of what he was saying, 'cause the next moment he was fighting ten of these huge guys, barehanded."

Ed swung his arms around for emphasis, color beginning to return to his face as he narrated.

"So after breaking the last guy's nose with a barstool, the police show up, and I managed to get enough majority in Motor Control that I was able to get us away, with him still screaming Ancient Vedic curses. After that, we kinda had a fight in an alley the next few blocks over, with him punching both of us in the face because he was still smashed, and me letting him do his own thing while I went for the frontal lobe, and when I managed that I tried to figure out where we were."

Susan briefly considered interrupting, as her original question had been answered. She then thought better of it and focused her Occlumency on retaining the current memory for the best quality blackmail possible.

"Anyway, when I figured out we were pretty much halfway across the city from the hotel, I just decided to take as many shortcuts to get back because it was getting light out. I got stabbed a few times by a couple muggers, and Pride used that distraction as an opportunity to take charge again, and we spent another half hour or so flailing around face down on the pavement sorting things out. In the meantime, some idiot had called the paramedics, so by the time I had beaten Pride down again I was laid out on a stretcher in an ambulance. When I saw us pass the hotel, I waited for a bit then jumped out, made a break for it, and came back and came here. Pride's still slightly drunk, and I'm beginning to wonder if second-hand inebriation is a thing because my head hurts like a bitch."

Story finished, Ed flopped back down, staring vacantly at the ceiling with his arms spread-eagled. After a moment, he brought his arms out straight above him, clapped, then let his hands collapse back to his chest, fixing his coat and consuming a small section of the carpet. The bloodstains and stench of alcohol disappeared, and the alchemist looked slightly presentable again. He resumed his contemplation of the plaster.

Susan considered her hapless partner for a moment. She seriously considered letting him sleep off whatever ungodly amount of liquid fire he'd consumed, and to simply conduct the mission alone. These were the thoughts any rational, mindful, sympathetic person would have had for a friend, even a recent one.

"Get up. The Russian Ministry starts its work hours soon, and we need to slip in with the morning rush."

The Russian Ministry looked a lot like the British one. Ostentatious marble architecture, busy wizards and witches bustling everywhere, and cloaked security personnel watching carefully from unobtrusive corners.

The only difference was, these Aurors actually looked competent.

Susan led Ed through the main foyer, just behind a group of what seemed to be normal office workers. While the alchemist discreetly eyed the various armed guards, Susan pointed her wand from where her hand was positioned at her hip, hidden from view by her cloak.

"Remind me why we didn't use Invisibility Cloaks?" Edward muttered, just loud enough to be heard by his partner.

The espionage agent fired off a set of silent Confundos. The rigid posture of the guards nearest to the admissions desk relaxed slightly, and the clerk on duty let them pass without comment. As they cleared the wand-check, Susan turned back around and unobtrusively finite'd the charms.

"Because any sort of stealth magic is scanned for by the incoming wards, and at the front desk, and at every stairwell. The cloaks would be fizzled in five seconds and then we'd be stuck answering some very uncomfortable questions."

They rounded a corner and descended a flight of stairs.

"So, where are we headed?"

"Given that Fleming was captured while investigating secret magic development for a foreign nation, you'd better bet she's not getting a public trial. Which means that if she's still alive then she'll be in a holding cell in the deeper levels. First priority is to rescue her. When we do, if whatever she's found out is too dangerous to leave alone, we do a quick smash and burn and get the hell out of here."

After a few more floors of dodging crowds, descending staircases, and doing various stealthy spy-type activities, they came upon an unmarked door, painted a deep crimson. It was, in fact, very similar to the unmarked black doors of the British Department of Mysteries. Susan took a slow breath.

"This is it," she whispered sharply. "From here on out it gets a bit trickier. Everyone down here knows who's supposed to be here, and people from the upper floors don't come down here. We need to find out where the cells are located, get there without being detected, and break Fleming out."

And then, right on cue, the door swung open on silenced hinges, letting out a slight, clerkish looking man who was carrying a large stack of paperwork.

"Now."

This was the only warning that their unsuspecting target received before Susan stepped in behind him and delivered a vicious chop to his neck, spun around, and held the closing door, letting the Russian collapse limply on the floor behind her. Ed stripped him of his outer robe, and without that protection an Obliviate and a Petrificus from Susan made sure he would stay down. The man and his papers were Disillusioned, dragged to an unobtrusive corner, and propped up behind a potted plant. The two Unspeakables slipped inside, and the dark red door shut with a sense of finality.

As soon as they were inside, Ed's eyes were forced to adjust to the relative gloom of the hall.

"Seriously. What's with wizards and their sense of lighting? Everything's always torches and dark rooms with these people."

The alchemist had no reason to comment. It was a theme he was noticing as well. Instead, he focused on his partner, who was busy opening and shutting doors, apparently looking for something in particular.

"Here we are. Get in."

Edward followed, and was faced with what seemed to be a small, slightly disused storage room. Susan pointed to the door.

"Do your alchemy and hide us for a bit. The clock's ticking now, and I have no desire to waste what time we have by getting discovered."

A clap, some lightning, and there was no door. Ed turned to the spy.

"So, plan of action?"

She pulled out the stolen robe, and shrugged it on.

"You and I walk around in disguise and try to find the cells. You can transmute yourself something similar to this, I hope?"

Edward frowned.

"That's… not much of a plan."

"That's not much of a plan."

Susan growled in frustration.

"We've got limited time, no maps, no inkling of what to expect, and you want a solid plan?"

Ed paused. Maps… That gave him an idea.

'Pride, do you think we could…?'

"There's certainly plenty of shadows."

He smiled, and then spoke up.

"You wanted a map? Because I can get you a map."

Susan watched as her partner sat down on the floor, closed his eyes, and the storeroom's shadows twisted. Dozens of purple eyes blinked open, sharp teeth glinted, and Susan silently swore to never sleep without a light source nearby ever again. A voice echoed from every corner of the room, soft and ever-so-slightly unhinged.

"Give me a few minutes."

The eyes shut, the mouths closed, and the shadows stopped dancing.

After nearly five uncomfortably tense minutes in which her partner just sat still and she tried not to remember the prominent warnings of instability on Edward Elric's psychological profile, his eyes snapped open, shining the same violet that the eyes in the shadows had.

"Down three floors, take the third right, halfway down the hallway, through the door in between the two potted plants on the left. From there, take the spiral staircase up one floor, walk to the end of that hallway—"

Susan held up a hand.

"Stop. I won't remember past the second sentence, and there's a faster way to do this."

Edward—was he still Edward?—scowled at being interrupted. Susan ignored him in favor of pulling on the stolen robe. It was a little too big, but hopefully it would pass a cursory inspection.

"I'll go out and find Fleming, and you can tell me where to go. Much more efficient."

She flipped up the hood, and turned back to her partner.

"Well?"

He scowled, and then shadows lashed out, slicing at the seams where the door had been fused to the walls. They cut clean through, and the door fell to the ground with a thud, and then began to tip forwards. Susan hastily silenced it before it could make a louder noise, and then with a sticking charm set it more or less back in its original place. Layering as many Notice-Me-Nots on the door and the surrounding wall as possible, she turned around and set off into the recesses of the Russian Ministry.

Walk with purpose, avoid eye contact but not acknowledgement, act like you're supposed to be here.

The mantra circled endlessly in Susan's mind as she briskly strode down yet another dimly lit hallway, passing other red-cloaked figures and attempting to appear inconspicuous. As she reached the end of the hallway, a small voice spoke up from behind her ear, under her hood.

"Left here. Through the door, down the stairs, and then at the end of the hall."

She opened the door, descended what felt like the hundredth staircase, and found herself at one end of another overly extended hallway. She had never really considered the convenience of the magic doors in the Department of Mysteries, but was appreciating them now more than ever.

Halfway down the hall, she heard the shadow tucked away in her hood give a soft curse. Just as she was about to mutter an inquiry, the torches lining the room flared and the room was cast into full, brilliant light. Swearing and covering her eyes at the sudden change, Susan was about to repeat her question when the alarms started.

Time's up.

Abandoning all pretenses of cover—they'd soon find out who was wearing a stolen cloak after all—Susan made to sprint for the end of the hall. Grasping the handle of the door, she yanked it open, delivered a Stunner and an Obliviate to the surprised guards, and then secured the door with every locking and warding spell she could remember.

Hopefully that would hold long enough.

The first cue Pride got that something was wrong was the large number of wizards gathering at the entry door. The second hint he got was when the clerk they'd knocked out on the way in was carried back inside. He'd had just enough time to begin diverting his attention back to Susan when the lights had all gone blindingly bright and every single one of his watching eyes knew nothing but pain.

When he managed to reassert himself enough to assess the damage done—those shadows represented a serious chunk of energy—his immediate conclusion was that they were in some deep shit. Sure, Susan had hopefully gotten to the holding cells, but he hadn't expected to have to fight until they were halfway out of this place. Now the surprise was gone and they were split up. He was running on about a quarter of his full reserves, and wouldn't you know it, but someone had just noticed the way that his portion of the wall didn't seem to be attracting any attention. Only one thing to do now—buy some time. He gathered what energy he could, pulled his shadows into a defensive position, and readied himself for a brawl.

The concealment spells fell within moments, followed quickly by the door. A shaft of light burst into the storeroom, and was followed shortly by a number of smaller lights of a more lethal variety. Jets, beams, points, beams, and a few esoteric spells that didn't glow so much as swallow the light around them. Every spell impacted ineffectively with the back of the pitch-dark room, and the barrage quickly ceased.

The first wizard to storm into the room disappeared so quickly they didn't even see what hit him. One moment he was stepping through what remained of the doorway, the next a black blur had removed him from their vision.

Cue more spellfire.

It occurred to somebody that perhaps they should have lit the inside of the room they were entering before they went inside, and the idea was quickly agreed upon. Lights floated into the room, revealing an empty room, containing only destroyed shelves and the remains of the man who had stepped in first, sans several important features such as a head, or wand hand. No assailant was in sight.

The next floor down, Edward Elric crouched low, gathering himself after a rather hasty exit through the floor of the storeroom above. Transmuting his way through should buy him a little time, and right now he needed all the time he could get.

"Edward? Come in, do you hear me?"

Just what he needed. More voices in his head.

"I hear you, Susan," he announced to the empty hall. "Now how about you tell me how I can hear you?"

That was definitely an exasperated sigh on the other end of…whatever they were using.

"Communication charms. Standard issue, Fermier must have put them into your coat at the same time that he did the translation spells. Honestly, I was working off that assumption, we'd be screwed if he wasn't such a perfectionist…"

She trailed off.

"Anyway. I need you to come down and meet me halfway. Fleming's in a bad way—bastards were torturing him, he's not exactly coherent."

Ed's eyes narrowed at the mention of torture.

"So, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken if I were to, say, have already decapitated a man?"

There was a pause. Whether it was one of shock or deliberation, he couldn't say.

"Collateral doesn't matter at this point. Given their treatment of Fleming, I'd say it's safe to label everyone in this Department as an enemy hostile. Do whatever you need to do, just get your ass down here."

The parts of Edward's train of thought that weren't busy planning a route or feeling regretful at his actions cackled in glee. Actually, the cackling might have been Pride.

"This mean we can finally go full-out?"

'Within reason. We can't do anything too drastic. This is an underground system, and while we could probably dig our way out eventually, Susan's odds are much lower. That said…'

Ed reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of white gloves. A pair of very special white gloves with a very specific array painstakingly stitched into the back.

'It's about time we got bring out the big guns, don't you think?'

Whew. This entire thing took me absolute ages to plan, write, and then rewrite. Unlucky 13, I guess.

While basically none of the Russian Ministry arc is canon, I figured if the Unspeakables are doing international espionage, Ed needs to get in on that. If only to see it all fall apart hilariously. The Harry Potter timeline is still continuing as normal. For those of you wondering, this is in the weeks just before the attack in the library, wherein Hermione is attacked and Hagrid is arrested and Dumbledore leaves the school.

I'll let you make your own connections about how that's important.

Anyways, this arc is mainly a filler, so that my time skip isn't for months, but rather weeks. Ed's got to do something for his job, after all. Long story short, next chapter will be Ed (and Pride) finally getting to lay down the beatings after about 12 chapters of mediocrity.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, and because of the fact that this chapter is about a month and a half late, I present to you an

OMAKE

While Shadows' Shadows is (semi) serious, I do have many fun ideas. Some of which I can't find a place to put in the actual story line, due to errors in timing, stuff I've already established, etc. Hence this short extra. Enjoy!

Ed stomped reluctantly into Fermier's lab. He wasn't actually reluctant to be there, as he was immune to the explosions that made everyone else wary of the place. He just didn't like the fact that he'd been ordered to be there.

It chafed on his dignity.

The mad scientist turned around and gave Ed his best approximation of a welcoming smile. It was really indistinguishable from a superior smirk, but the subtleties were there.

"Ah, good. I had just finished. Come over here."

Ed duly walked over and was promptly handed a wand. He regarded the stick blankly.

"I thought you said I couldn't use this."

Fermier smiled. Honest-to-Truth smiled. There were some expressions that were not meant to be worn by some people.

"This, Edward, is a special wand. After much research and analysis, I found a perfect synchronization to counteract the pull of your Philosopher's Stone. It just so happens that the wand in question was the first wand ever made by one Ollivander, who is said to have declared that this wand would only be wielded by the greatest, most gifted wizard since Merlin himself. It is an ancient, powerful wand, Elric, and I expect that you—"

He promptly burst out laughing at the stunned, reverent look on the alchemist's face as he held the ancient-looking focus. When Edward looked up questioningly, he laughed harder.

"You should have seen the look on your face! They fall for that every time! Every time!"

Edward was starting to suspect he was being mocked. As if on cue, Nicolas Flamel walked in. Observing the situation, he smiled drily.

"The old ancient-prophecy wand trick?"

"Every single time!"

Nicolas glanced at Edward apologetically.

"I'm sorry, he does this to all the new recruits who come to him for gear. Takes delight in the 'simplicity of gullible idiots' or something to that effect."

"No," Flamel continued. "That old piece of driftwood wouldn't work any more than a twig off of some random branch. What you need," he said gravely, pulling out several sheets of parchment with illustrations of fearsome creatures on them, "Is the magical essence of several of the most potent creatures in existence, and wood from a tree in the Whispering Forest. The sheer power in such a wand should be enough to balance out the energies that you deal with."

Ed regarded the parchment blankly.

"So, I have to fight what, exactly?"

Flamel began to tick off on his fingers.

"You need the heart of a Quintaped, the ground tooth of a hundred year old Chinese Fireball, the eye of a Kraken, the tail of a platypus, the claws of a Wendigo, the fang of a Basilisk, hairs from the pelt of a Hellhound, and a scale from the Black Beast of," here he paused, face contorting strangely, "Aaaaaaauggh."

"Are you alright?"

Flamel quirked an eyebrow in apparent confusion.

"Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because you sounded like you were hurt."

Flamel paused mid-breath, mouth partly open. He raised his hand halfway up to his face, dropped it back down again, sighed heavily, turned to look around at a now-somberly nodding Fermier, looked back at Edward, and sighed again.

"It's a—you've never seen—just … Never mind. Collect all of these ingredients and I will be able to create for you a wand capable of channeling the Stone's power."

Ed nodded firmly. Time to go kick some magical creatures' asses.

As the door slammed shut, Fermier burst out laughing again, and Flamel quickly joined him.

"Dear Merlin. He bought that steaming pile of dragon dung?"

"I'm just picturing him figuring out what a platypus looks like," Flamel choked out in between rasping chuckles.

"Never mind that, but the Black Beast? Only the Purebloods and the most sheltered muggleborns would miss that sort of giveaway."

"Well, it seems your newest dupe isn't a fan of the theater, Fermier."

"It seems so. What are you going to do when he brings back all the ingredients?"

Flamel stopped laughing.

More to follow.