Turns out I may have been just the slightest bit optimistic when I said 'regular updates'. Or assumed that I'd be able to get any writing done at all, because I am bad at sitting down and doing a thing and school provides plenty of excuses. But now here I am, and here you are! We all are here and there's absolutely no reason to question why I'm so late.

Additionally I regret a lot of the plotting that I did for Chapter 19. Giving the Azkaban guards names was a mistake because now I have to keep writing for them.

ON WITH THE STORY

RECAP

The Unspeakables are having none of the luck tracking down Voldemort's Horcrux. This is causing some concern. Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy greases some gears and then meets up with some old buddies to restart their old club and have a grand old time. In a tangentially related incident, dangerous felon Sirius Black escapes prison.

What was left of the front gates of Azkaban Prison hung loosely on one hinge. As the Warden stormed through, closely followed by the Azkaban Aurors, the remaining door lost its tenuous hold and slammed to the ground. Nobody noticed, their attention held by more important matters.

Azkaban was in ruins. What was once Britain's most secure magical detainment center was now a smoldering shell, fires still sizzling through the torrential Dementor-induced downpour. While the light and medium security wings were—to put it generously—relatively intact, the maximum-security wing had been leveled. The Warden paused for the briefest of seconds, jaw clenched and wand-hand trembling, before he began issuing orders.

"First priority, dig through what's left of the maximum wing. I want survivors, I want bodies, I want to know who is missing from my prison. Hoskins, you take half a squad and case light and medium. Jenkins, go to the Dementors and get those sorry sons of Lethifold's excuse for why I leave for seven hours and come back to this mess. Smythewick, find a working fireplace and get Scrimgeour, Bones, and that worthless spineless bastard of a Minister on the Floo. If we work fast we might be able to keep this contained. Leeroy, get the god damn gates fixed and for the love of God do a sweep of the shores to make sure we don't have any idiots who think they can hide on the coastline."

A short time later, the Warden of Azkaban was looking two faces holding expressions of grim uncertainty and a third which was hopelessly panicking.

"What do you mean breakout?" Fudge spluttered, not for the first time. Or even the third.

"What I mean to say, esteemed Minister of Magic, is that unknown parties used the reduced Auror guard in order to stage an assault and mass breakout on the maximum security wing of Azkaban. We're still repairing the building and digging up bodies but the current estimates are at one hundred twenty dead prisoners, and twelve dead guards. Of the prisoners still unaccounted for are every single one of the convicted Death Eaters from the last war."

"You said that your prison was inescapable! That a few missing guards wouldn't matter at all!" Fudge accused, eyes frantic. "You misled me!"

The Warden felt himself seconds away from testing whether he could deliver a curse via Floo. "Minister, with all due respect Azkaban's funding has been continuously cut for the past fifteen years. There has been no investment in new warding, security measures, or even basic infrastructure upgrades in that period. You invited yourself to the prison, looked around, and decided for yourself that taking away ninety percent of my staff for a publicity stunt was a wise decision."

While the Minister sputtered impotently the other career politician at the meeting spoke up.

"All this is well and good, Warden," Rufus Scrimgeour spoke, eyes flat and tone calculating, "But the fact remains that your Aurors have proven that they cannot be allowed off the island if we wish to maintain a secure prison. Well, what remains of it."

"My forces will take charge of the manhunt," he continued, "while you work on making your inescapable prison live up to its name." With that parting shot, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement cut his connection.

Cornelius Fudge, still lacking words and not daring to test the look in the Warden's eyes, simply nodded a few times as his mouth opened and closed before finally gathering himself and closing his connection as well.

Amelia Bones remained on the line. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before sighing, and for the first time since the meeting had begun spoke directly to the Warden.

"Look," the Head of Magical Law Enforcement began, mouth flat and eyes hard, "I don't have the pull to overtly countermand Rufus. If he wants to keep your division out of the manhunt then that's his decision as head of the Auror Corps. But, hypothetically, if a group of Azkaban Aurors were to be found outside of their jurisdiction for an entirely unrelated reason then I can persuade my people to look the other way."

The Warden allowed himself a brief smile.

"And what would I need to do to obtain such a favor? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Bones relaxed slightly before waving her hand towards the now-empty hearths.

"The Minister's on his way out, and everyone in the Ministry can feel it coming. Scrimgeour's going to be a shoo-in for Minister, especially if we catch these escapees without too much fuss. He's spent his career making friends in the Wizengamot while I was busy running a department. I know you have your issues with him, but if you can be willing to play along we can install somebody competent and give Britain the cleanup it deserves." She shrugged.

"And if Scrimgeour's hypothetical promotion happens to leave the position of Head Auror open, then I'm sure I can find a competent, loyal replacement who can ensure a smooth transition."

A single nod.

"I would have no problem with such a deal. If such a deal were to occur."

With that final ambiguous confirmation, the Warden turned to the aides who had been listening in.

"You all heard the helpful lady, get a team together! We've got a reputation to earn back!"

Edward Elric tucked and rolled underneath a stream of violet light, fluidly turning the motion into a series of backhandsprings as his opponent attempted to track his motion with spellfire.

"Why," John Doe gritted out, flicking off another spellchain, "don't you ever stop moving?"

Red lightning began sparking from the alchemist's hands as he completed his evasive maneuvers, causing a series of stone dragons to spring from the floor and dive towards his opponent. Doe blasted each and every one to rubble before they cleared half the distance, but with the distraction Elric had transmuted a much more substantial threat.

"Alright," John conceded, staring down the end of the rather expansive set of anti-material armaments arrayed against him. "You win this one. What's that make it, seventeen to fifteen?"

"Eighteen," the Homunculus shot back gleefully, as the gathered Unspeakables marked another tally on his side of a chalkboard, slumping or cheering in turn. John sighed as he walked back towards the door from the dueling room, absentmindedly repairing his robes and the floor around him.

"Well, you can keep it at eighteen, because some of us need to rest in between marathon sparring matches. And I want at least a cut of that," he added to the hooded witch who seemed to be collecting bets.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on. Couldn't have lost one more, made it a round four-point gap?" she shot back, bags of galleons swept away with practiced movements. "I could've made half again."

"And I'm sure that I'm very broken up about it. If anyone needs me I'm going to be in my quarters sleeping off those last few right hooks."

"No you aren't!" a cheerful voice trilled down the hallway ahead of him, causing both Unspeakable and alchemist to flinch and turn towards the source. Espionage specialist Susan, followed by a grimly silent Fleming, marched briskly towards them.

She slapped a hand down on both their shoulders, pulling them in as she steered them towards the door.

"Elric! I haven't seen much of you since our time together in Russia, you never stop by. It hurts me so, it really does, we never get the chance to catch up, and I'm sure Fleming would love to get to know you better too, isn't that right Fleming?"

The metamorphmagus shrugged.

"Meh."

Susan waved her companion's apathy off as she half-lead, half-pulled the pair through the Department.

"Anyway, while we're talking about catching up," she started.

"We weren't," Doe felt obligated to point out. "That was all you."

Susan ignored him.

"While we're talking about catching up, even though you guys got hospitalized on that mission last month there's been a whole lot of chatter, but so few answers about what you were actually doing!"

John winced at the reminder.

"You don't say."

Susan grinned right back at him.

"I do! And you know, it's the darnedest thing, but when I tried to use my Espionage rankings to pull the files all I got were a bunch of blank pages, as if somebody had classified what was likely the most embarrassingly catastrophic failure by an Unspeakable Operative cell in the last decade! Imagine that!"

A tinge of unease worked its way into John's mind. When he tried to pull away, he found that the witch's hold had transitioned from a friendly hand on the shoulder to an iron grip.

"And here's the kicker, the real doozy, we had some rather unpleasant people from the Ministry asking some very unpleasant questions that everyone already knows the answers to! So, I had to spend my afternoon today playing dumb for a patronizing pastel pink bitch thanks to the cell—who of course nobody knows the identity of—who forgot to confound the local Auror squad they were impersonating! Isn't that neat? I think it's just fascinating."

"And here we are!" Susan chirped brightly, shoving both himself and Elric towards what was clearly Croaker's office door. When had they made that jump? John had been too occupied with the hand on his shoulder to notice.

"Ya know, I think he wants some answers too! Hope you have 'em!" And with that, she vanished through the nearest portal, slamming the door quite a bit harder than was strictly necessary.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries steepled his fingers, breathing out slowly as he surveyed the two nervous-looking underlings in front of him.

"I imagine, from the looks on your faces, you already have a very good idea of why you're here." He held up a hand to forestall any questions.

"Yes, I am aware that we previously discussed your rather abysmal failure to resolve the Horcrux incident at Hogwarts. No punishments were incurred because, at the time, the damage seemed to be minimal, and any proof of our involvement tenuous at best. That is no longer the case."

"Somebody knows that there were Unspeakables present during the final days of the Chamber incident. They were willing to let it go, but now we have a prison break on our hands and they need a convenient target to shift blame. I've had Ministry officials dropping increasingly unsubtle hints and I find myself faced with a conundrum. Because I cannot openly defy the Ministry and refuse to turn over the Unspeakables involved, but I also have the feeling that tossing them an officially dead nonhuman and one of my best Operatives would go over poorly."

Doe spoke up first.

"What about Fermier? He lead that mission, why isn't he on the line?"

"Fermier leads the entire Research side of the Department of Mysteries. Even the Undersecretary isn't stupid enough to try to take him away from his research after the last incident. You two, on the other hand, are neither important enough to cover nor expendable enough to throw to the wolves. But I think I have a solution."

Croaker slid two very official looking forms across his desk and then folded his hands again. Doe took one and gave a start.

"Termination of employment," Croaker explained. "Backdated to a month ago."

"You're both fired. You have," he checked the clock, "four and a half hours to go as missing as possible before I'm called to a meeting where I'll be forced to tell Amelia Bones that the Unspeakables who impersonated law enforcement were fired following their catastrophic failure on an entirely unsanctioned infiltration into Hogwarts. It'll take another two hours or so until the manhunt begins, so I suggest you make good use of your time."

"So we're fucked," Ed began as he and Doe hurried down another darkening London side street, transfigured umbrellas doing little to block the pounding rain. The streets were virtually empty, save for a bedraggled paperboy on the corner, but they were taking no chances attracting undue attention with any shows of magic.

"Not exactly," Doe replied, "We just need to keep our heads down until the Aurors find something more important than chasing down a pair of disgraced black-ops. Given the manhunt for the prison escapees, they're not going to be able to dedicate much towards tracking us down anyway. Once the prisoners get captured the Aurors will have forgotten all about us and we can go back to our jobs." As they crossed the street, the boy hawking his papers tried to attract their attention. Doe waved him off.

Ed gave his fellow runaway a sidelong glance.

"Not sure if you remember, but we were fired. Expelled from the Department. We can't return, we have no jobs to return to."

Doe snorted, and reached into his coat, pulling out the dismissal papers.

"These? These are an 'official' Department firing. Paperwork so Croaker can show Bones he's not protecting us. A real Unspeakable termination would've had us Obliviated and waking up from a 'coma' in St. Mungo's."

"Funny you should mention that."

At the paperboy's remark, the pair of Unspeakables spun around, Doe with his wand drawn and ready under his overcoat and Edward with a formula for transmuting half a dozen forms of stone dancing on his fingertips. The paperboy was not only looking far less wet and miserable, but was also no longer a paperboy.

"See, the thing about Obliviations is it's a little hard to tell when something's missing when you don't remember what it is you can't remember."

"Fleming," Doe greeted cautiously, lowering his wand.

Unspeakable Fleming stepped forward, palms turned outwards.

"Really, John, you must be getting old. Susan hit you with half a dozen Memory Charms on your way up to the boss's office and you didn't even notice you couldn't remember the month of undercover in Edinburgh? Or that one time in Dublin?"

Ed was still ready to drop his palms to the pavement and get down to business, but as Fleming continued he noticed Doe getting paler. His shoulders dropped, and he smiled shakily.

"I keep forgetting how good she is at those."

Fleming rolled his eyes.

"That is the point of a Memory Charm, yes. You two've been cut loose, and given who you're being sent after I don't blame Croaker for taking precautions. It's dangerous enough to let you walk with the knowledge Riddle's Horcrux is walking around, but we can't exactly make you forget about the person you're supposed to be finding."

Fleming reached into his paperbag and pulled out a newspaper, tossing it at Doe, who barely caught it.

"There's all you're getting. You're on your own from here on out—Department safe-house addresses, drop-boxes, and pass-phrases have already been edited from your memory, and if the Aurors come around with any questions we'll deny ever having known you," he rattled off. "Good luck, have fun, don't die."

With a near-silent pop, the street was once again empty save for an alchemist, a wizard, and the pouring rain.

Dumbledore smiled genially as Alastor Moody stumped into his office. The heavily scarred ex-Auror spared a murderous glare towards Fawkes before casting half a dozen wards at the door, and another three at the windows. He eyed the seat across the desk suspiciously before sitting down heavily in it. His eyes never left Dumbledore's phoenix.

"Alastor, so good to see you could make the time to come in. Lemon Drop?"

Moody scowled, but took the candy and slipped it into a pocket. No doubt it was going to undergo a full magical scan later.

"Well, between the constant harassment by your bird and the letters you kept sending with it I assume it's going to be worth my time."

Fawkes chirped, looking positively thrilled with himself. Dumbledore spared him a pleased smile before returning to the subject.

"You see, Alastor, I find myself with a bit of a conundrum. I had planned to hire Remus Lupin for the post of Defense Professor, but I'm sure your contacts in the Auror department are keeping you posted on squad movements."

Moody snorted.

"Yes, they are. Two full squads on duty at all times, I can see why you wouldn't want a werewolf on the grounds. And before you ask, the answer's no."

"I-"

"I'm retired," Moody cut him off, pounding a hand on his peg leg for emphasis. "I've been lending a hand with the Order, but even then the most I've done is keep an ear to the ground. I haven't been on active duty in over a decade now, and I'm sure you got the lowdown from Aberforth on how my last real fight ended."

Dumbledore blinked before smiling in bemusement.

"Oh, Alastor," he chuckled, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. He folded his hands across his lap and leaned forward, eyes twinkling merrily. "I wasn't going to hire you."

Moody stopped short, mouth already open to voice more objections. A vaguely indignant expression flashed across his face before being replaced by confusion.

"Well then why the hell did you want me in here?"

Dumbledore lifted his eyebrows earnestly, innocent smile firmly in place.

"Why, to get your recommendation on who we should hire, of course. You were going to be on the top of the list but, well, it's like you said. You are getting on in years-"

Moody twitched.

"And I'm sure there's a promising young Auror or three currently working for Scrimgeour-"

The scarred ex-Auror looked positively murderous now.

"And I'm sure that they'll do a marvelous job instilling the proper ideals of vigilance and caution in the children, our nation's future best and finest," the Headmaster concluded, paying no heed to the violent tapping of Moody's false leg. "So, who would be at the top of your list?"

"Fuck that," Moody growled. "I'll teach the little shits myself. Nobody Rufus trained is up to it."

"But Alastor," Dumbledore protested. "Your retirement-"

Mad-Eye Moody's infamous eye seized upon a strategically placed document half-hidden beneath a stack of fiscal paperwork. With a single motion of his wand, the provisional yearlong contract was in Moody's hand, and signed in the next motion.

"There!" he all but barked. "I'm your teacher and you can tell that patronizing son of a cuss Scrimgeour to take his half-trained group of party magicians and-" Mid-sentence, Moody realized what he'd just done and stopped still. Glanced down at the freshly-signed professorship contract still drying on Dumbledore's desk. Looked back up to find the Headmaster's genial smile widening into an outright grin, eyes twinkling like Honeyduke's Christmas display.

"Well," Dumbledore beamed. "Considering how strongly you feel on the matter, I suppose I'll just have to take you on instead."

And that's a wrap. Next time, expect a manhunt, at least one case of grand larceny, and a brief interlude with the Boy-Who-Is-Not-A-Main-Character. Coming to an Internet near you, as soon as college stops beating me with a pipe.