When Albus Dumbledore finally returned to his quarters adjacent to the Headmaster's Office of Hogwarts following a tiring series of meetings with the ICW in France, he almost didn't notice something had gone horribly wrong. Just halfway to closing the creaking door to his bedroom however he thinks that it is pleasant that there is none of the usual background white noise in his office that normally makes doing paperwork an exercise in futility. And unfortunate in that he usually couldn't put up a silencing charm as good as this lest he be deafened when an emergency required his attention.
Barely a fraction of a second later Albus nearly doubles over, stumbling in shock as he connects the dots, exhaustion forgotten as he dashes back to his desk with the speed to rival a muggle Olympian. As he frantically scans the various destroyed or failed devices littering his workspace, Dumbledore allows a rare moment of panic to overwhelm him as he stares at the devices which monitor the health, mood, and general location of the Girl-Who-Lived. His features contorting into an odd mix of confusion, shock, and horror as he frantically considers what could have possibly gone wrong.
Iris should've been perfectly safe under her aunt's roof, as the ward's surrounding her home in a scarlet glow that was only visible to a select few would cancel any hostile magic, including the Unforgivables before they could even form. Even muggle violence should have been impossible, unless her aunt and unc-Dumbledore goes stiller than death, the thought of the Dursley's abandoning little Iris despite the veiled warning about Tom so incomprehensible that he is forced to go back and reevaluate his mental picture of Petunia and her husband in an effort to understand as guilt begins to gnaw at his core. Her relatives abandoning her might very well have made the wards fall, as Iris was no longer welcome in their home, but most of the devices in his office were not tied to the blood wards, but rather to Iris herself, and looking forlornly upon the blackened husks still smelling of sulfur he knew without a doubt that there was only one way for all of them to have failed in his absence. Forcing down his growing dread a moment later Albus forced himself to calm down, the situation certainly didn't look good, but he had to verify the facts for himself before jumping to any admittedly logical conclusions. Hastily departing his office before sealing it behind him, as it wouldn't do to have Minerva walk into his office and start something before he can verify the situation, he moves through the castle halls faster than he has in decades. The stone halls of Hogwarts, normally alive with magic and life now looming and grim, the portraits which were usually equally happy to give out either a greeting or insult seemed unnaturally silent, ancient witches and wizards seemingly looking down upon him accusingly as Albus pretends not to be affected by their judging stares. Paying a curious Poppy Pomfrey and a dour looking Severus Snape no heed he finally races past the entrance to the Great Hall, pushing open the doors to the outside with a bang like thunder and reaching the gates of the castle a scant minute or two later, barely crossing the ward line before disapparrating with a faint pop.
Reappearing nearly silently, his bright moon patterned robes contrasting strikingly with the dull backdrop of Privet Drive, Albus steps out into the street from just in between two houses not even a hundred meters from Number four. Albus immediately looks up to the sky above Iris' home, no dark mark, he isn't sure whether that reassures him or worries him more however, as that means it's all the more likely the incident that caused his devices to fail was non-magical in nature. Quickly disillusioning himself with a thought, his form practically winks out of existence instantly while he scans the house and wards as he approaches from across the street. There are no signs of forced entry, the house is as dull and normal as it's neighbors, nor are the remnants of the wards showing signs that they were even touched before they fell, an unrelated incident then? Somehow he doubts it, Albus has lived too long and seen far too much to believe in chance anymore. Unfortunately, it took him a moment to notice that the car was actually not even present in the driveway, and Albus uncharacteristically cursed himself for not paying attention to the obvious details in his hurry to get answers. Stepping away from the door before he can even knock, he quickly glides across the street to Mrs. Figgs' house, dropping his disillusionment as he does so, hoping the old squib had managed to wrangle something out of Petunia before she left for wherever it was she departed to with Iris.
...
An unusually frantic looking Albus Dumbledore is the sight Arabella Figg is treated to as she opens her door far too early in the morning to be good for her mood. A worrying sight, as she hasn't seen him like that even once in all the meetings she'd had with him in the past. "Albus? what do you need? and why do you look so out of sorts?". Seemingly snapping out of whatever trance held him, the century old wizard visually composed himself, straightening out before his 'merlin damned' twinkle came back full force he enquires "Arabella, I must know, do you know where the Dursleys have gone with little Iris? It is imperative you inform me if you know anything!" He infuses just a small bit of compulsion into his words, normally he wouldn't resort to such dishonorable methods, but he is pressed for time and each moment could make all the difference. Mrs. Figg blinks for a moment but just creases her brow in faint worry, "I'm not sure why you're so frantic Albus, but Petunia did mention France a few days ago and since-" She doesn't even get a chance to finish her sentence as Dumbledore hastily thanks her before moving away and disappearing with a soft crack, not even bothering to hide himself from view. Sighing to herself, she just rolls her eyes slightly at the audacity of the oddly dressed man before closing the door once again. Still, she cannot help but frown as she wonders about what sort of disaster was in the making that would so greatly ruffle Albus "Merlin Reborn"Dumbledore that he would even forsake propriety for the sake of speed.
...
It doesn't surprise Albus when he see's Minerva and Severus, pinched faces and all waiting outside his office when he returns, though he can't bring himself to give more than a noncommittal mumble as greeting before he excuses himself to his chambers despite their protests. Falling onto his bed as lazily as he will ever allow himself, he closes his eyes and wonders to himself, simultaneously confused and sorrowful when his own self image had grown so large that it obscured his vision.
...
..I am bad at writing Dumbledore...:(
Shimmering green fields and old forests zoom past at almost nauseating speeds, and Amira cannot help but be captivated by the endless expanse of nature's domain as individual trees flit in and out of her vision almost faster than she can see. To her, to see the golden rays of morning light weave themselves into every leaf, every blade of grass and suffuse the interior of the train car with their glow; Well, she couldn't be blamed for getting distracted and pressing her face against the glass of the window on her right, childish wonder at nature's beauty drowning out her mother's words about 'bosses' and 'annoying Prussians'. It's was an even better way to distract herself from trying to remember what her past was like. Every time she tried to think back, she would get really scared, bad enough that it even made her belly feel sick. After the second time she almost threw up, her mummy had told her while waving her hands all around that it was probably best to leave it alone and that she didn't want her to strain herself at all. She was still curious, but snuggled into her mother's arms that morning and dressed and fed better than she felt she deserved, it seemed just a bit less important.
Noticing her daughter's inattention, (and didn't that still make her want to flinch?) Elizaveta stopped her rant on the thickness of Prussian skulls and just chuckled lightly. Looking around herself, she admits it is an enchanting picture, a train full of kindly passengers illuminated by the glory of the sun's rays, and with nature on all sides, the scene makes for the perfect atmosphere for something she hasn't been able to do for a few weeks. Shifting a bit in her seat to get comfortable, Hungary's focuses her attention inward and her eyes lose their focus upon the visible plane as her consciousness expands, taking in everything for miles in every direction now that physical barriers have become meaningless. If one were to describe the look in her eyes at that moment, they would say it was akin to looking down an endless aisle in a library, knowing that one could look forever and never comprehend all the information contained within. In the living idea's subtly glowing orbs, everything becomes clearer, shapes are sharper, colours more bright, light more luminescent, and every sensation a hundred times more powerful. Hungary's eyes become half-lidded as she immerses herself more deeply in the world's natural forces. Looking around her, everything exudes a soft inner light that is under the gaze of a nation, a thing of true magnificence. Her kind had never really had a name for the light, nor had they bothered to try and understand it. A nation's very existence was one carved from the blood of their enemies, not scholarly pursuit. But what they did know was that they too Shined, and in the presence of their nation, a citizen's light shined just a bit brighter. Many legends had sprung up throughout history of individuals who were able to fight just a minute longer, finish speeches of importance with unexpected power, or even deduce things that would have seemed impossible at first because they were empowered by the presence and support of their Nation. Hungary flexed her wrist slightly, and watched with a small smile on her face as two passengers in different parts of the train car smiled to themselves as their Shines rose in tandem with hers, even though they knew not why a part of them felt happier than ever to return home. Unfortunately they haven't crossed over her borders yet, so she cannot enjoy a complete immersion with the land, but to throw off the shackles of mortal sight, even temporarily is relieving regardless. That said, taking a moment to focus her attention downward, she just stares, fascinated by the flows of the key lines, magma tubes, and shifting plates that make up the Earth, and the glimmering layer of light that made up the life on the surface. It was like staring into a much more beautiful and rare kind of gemstone, and the sight of the thing which she is so deeply connected to brings about a sense of security and surety that Elizaveta welcomes wholeheartedly.
A few minutes later, she turns her head to her right, and is only stopped from stumbling by the fact that she is already sitting down, and even then she almost loses her concentration on maintaining her Sight. For there, radiating magic in small waves, is Amira's magical core, as bare to her eyes as any wizard's and a bit more sizable than usual as well. Now, Hungary likes to think of herself as observant of her surroundings, after over a millennia of near constant fighting, but she is honestly so caught off-guard that she wonders if the last few decades have softened her. A mischievous smirk firmly plants itself on her face as another thought offers itself up for perusal though. As a magical child, Amira would be privy to many of the world's deeper secrets by default, and many more besides given who would be raising her from that point on. Combined with the fact that wizards were notoriously tougher than non-magical people, and Elizaveta mentally rearranged some of her plans for the future. Chuckling, she closed her eyes this time as she reaches out a metaphysical hand and gives her daughter's magic a poke, leaving a ripple in the golden globe of power.
Not a minute earlier, little Amira is mesmerized by the vision in front of her, her open-mouthed expression eerily similar to those worn by love-potion victims. Her awe is near-instantly replace by mortification however, as a full body tingle goes down her spine, the weird poke in the lower back causing her to fall into a giggling fit. Her hands acting as poor mufflers to her laughing.
The sight is adorable enough to temporarily break her mother's poker face however, the half smile half smirk causing her face to twitch into a near constipated expression before she can control it again. The indignant four year old catches on nevertheless, and Elizaveta finds herself assaulted by the slightly chubby fists of an almost twenty pound embarrassed little girl. Amira hesitates though, not sure what to do when accosting one's mummy for tickling them when they least expect it. The choice is taken out of her hands when she is scooped off her seat with a squeak and nearly suffocated in the valley of her cooing mother's breasts. Flailing her arms wildly, the little girl with burning cheeks draws several amused chuckles and snorts from around the car as she flails helplessly.
A sound akin to an upset animal's growling brings the two of them out of their trance, and when Elizaveta lets Amira out of her bosom, the little girl has a scowl on her red face to rival Romano's and a bit of guilt showing through as well. Concerned and curious, she just turns her around and settles the toddler's head beneath her chin, "Didn't we eat just two hours ago? If you needed more, you could've just asked" she figured understanding and encouraging would be the best way to approach the situation. Amira fidgets slightly, and Elizaveta gets the distinct impression that there is a sullen expression on her little cherubic face. After a moment, "Freaks 'rn't s'pposed to ask fr tings" she mumbles quietly, hugging herself into a ball as she did so.
In the privacy of her thoughts, Hungary fury is practically volcanic, disregarding that some information on Amira's past still lingered, she wished she could find whoever abandoned this sweet, heartbreaking child, and rend them into pieces. Whatever hell awaited them in the beyond was but rainbows and kittens next to the agony she would inflict upon them. Midway into her teen years, Hungary had learned to appreciate the fairly carefree childhood she had when she was a young kingdom, before she was stuck in a century and half long conflict, and couldn't bear to see another child's ruined by adults(cough "Ottoman Empire" cough). Even as she reassures the slightly malnourished child who calls her 'mummy' that she can always ask of her whatever she will and not be spurned, she vows to herself that should she ever come across her daughter's former guardian(s), she will personally rip their heads from their shoulders and mount them on the gates of Buda Castle, boss be damned. It wasn't like she did much for the government other than paperwork and diplomacy these days anyway. Purposefully taking a deep breath to soothe her nerves, Hungary finally calms and Elizaveta turns her attention back to the ebony haired bundle in her arms, ponderings of multiple homicide done. Her tiny chest rises and falls steadily even as her still open eyes begin to flutter, the brown haired woman smiles faintly at the sight, her fingers running soothingly through raven black tresses.
"...Luv you mummy"
The words are like poisoned barbs in the warrior nation's heart, and she is just barely able to keep herself from twitching or else making any other outward indication that she's been affected by the heartfelt words. Truthfully though, the wholehearted sincerity in the girl's words affects her more than she would ever admit. Sure she had gone out of her way to save the girl, fed her, clothed her, even given her a name, and was now on her way home with her; But the girl was human, indefinite, and infinitely fragile. Every human Hungary had gotten to know had inevitably grown, withered, and eventually died; Even Maria Theresa, whom she had a great amount of respect for had gone the way of all humans and left her and Austria to their hastening decline. Resisting the urge to slam her head into a wall, Hungary's thoughts turned to Prussia, as they were wont to do when thinking on the past, and she remembers how he always speaks of his powerful bond with 'old Fritz'. From the look in his eyes, she supposes she always knew that in his own way, Prussia must have loved Frederick. Sighing again, this time in fond exasperation, she responds, though Amira has already fallen into the clutches of sleep, "I love you too, lánya ." "Besides", Hungary thought with a smirk and a visible glint in her eye, "I could never allow myself to fail in something of which Prussia has proven capable".
When the train finally reaches it's final stop in her borders, Amira is still asleep and Hungary deigns it better to let her sleep for a while so she can get them home and prepare lunch. Nodding to herself in affirmation and hefting her luggage, a suitcase and a child under one arm the nation, now clad in her usual green dress and apron sets one foot down on her own land and in an instant of blurred color their surroundings shift, a full train station being replaced not with with a moderately large manor in the outer districts on Buda, but a field of chest-high grass, a moderately sized cottage sitting immaculately in the center of the clearing, and a wall of towering oak trees surrounding both. And though the cottage is only just tall enough to clear the top of the forest canopy, it is isolated and thus the tip of the roof sticks out among the treetops. Practically ancient by most anyone's standards, it was built in an amalgamation of European styles by Hungary herself over two hundred years before her great war with Turkey in the mid 15th century. Having added an extra story as well as some internal expansion enchantments some years ago as she ran out of space to store her accumulated treasures, she figured it would be best to continually update it as she felt necessary. Nowadays, while it did have some 'modern' additions such as functioning toilet and plumbing as well as water, she had yet to find the patience to wire the house with electricity herself and she didn't trust anyone enough to do it for her. She had been using oil lamps and candles for much of her life though, and torches before that, so it was no big loss. Not to mention she still used old fountain pens and parchment, as well as the same set of wooden cutlery and dishware that she had been using for over half her life, which were enchanted to be long-lasting. If it weren't for the lack of obviously magical items such as a potions lab or moving portraits one might even be inclined to think of it as a wizarding household, though it just happened to have lots of magical things in and around it as such things needed to be stored somewhere. She had never trusted the goblins of Gringotts anyway, they were honorable warriors, but as a nation, Hungary would never just trust another with her money, only feeling secure when it was stored in either a government controlled bank or one of her own homes. Stepping off the cobbled path onto the old porch, each step she took made her feel a little more at ease, the stress of politics and magical mysteries falling away like a heavy backpack at the end of a climb.
Her perpetually squeaky front door swinging open snaps her out of her reminiscing, Quickly shuffling over to the living room, which like the rest of the house was shaded in dark, earthy tones, she grabs an old quilt from the back of the armchair and wraps it about Amira as well as setting her down in front of the empty fireplace, all in under half a second. Hesitating only briefly, she swiftly moves in and places a small kiss on the girl's forehead before nation-stepping into her kitchen, cheeks burning. Elizaveta sighed, frankly she still had no clue what she was doing, she hadn't really done the whole 'guardian' thing in over a hundred years, before Italy moved out of Mr. Austria's house. Even when they were all together and Holy Rome was still around, they were still nations and being a nation wasn't something any of them could ignore. That they, as human personifications, living ideas even, all had responsibilities that couldn't be so easily forgotten, no matter how peaceful and domestic their lives had been rankled them. Scowling at her own negativity, she immediately banished her depressing thoughts to the back of her mind where they usually resided, and determinedly set her attention on making enough Goulash to feed all of Detroit for the starved child in the next room.
Sitting in her study on the second floor of her home that same night, Hungary set down her pen and looked up from the stack of paperwork she was working on. The moon was full tonight and she'd always taken the time to admire it in the past. Tonight, the fireflies had come out from their nests and provided a beautiful contrast with the silver rays of moonlight alighting upon the grass, it was in a word...magical, unsurprising considering she lived in the heart of an unplottable forest that stretched hundreds of kilometers in every direction. That is not to mention all of the usual creatures she could feel congregated in her forest: Centaurs, Unicorns, Bundimuns, Doxys, Graphorns, even a mooncalf just within her range of vision. Unlike most times, the various creatures were more or less ignoring each other, or rather, they were dare she say it, friendly. On any other day Hungary would have snorted at her own sentimentality in thinking such a thing, she had always been more of a ma-err, woman of action than one of idioms and philosophy, but certain issues in the near future had had her introspective more than was usual for her.
Rising from her far too comfortable armchair, she turns her attention away from the outside as she goes around her desk and towards the door. She has things to do and the full moon is the best time to do them to ensure optimal results. Magic was fickle like that and in order to do the ritual she intended in the way she intended, she would need that bit of extra oomph that the light of a full moon could provide. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she blurred and stepped into her dining room, another step, and the room was clear of furniture and the floor was spotless of residue. Looking blankly down at the hardwood floor for a moment, she sighed and then called upon something she hadn't used in over a century. A wand, 14 inches, Oak and Turul feather core, taken from her own animagus form. She hadn't made it herself, she had never bothered to learn the craft, but she could also honestly say she had forgotten the name of the one who made it, as she had only used it a sparse few times in that first century after she got it. Unfortunately she doubted he forgot her however, as the man had looked at the feather she had given him like it was a priceless gemstone and near demanded she tell him what it was, and she somewhat regretted that, as wandmakers everywhere had been told to have been searching for Turuls to make wands for Hungarian wizards for some centuries afterward. Hungary had even seen a few wands of the type, as she had sometimes used her animagus form to go flying and occasionally shed feathers which were picked up by curious wandcrafters, though they had fallen out of prominence in the last two hundred years as they weren't common enough to be made and sold. Considering Hungary herself was the only source of them however, it was a wonder they gained as much fame as they did.
Contemplation of the past pushed aside, Hungary waved the wand once, summoning an assortment of objects from whichever of her storage rooms held the ritual and potions ingredients. Another flick and they were sorting themselves alphabetically on a table which sprung into existence just before the first item could lower itself onto it. Only sparing the assorted ingredients a passing glance out of the corner of her eye, even as she winced at the amount of items whose preservation charms had failed, she turned to the stone ritual table which was now sitting in the middle of her dining room. This was the part she was more comfortable with; Taking a dagger from...somewhere which had the same mother-of-pearl glow as her other weapons, she nicked her wrist slightly and began drawing a circle on the stone with a slight brush. The standard blood adoption ritual would usually be enough for this kind of thing, but Hungary was no ordinary human witch, and some modifications were necessary to ensure she didn't fade from existence the moment the ritual was completed.
Finally finished with the circle, a good meter's radius she noted, she took out a ruler and compass, marking with chalk seven points equally distributed around the circle. Taking the time to draw seven small circles of equal size around those points. Then she drew another circle using all of the smaller circle's innermost points on the larger one, and on the outer edge of that, she finally began the part that came most easily to her, the runes.
Most of the nations worldwide were practiced in magic, some more than others but Hungary, and by that meaning her people, were extremely fond of fighting, as evidenced by her conquest of Europe during the 11th century. For centuries muggles had worn armor and wizards robes, but even before Hungary became a kingdom, her people had adopted the idea of armor like the muggles, and flexibility like wizard's robes. Wanting to have both, her people used runes learned from Greece's and Egypt's people to make clothing which could save you from both a ballistae shot to the gut, leaving only a minor bruise, or a cutting curse to the groin, disrupting and absorbing the spell's power without using active spells. That skill in Runes, which while normally used for combat by Hungarian wizards, was what she was using here. Using very precise applications of her strength, the magyar slowly carved the necessary runic incantations for the blood adoption ritual, letting drops of her blood drip down the knife, filling the runes precisely. After making sure none of her blood got anywhere it shouldn't on the slightly modified ritual, she stood and surveyed her work. Finding no flaws despite being so long out of practice, she drew one last circle, this time using the outermost edges of the seven smaller circles instead of the inner. Taking a deep breathe, Hungary refreshed the cut on her wrist, as the last one had already regenerated and began carving more runes. This one was another set of seven phrases in seven scripts rolled into one, each one from one of the native lands of one of the sacrifice ingredients, and all designed solely to stabilize and strengthen the ritual so that one, it didn't just blow her house into the sky, and two, that no one, no matter how powerful could alter or cancel the effects unless they were her. Normally this wouldn't be necessary, but rituals were not meant to be changed once a good method was found, and doing so usually ended in the gruesome death of the caster and sometimes the recipient(s) of the ritual. Hungary knew that wouldn't be a problem for her, as countries could not be killed through destroying their avatars after all, but she did need the ritual to work.
Finally done with the tedious part, Hungary stood and stretched, absentmindedly banishing her tools back into the ether(or wherever items she wasn't using went) she waved her wand, calling to her the necessary ingredient sacrifices for the blood adoption ritual. Carefully setting the appropriate ratios of each into their respective circles, she opened her Vision for a moment, ensuring there was no unnecessary magic around that could interfere, though she had checked beforehand. Finding nothing Hungary nodded to herself unnecessarily before blurring for a moment, reappearing with the still sleeping Amira in her arms. Starting for a moment, as though realizing something unexpected, Elizaveta chuckled mirthlessly, "A dolog, amit nem" the mutter coming out with a hint of humour regardless. Regaining herself, Hungary carefully peeled off Amira's nightdress, setting her down softly in the center of the ritual circle once she finished. Taking out a thin brush, Hungary once more cut herself and let blood flow from her hand. This time she painted a few sets of symbols on her to-be daughter's chest, stomach, and forehead. Three locations, three incantations in each one to match the three circles on the ritual table, and three different sets of incantations overall, two of which were of seven pieces, making for two sets of three and two sets of seven, making a solid four, theoretically anyway. And four, while not the most preferred number for her to use as the overall number behind the magic she was going to do in a moment, it would be enough once she had the final component of the process.
Looking up, Hungary waved her wand, opening up her skylight to the night sky clear of light pollution and thus allowing the light of a midnight full moon to illuminate the ritual circles. Luckily, Elizaveta had done everything non-magical she could to ensure Amira would sleep like a rock for the next half a day, allowing her ample time to conclude her magical business before she awoke. Warping reality for a moment, Hungary stepped forward a step, now completely clean of blood and other debris, as well as having her hair tied back and in a simple net. Wand in hand, she began incanting the first chant of the ritual. A weak breeze picked up and Hungary continued unphazed, switching between the sets of incantations regularly, making sure to say them all smoothly and without stutter, whilst at the same time switching rapidly between dialects and entire languages, yet somehow making them all sound correct when used in conjunction with each other. Her wand has been moving steadily in a series of patterns which eventually point to each sacrifice as they burn one by one, the smoke and flames lingering for a moment before blowing into the blood runes, which glow a bit more gold each time. Now Hungary barely has time to take in enough air to make sounds as she continues, only kept from stopping to choke by the fact that her body isn't necessarily limited by a need for oxygen. The wind had picked up, now a moderate gale, though it affected the ritual table not at all, and Amira was glowing, as the symbols on her began to resonate with those on the table. Nearing the end of the rite, Hungary watched as the last sacrifice burned in an instant, the ash and embers infusing themselves with the runes, which now all glowed as she finished the last incantation. Waiting barely a tenth of a second, she pushed her power and will into the waiting circle, activating it and causing a flash of light that even to Hungary was a bit uncomfortable. The surge of power from the ritual, combined with the power of the full moon and the that of an entire nation was enough to send the woman sprawling as she was slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room with enough force to dent steel had it not been for the ancient strengthening charms in the wood, only to cut off abruptly as it's purpose was achieved.
Elizaveta sighed, relieved despite herself. She was confident in her abilities as an Enchanter and Runes Master, but the magic she just performed was extremely dangerous. Not only was it a modified version of a known ritual, it was performed using unusual components and using a not-as-stable number of stabilizing and strengthening chants, all using the blood of a nation as the vessel for the power. Quite frankly, if she hadn't seen it work just now and had she a bit less faith in her own abilities, she wouldn't have believed it possible, as the whole process had to be perfect, including nonstop chanting, which considering the amount of it she had done, was actually impossible for a human with a normal or even better than average lung capacity.
Scraping herself off the floor, Elizaveta quickly glided back to the stone table, which was now bare of any markings, and observed the results of her efforts. The whole thing had enough power behind it to overwrite anyone's DNA, and her daughter,(which was now an accurate statement) looked more similar to her than before. They both had already possessed vivid green eyes, and that hadn't really changed, though they were now a tad brighter than before. But the real proof came in the rest of her; Whereas before her skin had been unhealthily pale, even sallow, it was now a light tan that spoke of a healthy amount of time outdoors. Her body shape as well had similarly changed, her malnourished, toddler sized body had been bony before from less food but still hinted at a thin body type regardless. Now she took up more space on the stone table and looked like Hungary imagined she might have a bit over nine hundred years ago, having a slightly more solid build and many of her softer features rather than sharp, aristocratic ones of the nobility. The final change being in her hair, which while still darker than hers, now had the same slight wave hers did and had lightened considerably, being a deep dark chocolate brown with auburn rather than crimson highlights.
There was more to how she had changed, but needless to say she hadn't made Amira a personification, as doing so would likely have resulted in Hungary either becoming ill and dying shortly thereafter, or disappearing entirely before she had time to react. Had she not modified the ritual, Amira would have (probably) become a personification, and being Hungary's daughter, could have quite possibly replaced her, killing her in the process and leaving Amira alone anyway. So she had changed it, allowing the ritual to make some changes, and binding the others before they could take effect. If she had done it the way she intended, Amira should have a heavy tie to anything Hungarian, being able to speak Hungarian as though she had been doing it for years, perpetuating stereotypes and subconsciously knowing everyone and everything within it's borders and about it. Unlike her however, she would not be able to just shrug off death as she was not actually a living idea which couldn't be killed by mortal means, nor would she be able to look into her being and read every mind that had ever lived in Hungary's borders, as that would have destroyed her human mind from all the pressure of tens of millions of consciousnesses. She was merely a very, very durable human with deep ties to the country itself, which probably meant she would live for a long time, if not indefinitely if she spent much of her time inside her borders(so long as Hungary didn't fall anyway). And that was assuming she didn't get herself killed in the future. This also had the unfortunate side effect of hastening her death should the nation of Hungary fall anytime in the next 60 years, as said event would probably rip her apart from the stress and thus kill her. She digressed however, you couldn't always have your cake and eat it too, she would deal with such things in the future where they belonged.
Seeing that the ritual succeeded, Hungary whistles to herself in admiration of her own skill, basking silently for a moment before she picks up her daughter, hastily redressing her in her nightgown before walking back to her bedroom, leaving her dining room untouched, furniture back in place as though it were never gone and the ritual table nowhere to be seen. The only sign something had happened as Elizaveta lay down under her sheets with her child being the skylight downstairs closing softly with a click as the full moon passed midnight, leaving the room no different than it had been a half hour before. Hugging the slightly bigger four year old to her chest, Hungary closed her eyes and dreamed, of the future, of moments to be shared, adventures to partake in, and introdu-Hungary stiffened slightly, a slight downturn of the lips the only sign of her irritation.
She hadn't thought to tell any of the other nations that she basically had a child out of the blue. One who already looked like a five year old.
Damn.
AN: Well that's chapter two, the seconds half of this just came to me and I wrote it up tonight, 6.5k seems good. I don't think it was as good as the first chapter, not as action packed or dramatic, but I felt the transitory stuff needed to be addressed, and there will surely be some of that adventure that I promised next time. Also some more nations will cameo
On the blood wards. I distinctly remember something about them failing if 'harry' either gets kicked out/no longer considers the place home.
On the X-ray nation vision, I figured it's like looking at the natural forces of the world through the eyes of a being that is partially a part of it, being tied to a large mass of land after all.
Nation walking is sort of an anime thing, they can basically just go wherever they want whenever they want, so physical limitations such as 'location' and 'walls' shouldn't mean much to them. If they are basically the land you're walking on, shouldn't their body be able to be where ever they want it to be?
Also, I have read a few fics where the nations can basically 'tune in' to the collective knowledge and minds of their people and I thought it was pretty cool.
I also have a headcanon that the magical creatures of the world have much more space to roam as wizards basically go around making massive amounts of land Unplottable so as to have room for magic stuff. Otherwise there would be no way wizards could completely hide dragon lairs or flobberworms from being found by average muggles. and who would even notice a muggle discovering something as useless as that unless all the land they live in was made 'magic only'?
A Turul is a divine symbol to the Hungarian people, look it up.
The blood adoption ritual is mostly canon stuff. The things about threes and sevens being the most stable and powerful magical numbers respectively, and using them in spells make for spells with said qualities. Blood is common in rituals and sacrifices of certain things as well.