Um, don't kill me for the delay? My brain abandoned ship over the summer. This chapter is actually no less than three versions merged into one so I apologize if it's all over the place. Funny, only three chapters in and already a ton of stuff has happened. Also, something I failed to mention beforehand, THERE WILL BE OCS. None of them are Nations or really important characters and have no relationship beyond just friendship with any main characters. Most will be faeries but there are a few others supernatural creatures. There will be one OCxOC pairing. Other than that, they're not very important, feel free to ignore them if you want to. I, on the other hand, will enjoy—torturing—exploring their characters.

WARNING: My brain went dark during that last scene. Torture and self-mutilation though it's really not that detailed. I don't think anyone will have a problem with it so just beware.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story and the OC that appears at the very end. Fiery_Ocean owns most of the fae that will be used later on. Hima-sama owns Hetalia and J.K. Rowling owns HP. Robert Jordan owns Vlad's special ability. I also own an easily distracted brain and procrastinated homework.


The door creaked open but Lukas didn't look up from his vigil. "Here, I brought you something to eat—a-and it's from the house elves so you can't even bloody complain about my cooking!" The Norwegian didn't even need to look over at his friend to know that he would be tomato red at this point. Typical behavior from him, it really wasn't surprising.

"It never stopped me before," Lukas responded, taking whatever Arthur had offered him as the other sat down beside him, "And we all know a certain someone would be infuriated if she learned her cousins are being used as slave labor, pacifism aside. She's already an outcast; she has nothing left to lose now."

"Which is why we won't bloody tell her," Arthur retorted, "And it's a pumpkin pasty, it's not going to bloody kill you!" He added, noting the fact that Lukas had yet to even take a bite.

"They're still your citizens so it's surprising they're not feeding us burnt offerings."

"Fuck you!" He seethed, "Besides, we're in Scotland so they're Alistair's citizens, not mine!"

"Guilty by association," Lukas muttered but was ignored.

"—And it's not even my fault—it's all Flying Mint Bunny's!"

"Hey!" A certain bunny interjected from his favorite place; Arthur's head, "It's not me! It's Tinkerbelle and Uni! They're the ones who keep messing up your food—except you weren't supposed to know that!"

"How cruel, using his inability to lie against him."

"Meanie Artie!" Nisse was sniggering in the background, enjoying the moments of chaos that made everything seem normal. Despite this, someone had to be the adult.

"Are you sure Vlad's okay? Three days is the longest I've ever seen him stay in bed; even after a Foretelling." The troll spoke up, ". . . In fact, this is the first time he's ever lost consciousness from it." At the reminder, the occupants of the room glanced down at the Romanian. He seemed to blend into the sterile, white sheets of the Hospital Wing's beds and appeared to be in a lot of pain.

". . . Maybe he had a virus?" It was a meaningless query; they all knew it was something else. Arthur fished his wand from his pocket and held the tip against his wrist.

"Madam Pomfery would have a heart attack if she came and saw a first year about to slit his wrist to feed his vampiric friend." Lukas commented blandly, "She might have you admitted too."

"Better than him losing control in the middle of a school filled with bloody children because he doesn't fucking feed often enough." The big-browed nation answered, using a simple spell to cut his wrist open and holding it against the Romanian's lips. Even unconscious, it didn't take long for him to begin to respond. "Why do we even bloody put up with this fool?"

"Because he's our friend, that's why." There was no argument for that.

". . . Where is the nurse-lady anyway?" Flying Mint Bunny questioned suddenly.

"Don't know, she said something about being needed and buggered off."

"Arthur your British is showing."

"Fuck off, Lukas." Arthur pulled his arm from the unconscious Romanian who let out a soft whine at being deprived. He ignored it and healed the wound, cleaning away all traces of blood as well. It was good timing too, because almost as soon as he had, said nurse burst through the doors, followed by a few teachers and a pair of floating bodies. Bodies they both recognized.

"Liam, Dylan!" In a flash the Englishman—well, English child—was on his feet.

"You know these two?" Snape sneered, sending them a haughty look. Arthur might be from his house but he had befriended a Griffindor and was thus a traitor in his eyes.

"Know them—they're my bloody brothers!"

"Then you might want to remind your 'brothers' to stay out of the off-limits corridor on the third floor, that's if they wake up, that is. They're not even students here." McGonagall sent the Potions teacher a withering look.

"When they wake up, Severus," She scolded.

"If—what do you bloody mean if?!"

"They were hit by an unknown spell. It left no traces and with no idea how long they were laying there the prospects aren't good. If they were going to wake up anytime soon they would have already." McGonagall sighed, "Don't worry, we'll do everything we can for them," another glare at Snape, "Students or not."

"Oh," Arthur sat down, all concern draining from his body, "Bloody wankers probably triggered a bloody trap."

"You're freaking out a lot less than I thought you would," Lukas deadpanned.

"You bloody well know my brothers and I don't exactly get along," He answered, crossing his arms and sulkily returning to watch over Vlad, "We can't all be like you two and get along swimmingly with our families."

"I don't always get along with Emil either and I'm sure Vlad and his little brother fight too," Lukas admitted, putting the scene behind him out of his mind, "Even so, your brothers are in a coma, you can at least pretend to care."

"They probably had it coming to them. Like always," Lukas tried a different approach.

"We can probably expect a Howler in a few days' time. You know Alistair will instantly blame us."

"He doesn't even know we're bloody here!"

"Never stopped him before." The Norwegian sent him a look, a silent, "Do you honestly believe he doesn't know we're in his own country?"

". . . What did you two do?" Arthur jumped at the unexpected voice while Lukas merely turned to face him.

"Took you long enough to wake up," The Romanian sent them a twisted grin.

"Tell me, what's Alistair going to murder us for this time?" In answer, Lukas motioned behind him. Vlad leaned around his friends and in an instant was sitting upright in bed.

"L-Liam! Dylan! They weren't supposed to be—it's too early!" There was terror in his voice as he threw the sheets off himself and the other two quickly had to restrain him.

"See Arthur, this is exactly how I expected you to react."

"Sod off!" Suddenly the Romanian caught sight of the Headmaster coolly watching the scene and it became that much harder to hold him back.

"You bastard!" Vlad shrieked, trying to throw himself at the Headmaster, "You did this, didn't you?!"

"Vlad calm down!" Arthur yelled at him.

"If by that you mean bring them here; then yes I did," The old man answered, looking largely unconcerned.

"LIAR!"

"Seriously, what's your vendetta against Dumbledore?" Lukas questioned.

"LET THEM GO, LET THEM GO!"

"I'm sorry; I cannot release them when I don't know where they have gone."

"WHY YOU LITTLE—!"

"Vlad they'll be fine! You know how often they get themselves into trouble!" The Romanian growled but grudgingly accepted it, rubbing his head as if to banish a forming migraine. Then he paused.

". . . I Foretold again, didn't I?"

"Yes. You're in the hospital wing after being asleep for three days," Lukas answered.

"Someone's talkative today," The Romanian retorted sarcastically, eyes fixed on where he played with the threadbare blanket, "Though why am I here? You know me and hospitals don't get along." Definitely not after . . . that. He silently added. He had never liked this ability he had (and that his brother had, unfortunately, inherited), it was never fun, especially considering the fact that it failed to report anything other than doom and gloom.

A pause then, "What were you dreaming about?" Arthur questioned and he glanced up in confusion.

"Huh?"

"You were muttering in your sleep and breathing deeply. You seemed to be having a nightmare but we couldn't wake you up."

"Really? I don't remember having any dreams; though." His eyes had returned to his lap. By this time, the teachers had wandered back to their classes and the room was empty, save for Pomfrey tucking in the two new arrivals before bustling off to do something else. Arthur lowered his voice anyway.

"You've been starving yourself, haven't you?" The resulting wince was all the answer he needed, "You know what will happen if you wait too long to feed. Unbidden, an image of a little, fanged girl crying in the middle of a circle of blood-stained bodies came to Vlad. An entire family had died because she refused to feed. He shook the memory away.

"I'm not stupid—"

"Then prove it by not bloody starving yourself! Now, I don't know what bloody complex plan you have to keep them from realizing you're a vampire but it won't bloody matter if you go ahead and prove it anyway by losing control in the middle of a school filled with bloody children!"

"Like you're one to talk, Arthur 'Big-Mouth' Kirkland; Black Sheep of Europe!" Vlad shot back bitterly, "You're more likely than I am to go crazy!"

"Why you little-!"

"If you're arguing then you two must be fine," Lukas cut into the forming argument, "In which case, shouldn't we be getting out of here?"

"I second that!" The Romanian loudly agreed, ignoring the glare he received in reply. What? He didn't get along well with hospitals! Arthur sighed, glancing back at the bodies of his brothers in a way that said he cared more than he was willing to admit, before standing.

"I'll go find the nurse," He muttered.


Three days earlier; on the day of Vlad's Foretelling . . .

"Are you sure this is the right way, Ireland?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Really sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Wales." Wales laughed, grinning sheepishly at his brother's glare.

". . . Just making sure." Ireland hadn't been in the greatest of moods ever since he realized that his beloved pet, Shamrock, had gone missing. When he noticed the letter from Scotland claiming that he'd offered Shamrock to his good friend Dumbledore to guard something of his—without Ireland's permission—Wales was afraid there would be war. "You know; I can't help but wonder if you thought this through, how are we supposed to get a bloody three-headed dog out of a school filled with children anyway?"

"You didn't have to come along."

"I did if I didn't want you to get killed!"

"Shamrock wouldn't kill me."

"I never said he would!" Footsteps suddenly echoed behind them and they froze. Great, just what they needed to be caught sneaking into a magic school trying to free a three-headed dog.

"I'm sorry; did you have business here?" The tone was curt and business-like with a bone-numbing chill contained within. Wales didn't even get a chance to use the brilliant excuse he had formed in milliseconds before they both fell to the ground unconscious.


No one knew how it had started, Vlad's fear of hospitals and infirmaries, but the thought of having to go someplace like that always had him terrified. There was absolutely no logical reason for it though everyone who knew him well enough (meaning Arthur, Lukas, and his little brother) assumed it was because he was a vampire and there always was the lingering scent of blood in those places. However it was something completely different, something he never told even his closest friends. Even so, whatever it was seemed to hurt him greatly and thus they never asked (it helped that they tried to avoid hospitals anyway; the last thing they needed was someone asking how they healed so fast or other questions they would prefer not to answer). However, when the students leaving the Great Hall had seen them trying to help their downed friend . . . well they really didn't have a choice otherwise. No doubt he was happy to be free now—even if they did nearly run into McGonagall on their way out.

"You're being moved to Divination." As always she was straight to the point as she stared at Vlad.

"W-What?" As always, eloquence was his strong point.

"You had a Foretelling, didn't you? That's a rare Divination ability. It cannot be taught, you must be born with it."

"A Foretelling is no different from a normal prophecy," Vlad retorted, "Besides, no Divination ability can really be taught."

McGonagall ignored the latter comment, "True, a Foretelling is no different than a normal prophecy—except for the fact that most of them are blind and they always come to pass."

"Blind," He snorted, "That's one way to describe it. Yeah, I get no vision; just an invisible hand strangling me to death as I pretend to know what the hell I'm talking about. and say 'this do I Fortell' or some variant after every bloody sentence. Truly a wonderful talent," He scoffed, "Especially when it's never predicting anything good."

"Which means you're on the same page as Professor Trelawney," She retorted, "She's been predicting the deaths of one of her students every year since she was hired."

"Charming," Ever so slightly, the corner of the stern teacher's mouth twitched.

"You're not getting out of this, Mr. Popescul."

"Wasn't trying to," Vlad sarcastically muttered under his breath. It was then that he realized something, "Wait—how the hell do you know anyway?! Does that mean that bastard Dumbledore does too?!"

"Now I do not know what silly grudge you have against the Headmaster but I will not allow you to continue to insult him in my presence. Professor Dumbledore is a caring and brilliant man—"

"Spare me the hero-worship," the Romanian cut her off, mood growing darker and darker every passing moment as some sort of primal urge began to rear its ugly head. Instantly she was wary. There was something strange about this boy, something she couldn't understand. "You believe too easily what you're told. If I said that it was for the greater good, would you jump off a cliff? If not, then maybe there is yet hope for you. Come on," He motioned for his friends (whom had been silently watching the exchange) and they walked around her, mutely continuing down the hall.

. . . He was just a child, right? Then why, at that moment, had he seemed so completely terrifying? Why did it feel like McGonagall would rather face He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named alone than that cold gaze again? She shook the thoughts from her mind; she needed to see Dumbledore.


"I failed you, master," There was no answer to the admission, just a silent prompt to continue; "I was not able to complete the spell."

"Really? How so?" The man visibly winced at the soft voice. Even quiet could be deadly.

"I heard someone coming around the corner and I did not wish to blow my cover. It would've ruined all our plans, sire."

"Our?"

"I-I apologize! I worded it wrong, I have no right to compare myself, worm that I am, to your greatness, master!" The cloaked figure observed the man prostrating himself before him but let it go. It wouldn't do to kill his most promising servant for a slip of the tongue—no matter how tempting it seemed.

"See that you don't do it again. . . . Who did you use the spell on?" The servant jumped on the opportunity to make up for his mistake.

"There were two intruders in the castle that were calling themselves by the names of countries! I used the spell on them!"

"That is most unusual, I have never heard of people calling themselves countries. Either they are insane . . ." His eyes glinted with malice and a craze for power, "Or perhaps you have stumbled across something very great indeed. Pity that spell didn't work, though, even if it was too good to be true. I suppose it needs more research." The master glanced over to look at a second kneeling figure who, rather than averting their gaze like his servant, stared right back with eyes like green fire, unafraid in his presence. Either she didn't know who he was or she just didn't care. Interesting, "Perhaps our guest knows something more about them—?"

"—I would rather devour my own tongue than help the likes of you, despicable human!" She snarled, cutting him off and rising to her feet in a surge of fury, "May the birds come to feast on your shriveled corpse—or so shall it be once I am done with you! Your mere presence distorts this beautiful forest and turns it into a thing of nightmare!"

"What are you going to do?" He retorted, torn between amusement and anger at her pitiful attempt at defiance. "Your little Muggle 'weapon' lies broken at my feet."

She bared her teeth in a cruel mockery of a smile, "My hands are sufficient for this."

"Your hands are bound." The smile grew as she held her arms out to either side.

"Funny, it does not seem so to me."

Without warning she charged at him only to be stopped by a cry of "Crucio!" from the man's eerily grinning subordinate.

The girl collapsed to the ground as two voices rose with laughter, a smooth, mocking chuckle and the hysterical giggling of the clinically insane, only to abruptly cut off at the lack of screaming. Confused, they turned back to the girl who was trembling in obvious pain but, for someone under the effect of the Crucio Curse, unnervingly silent. The leader approached her as the spell cut off, stepping on the broken bow that lay at his feet, and pulled her head up to face him. In reply, she spat at him. He recoiled, the words of the killing curse on the tip of his tongue when he noticed something laying limply on the ground. The girl sent him a knowing, smug grin as he leaned down to examine it.

There, laying on the earth, was a still-bleeding tongue.

The girl mouthed three last words before her world went black, "Told you so."