Hello, people. Listen, it's 12:30 AM here and I want to sleep, so fancy AN stuff will come later. Read the little blurb at the end and all will be well. Review?


Chapter 12

"Hi, Amelia."

"Hey, how's it going, Amelia?"

"Amelia, are you doing anything tonight?"

"Why does there have to be a maximum length of four pages for this essay? Can you help me summarize, Amelia? You're good at that."

"Amelia-"

"Hey, Amelia!"

"Amelia!"

"AMELIA!"

Amelia Waverly shuts her eyes and just breathes as she goes through the Ravenclaw common room and into her dormitory, ignoring everyone calling after her. She has never been sure whether she wants the attention or not, but it's probably a good thing. If you have lots of people willing to protect you, no one can hurt you, right?

She digs through her trunk for her flute case and, finding it and slipping it into her robes, makes the trek back through the crowded common room and away from the tower. She pulls the Marauders' Map from her pocket, checking for an empty classroom to practice in. Luckily, Classroom Eleven is once again vacant.

Amelia had once wandered into a room on the seventh floor – a room she hadn't seen since – while she was looking for a place to practice. In it was only a table; on the table, a blank parchment and a note with two phrases: "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" and "Mischief managed." The rest of the evening was spent unraveling the mysteries of the self-proclaimed Marauders' Map, and she'd used it ever since. No one else knew about the Map but her brother.

The staircases turn in her favor, and Amelia slips unnoticed into Classroom Eleven. The room still bears signs of when it had been turned into a "forest" for the centaur Firenze to teach Divination years ago. Moss grows in corners, stones in the center outline what used to be a fire pit, pillars along the walls feature carvings that look suspiciously like bark, and the fresh smell of pine lingers. Amelia can still hear the rustle of trees if she listens carefully.

She pulls a chair from a corner and takes out her instrument. Flute song cuts through the silence. Being out after curfew is stupid, but I need this, she thinks, and plays for fifteen minutes without stopping.

"Hey, Amelia?"

It's her brother's voice. She stops playing. "What are you doing here, Bryan? You'll get caught."

He steps into her field of view. "We didn't get a chance to chat today. How are you doing?"

"Better. People are annoying."

"Yeah," Bryan agrees, pushing back some black hair that had fallen into his face. "What are you doing tomorrow? It's going to be Sunday, not that that seems right."

"Studying. I might go to the library, if anyone else is able to come."

"Maybe I'll join you."

"Sure."

"Do you still have the Map?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, there's a guy in my classes – Eduard; he's Estonian – and I wanted to see what he shows up as on the Marauders' Map."

"He doesn't."

"What?" Bryan almost yells. "How? It shows everyone!"

Amelia takes the Map out of her pocket. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she recites, tapping it with her wand. "See? None of them are in the common rooms or the Great Hall or the library, and besides, it's past curfew for all but sixth and seventh years."

"I saw Eduard and a couple of the others before I left the common room, too," Bryan adds. "Do you think it's because they aren't British or something?"

His sister shakes her head. "No, Arthur Kirkland is never on it either. But let's not worry about it too much. You're past curfew." She disassembles her flute and tucks the case back into her robes. "Come on. It's bedtime, at least for you, and we don't know how easy the riddle to get back in will be."

-/|\-

Tuesday, and America finds himself running after Canada to the Potions room. It isn't his fault they're late, right?

"You're late," Professor Setaroot states as they race into the dungeon classroom. "I assume this is your fault again, Mr. Jones?" She sighs heavily. "Three times late in three times we've had class. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for your tardiness and another five because your brother must have waited for you today. Now, we're making the Hair-Raising Potion today. Sit."

They sit.

The professor starts to explain the potion's development and effects in great detail, but America doesn't really pay attention. What, after all, is the purpose of a potion that makes one's hair stand up? Besides, Canada usually takes notes, which America decides he can just steal later. When the teacher finally tells them to begin, America glances over at Canada's parchment, but nothing is there.

"I thought you were taking notes!" he hisses.

"I thought you were!" Canada whispers back. "It really wouldn't hurt for you to do that once in a while, you know. You owe me for even being able to participate at all today."

It's true. America had dropped his wand in the hallway and, since the Summoning Charm was taught in fourth year, they didn't know any way to find it except to look for it personally. The constant stream of people from other houses who did little more than glance their direction didn't help. Eventually, Canada was lucky enough to come across it, but by that time they were late for class.

"I'll just ask Eduard," America shrugs, turning around in his seat to face the Estonian sitting behind him. "Dude, neither of us took notes. Do you mind?"

Estonia rolls his eyes. "Here. Don't spill anything on them, okay?" America nods and takes the notes, which he deposits in front of Canada. Canada gets to measuring out the exactly four milliliters of pond slime required for the first step as America leans back in his seat, already daydreaming.

He feels something poke his shoulder and looks back to where Bryan, Estonia's partner, is pulling back his arm. That boy glances around suspiciously before leaning forward to whisper, "My sister's partner messed up on this potion second year and it exploded – left both of them in the hospital wing for a couple of days – so you might want to be careful." He draws back quickly, checking to see if anyone else had seen him give his advice. No one had.

"Got it!" America says a little too loudly before tapping his brother. "Now, bro, what can I help you with?"

"You could stay out of my way while I'm measuring pond slime," Canada suggests, "and you could hand me that vial of pomegranate juice."

The pomegranate juice is handed off and dumped into the cauldron, changing the potion's color to bright red and making it fizz slightly. The meticulously-measured pond slime goes in after stirring, making it a glowing yellow. Seven rat tails follow (America definitely lets Canada pick those up), the last one making the now blue mixture hiss as it goes in.

"Finally, just some nettles… 'add exactly thirty-one dried nettles,' it says. Well, here goes," sighs the Canadian. "One… two… three… four…"

"Um, Matthew?"

"Five… six… seven…"

"Matthew!"

"Eight… nine… ten…"

"Dude!" America grabs Canada's arm roughly, pulling him away from his counting.

"What?! You made me lose count!"

America points at the cauldron. "Is it… supposed to be doing that?" The potion had become gray and murky, with silver bubbles that rise just above the lip of the cauldron and pop in little flashes of fire.

"I'm not sure it is…" says Canada. "Watch it. I'll keep counting."

"Right."

"One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… elev-" BOOM.

When the smoke clears and all residual fires are put out, Professor Setaroot finds a rather burnt American on top of a rather less burnt Canadian in a corner. "Is it o-okay yet?" America asks shakily.

Canada pushes him off. "It is. It's okay. Thanks for tackling me, I think."

"I felt like it was about to blow up, so…" America trails off.

"Well, thanks."

Professor Setaroot orders them both to the hospital wing, but of course that's not where they go. Canada points to the animals on the door to the Room of Requirement once they reach it. "It's busy in there today."

"How can you tell?" America asks. The worst of his burns are already starting to heal.

"The animals – they're the national animals of all the nations in the room."

America arches his eyebrows. "You, bro, are brilliant."

"Not really," Canada shrugs. "I saw a bald eagle appear once as you went in. I just pay attention. Maybe you should try it sometime." By the time he finishes, though, America is through the door.

"Attention, everybody, I'm the hero yet again!"


Thus ends the most boring chapter I've ever somehow managed to enjoy writing, despite horribly confusing myself in the process. Sorry about the purple prose. Review if you want to; I don't feel like pressuring anyone right now and we've reached 114 reviews and I'm very happy just about that! Sorry if you missed out on the reward thing.

Anyway, I'm on Tumblr! Go stalk my page if you want to see more about writing this story and others. I promise I won't spam you unless you consider Doctor Who gifs (I BLAME DARKDRAMALADY) or pictures of baby elephants (BABY ELEPHANTS) spam. My username is as-if-unreal because... eh, I'll tell you later. I'm going to bed now. But just check that out in about nine or ten hours and there will be relevant information. :-)

Oh, and I guarantee that the pace will pick up really quickly from here. Next chapter... let's just say it will have stuff to do with Quidditch.

Good night!