WARNING: BLOOD AND GORE AND STUFFS
A SECOND WARNING WILL BE PLACED BEFORE SAID BLOOD AND GORE SOOO...READ TILL THAT PART AND LEAVE IF YOU DON'T LIKE DAT STUFF
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A/N: Aaaaaaaah thanks for the favs and follows and reviews! ^^ Ya'll are too nice!
Eeeuuugh I've caught a cold, entered an art contest, not doing art (Imma paint a cover for this story but Norway looks dumb and Prussia looks like he has seen some shit), and finals are coming up r.i.p. I intended for this chapter to be published by Chirstmas, but I finished it earlier than I thought I will...
Believe it or not, this chapter was even more bloody and gorey than it is, but my friend was like 'omgzz change dat lol', and so I did.
Edit: Also, you may have noticed I have a cover for the story now! Took me some time to paint it. I'm not a good artist. More details can be found here on my Deviantart page, FrangipaniElephants. (You can type into Google, .com) Shame that this site won't allow links.
"I cannot believe it." Iceland hissed when the small beam of light shot out from his wand and hit the wall ineffectively. The boy growled and muttered the spell again, but the beam was even smaller and weaker. Iceland growled, ready to break some shit.
"Ah, Ice, calm down." Denmark, who stood far away from the boy on the other side of the empty classroom, for obvious reasons, sighed and shook his head.
"Well, it's not working, damn it." Iceland grunted and moaned out the spell again through gritted teeth. Still no improvement from the last few times he did it.
"Maybe you're just weak." Denmark shrugged, but shrunk backwards when Iceland twisted his head to give him a bloodcurdling death glare that can rival Sweden's.
"He's right, you know, little brother." Norway called from the teacher's desk. "This book contains everything about the Personifications, aka us, and how long have you lived again, Ice?"
"What does that have anything to do with anything?"
"My point is, we're immortal and complex beings, so obviously there should be complex spells that can only work on us. So yes, you would need a lot of strength, concentration, magic capacity, and basically everything else to be able to perform such tasks." Norway rolled his eyes.
"Why does a book like this exist anyway?" Finland, who was sitting next to Norway, held the book up as if examining it for non-existent hidden messages. "It does a bad job at explaining what nations are as living things, but a lot of these spells are confirmed to work, right Nor?"
Norway nodded and narrowed his eyes at it. "I don't know too, Fin. Maybe it was written by a human long ago, when nations were still a big hot thing that everyone knew about before our governments decided to hide our existence from our people?"
"Likely." Finland flipped through the pages. "But Nor...it has to be burnt."
"It should be, but if it was, we wouldn't know all these spells, now would we?" Norway had Finland fixed with an icy gaze. The boy, who was so used to being a lot taller, now shrunk in his chair due to size intimidation alone. Norway continued, "But this is surprisingly convenient, as it is exactly what Scotland wants us to find."
"Seems fishy." A certain Swede spoke for the first time that day.
"You...have a point." Finland exhaled.
"But I'm taking the chances." Norway eyed the book hopefully. "The spells in here are powerful and practical, if I remember correctly."
"Speaking of which, Nor, why can't you do the spell? You're experienced with magic, and better than the rest of us!" Iceland yelled after the same weak sparks came from his wand for the thousandth time.
"Oh, trust me, brother, I tried. Why do you think I borrowed that book from you for a whole week? Why do you think there were totally not suspicious lights emitting from the space under my door?"
"I'm not your brother." Iceland replied almost immediately, and went back to trying and failing to do spells that are too damn hard for him.
"Well, why can't you do these spells?" Finland tilted his head questioningly, accidentally being so adorable that Sweden blushed.
"I'm not strong enough. A lot of these spells require the cooperation of more than one wizards."
"More than one good wizards." Denmark retorted from the other side of the room. "Because we're more than one wizard, and we don't seem to be doing shit."
"Because a certain Dane in this room is an idiot."
"Hey!"
After a while, the shock from getting an Invisibility Cloak dwindled, and before long, Harry found himself being dragged outside his room by no other than the Twins, Greg and Forge, as they jokingly called themselves that morning when they wore each other's Weasley jumpers that conveniently had the first letters of their name on them. They beamed when they saw that Harry was wearing a Weasley jumper too, but their smile quickly faded when they realized that their mum made Harry's jumper better than theirs because he wasn't family.
Fred (or was it George?) managed to stuff the small maroon jumper on the protesting Ron's head while George (or was it Fred?) rushed to catch up with Prefect Percy to annoy him/force him to wear the thing that their mother had kindly made for them. The twins laughed merrily, and Harry and Ron couldn't help but join in while Percy sulked because he didn't like the jumper. Gilbert called out from the other room that at least he received a jumper, to which Percy huffed and rolled his eyes before being pulled out of the common room by a certain pair of brothers.
The Great Hall was, as usual, almost empty. Instead of the usual four house tables and teacher's table, a single large table sat in the middle of the room. There were that little students. Such a shame too, the decorations were up - enchanted evergreen trees stood tall and proud with ornaments and animated snowmen walking around merrily, while bewitched mistletoe and fairy lights hopped around. Occasionally deer would phase through the walls and dance around before leaving again, making the few students who were there share a smile. The ceiling made the illusion of falling snow that spun and glided around the area and made everything look jolly and bright. It was far better than the tacky Christmas lights the minuscule fake tree the Dursleys had in their house. Harry wished Hermione was here to see it.
Harry sat down on a chair, saying good morning to Professor Dumbledore, who sat in the head of the table having what seems to be a nice, lighthearted conversation with Professor Flitwick. Ron sat down right next to him, while the Weasley brothers dragged Percy away from his usual spot at the table to sit with the rest of the family. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he gave each student a 'Good morning' and 'Merry Christmas'.
"Dig in, dig in!" The old man laughed pleasantly, and Ron wasted no time to enthusiastically down his meal of cinnamon rolls and Christmas-themed cookies. Percy hesitantly picked up a Wizard Cracker, which, to Harry's surprise, shot up above their heads exploded in a cloud of blue dust. A small remembrall fell from the sky and landed on the table with a clink before bouncing off and rolling to the floor, while the cracker settled peacefully back in Percy's palm. Fred and George chortled and Ron couldn't help but giggle.
"Wizard Crackers! They give you a random object when you pick them up!" Fred wheezed between coughs and snorts.
"Did you honestly forget that?"George snickered, before howling with laughter, unable to contain himself. Percy just scoffed and rolled his eyes, then shrunk down in his seat, embarrassed. Looking away, the Prefect nibbled on the cracker. The Remembrall was picked up by Fred, who handed it to George, who threw it into a random direction. It landed perfectly in Tino's hand, glowing red. The blond chirped a thank you, and wandered off wondering what he had forgotten.
Just then, the large mahogany doors flung open and a few certain dark wizards marched in. Matthias now seemed way smaller compared to Assistant Professor Lukas Bondevik, whose hand he was holding. The Professor's other hand was gripped by a small Emil, who stumbled unsteadily along with everyone else. Tino and Berwald looked the most ridiculous, both wore matching Santa suits. Gilbert was nowhere to be seen.
Lukas, surprisingly, didn't sit down with the Headmaster, but instead chose a seat next to his younger brother who claimed that they were not siblings; no one believed Emil because of the striking similarities between him and the assistant professor, so the boy looked unhappy the whole time they were there. Tino found himself sitting on Berwald's lap; the larger boy didn't seem to protest. Matthias didn't even sit down before pulling a Wizard Cracker – it exploded in his face and he let out a shrill girly scream that made everyone's ears bleed. He received a set of Wizard Chess. The blond wasn't particularly interested though, so it was handed to and accepted by Bondevik.
The morning breakfast feast continued, the remaining people's chattering loud enough to rival the noises in the Great Hall on a normal school day. The students especially enjoyed the Crackers, and had competitions over who can throw them in the air the highest before they exploded into smoke. Everyone was shocked when the great Matthias beat Bondevik in the game. Bondevik's eyes were filled with a bloodthirsty need to kill the boy for winning, while a certain pair of twins laughed their hats off when four white mice fell from Harry's cracker and crawled up Emil's exposed neck. The Icelandic did not look pleased with this.
After a long morning of trying to stop Tino from murdering Matthias over the last Wizard Cracker, the students headed out the Hall, content and filled to the brim with delicious food. They pulled open the doors – to reveal and tired-looking Gilbert who was having a particularly bad day. He didn't even say good morning to his friends; the albino just muttered something about 'talking to the ghosts down the hall' and dragging himself to the leftover food. Harry felt slightly sorry for him, but Matthias had offered to stay behind to keep the German company, so Harry was taken outside by Fred and George.
The students spent the rest of the day pelting each other with snowballs. Tino and Berwald and their dog Hanatamago banded together to build a fort. Harry didn't even know how they managed to make a snowy structure bigger than Hagrid's hut, but, come on, at this point it's normal. They probably used their magic. Maybe not dark magic, but definitely something that they had never learned in class before and they still knew it. Harry plans to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library in one way or another to uncover this mystery once and for all. But now wasn't the time for that; so he tried as much as possible to enjoy his holiday and-
Something cold and wet hit him on the back of the head. Harry furiously turned around to see a giggling pair of twins. The dark-haired boy smiled.
"You've messed with the wrong first-year."
...
"They seem to be having lot of fun." Prussia, who had finished his breakfast composing of a single cinnamon bun, was now sitting outside the castle, holding a jar of magic blue fire. The wind was strong that day, so Prussia had extra jackets on, and Norway had trudged away from the snowball fight for a bit to conjure him a mat to sit on. He was then promptly ignored by everyone as they had their lively and slightly aggressive fights.
"You wanna join them?" Denmark, who was sitting next to him, asked. The blond wore jeans and a t-shirt, but no one questions it.
"It's too cold." Prussia mumbled, snuggling deeper into his black jacket with the fluffy hood. Gilbird, who was snuggling in that area, perked up and gave the albino a small peck on the cheek that represented a kiss. Gilbert smiled softly."But I like to watch humans have fun."
"You're technically a human too, ya know." Denmark muttered as he felt Prussia's grip on his hand, once again, get tighter.
"No." Prussia whispered coldly, avoiding the blond's gaze. "I'm not."
...
Harry entered the Great Hall that evening, soaking wet and freezing cold, his teeth chattering and the layers upon layers of clothing he had on never seemed to be enough. Thankfully, the open fireplace in the Hall was enough to warm up the enormous room, and soon enough, people stopped shivering. The dark magicians didn't look quite happy to be in the heat, and Matthias claimed that it was too hot. Gilbert was just happy to be alive.
The Christmas dinner that day was amazing. Harry ate everything he saw, from roasted turkey and boiled potatoes to chipolatas and rich gravy. They even had flaming Christmas pudding - because safety issues totally do not exist, apparently. Then there were more Wizard Crackers - Harry finally realized why they had so little in the morning, they were being saved for the evening feast. After the ordeal, Harry ended up with some every-flavoured beans, a grow-your-own-wart kit, and luminous balloons that were thankfully not explodable.
Lukas had brought up an ancient Wizard Chess set that looked like it had been through hell and back, with each piece filled with scratches and burns and battle scars, and, hell, there were even some spots where it looked like someone had shot at it with a gun. The King in the set had an especially large slash right down the middle, as if someone had chopped it with a knife. It was revealed to Harry later that A) the set was very, very old, and B) A dude named Alfred attacked the pieces when he first saw them because he thought they were being possessed by ghosts. But none of that mattered, because they had a fun time playing the game anyway, and the chess pieces were at least more friendly and trustworthy than the ones given to Harry as a Christmas present.
It grew especially chaotic when Gilbert challenged Hagrid to a beer-drinking contest - Hagrid didn't even realize what the first-year was doing before chugging gallons and gallons of the stuff. After a while, Gilbert had fallen asleep Matthias's shoulder - said blond also red and drunk. Matthias began hugging Gilbert and singing at the top of his lungs. Hagrid gave Professor McGonagall a drunken kiss; said Professor giggled and kissed him. Dumbledora the Explora was too busy hopping around with a flower bonnet, like the pretty pink princess he was, to notice any of this happening.
Fred an George pulled Harry to the side and, after they made sure that no one was looking, the two showed the first-year a small, round object about the size of the Snitch. It had colourful little specks in it, and reminded Harry of a jawbreaker he saw Dudley sucking on sometimes. Apparently, it was an explosive similar to fireworks that the Weasley twins had made by themselves without the use of a wand, just to fuck with Snape's brain. It looked pretty cool, but they, of course, didn't use it in front of Dumbledore. They handed one to Harry, though, 'for emergencies'. Harry, not knowing what to do with it, pocketed it anyway.
When dinner was over and everyone was full and happy, each person headed back to their own House towers, tired after a long, fun day. Harry settled down on the couch in the Gryffindor common room and tried and failed to beat Ron in a game of Wizard Chess. Then they'd enjoyed tea and bread and crumpets while watching Fred and George running around the room like rabid dogs because they had stolen Percry's Prefect badge. To say the dude was pissed is an understatement.
It was not until Harry plopped his butt down on his mattress and everyone else except a missing Gilbert were snoring when he remembered something, something that had been nagging him in the back of his mind the whole day but he chose to ignore it. The Invisibility Cloak - and whoever had sent it and for whatever reason. Harry didn't know, but one thing that was for sure was - it was his now, and he will use it. Suddenly, Harry was wide away and standing up. Hogwarts - the entire building - was open up to him to explore!
Harry whipped out the little sliver of water woven into silk that was the Cloak and slipped into it like he had done so in the morning. He peaked into the mirror, and sure enough, he didn't see himself in it. Ron stirred in his sleep. After some thought, the boy decided not to wake the redhead up. Hurriedly picking up a lamp, Harry pushed open the room's door as quietly as he can and began tiptoeing down the stairs and out the portrait hole, trying to stop himself from giggling at the Fat Lady, who was scared out of her wits.
Harry crept down the halls as quietly as he can, thinking about what he was going to do and where he was going to go. Then it hit him. Of course! The library, to search for anything having to do with Nicolas Flamel! And while he's at it, he should probably find some stuff about dark magic as well. Harry shuddered when a cool wind flew from an open window that wasn't supposed to be open, but he was too busy examining the moonlight and shadows just in case a person was there. Maybe some idiot decided it would be a good idea to walk around a castle filled with ghosts and monsters at night. Oh, wait...
Harry almost jumped into a suit of armour when he heard voices coming from around the corner, echoing within the empty hallway. To his shock, it sounded like a certain albino who Harry had not seen since he almost killed the boy by pulling a large Bludger out of a Wizard Cracker. And he was having a conversation with some other familiar voice that Harry couldn't quite place his finger on. Curiously, the black-haired boy lurked just around the corner to observe what was going on. Forget the library for now, Harry told himself. If he was lucky, he would hear something about the dark wizards!
"-and a little bird told me about your visit to the Hospital Wing." One of the ghosts were saying. Prussia raised an eyebrow and faced Gilbird, who had sat himself down on the albino's shoulder.
"Really, Gilbird?" The first-year sighed. "People can understand your chirping all this time and you never tell me?"
"Not that bird!" The second ghost next to the first one giggled. "And not a even a literal bird."
"Oh." Prussia muttered.
"Anyways, as I was saying..." The fist ghost continued, but stopped. "Look, kid, I'm going to be frank with you here. How the hell did you survive that?"
"I..." Prussia stopped dead in his tracks. How was he supposed to explain that?
"Easy on him, man." The second ghost rolled his eyes. "Excuse my friend, hes blunt like that."
"Please answer my question." The first ghost shoved the second out of his way.
"Well...my friends always told me I had a monster healing ability!" Prussia faked a smile and rubbed the back of his head.
"Oh, monster, you say!" Prussia jumped when the painting behind the ghosts was suddenly occupied by the figure of an old witch, with her pointed hat and a permanent snarl. "Monster is right, child!"
"T-that's not what I meant!" Prussia took a step backwards, panicking under the confrontation. "Madam Pomwhatshername healed me!"
"Of course she did." The painting rolled her eyes. "I visited a friend who lives in the Hospital Wing, and I know she did not heal you. At all."
"She didn't?" The first ghost narrowed his eyes and began to circle around Prussia, forcing the boy to turn along with him. The albino's back was against the wall and the painting hung above his head. The second ghost moved to flank the nation. Prussia was cornered.
"Unless...you never recovered?" The first ghost whispered, dead serious. Prussia stopped. And fixed his eyes upon the dead being floating in the air in front of him.
"...What." It wasn't even a question. The dissolved nation was just really, really befuddled.
"Kid, are you dead?"
Prussia blinked.
And blinked again.
"You must be a ghost, like us!" The ghost tilted his head. "There is no way you could have possibly survived the fall, and you probably didn't."
"Come on, he doesn't even look like a ghost!" The second ghost waved his hand. The first one squinted.
"Deathly pale and cold skin? Hoarse, dead voice? Dull, unseeing eyes? Do these things not scream that out to you?" The first ghost countered, making the second one back away.
"No, hell! Don't just assume things, he looks alive and kicking, right, kid?"
Prussia nodded, too afraid to move, his feet frozen. He backed up, almost shrinking into the wall. The two continued arguing as if the nation wasn't there, moving about back and forth, creating an opening. Prussia held his breath, and when the right time came, the albino took the chance and darted away and ran like a bat from hell. The screams from the ghost echoed behind him, and, to the boy's horror, the voice of Filch bellowed at them from somewhere.
The nation was making some significant distance from the ghosts and Filch when suddenly, he bumped, or rather, crashed headfirst into something. It felt soft. Very, very, soft.
Harry swore at himself under his breath when he toppled over, pain coursing through him - with Gilbert in top of him, panting and wheezing. The dark-haired boy could feel the albino's heart beating furiously. Gilbert scrambled over, yelping in shock, then fell down on his back next to Harry. He struggled to get back on his feet, but before he could do anything, and before Harry could react, something else was on him, a fingers curling around Gilbert's shoulder.
Gilbert, spluttering nonsense and trembling like an earthquake, reluctantly twisted his head to see Filch standing over him, his mouth curving into an ugly grimace as he growled. The German gulped. Harry, terrified and ignoring the pain on his shoulder, rolled away as far as possible until he hit the wall and remained still, watching. Even if the Cloak was thankfully still on him, it did not stop him from being solid.
"What have we here." Filch rumbled, staring straight into Gilbert's eyes. "It's you again."
"I-I can explain!" Gilbert put his hands up defensively, shrinking half his size and shaking violently.
"Of course you can. To Dumbledore, of course." Filch's smile twisted into a horrid, crazed grin. "Why that old geezer hadn't expelled you after the third time you've been found astonishes me. He must be so patient."
"Nein! Please don't take me to Dumbledore!" Gilbert cried, his eyes glistening as he fought back tears. He struggled to get out of Filch's tight grasp, but it was clear that he was not escaping anytime soon. Harry covered his mouth as he watched Gilbert flailing his arms helplessly, the weight of the situation finally setting over him when he realized that it was he who had caused the boy to get caught.
"Nein!...Please don't!" Gilbert repeated, the tears finally breaking free and rolled off his cheeks and dripped to the ground. "Nein!"
Harry had never, in his life, seen the albino this way before. He looked so vulnerable, so weak and defenseless. And Harry could do nothing about it.
The Gryffindor boy was dragged away by his collar. Filch was having an easy time lifting his feet completely off the ground, his loud screams echoing eerily down the halls as he cried and stumbled to kick Filch, his voice was cracking horribly, and as he disappeared into the distance, Harry could see that his legs had become limp. Behind him, the ghosts had floated over to see what happened, but drifted away soon after they knew there was no way to save the boy. The lump in Harry's throat grew.
When it was all done, and all traces of the noises had gone, Harry let himself breathe. Suddenly, thoughts and questions flooded into his mind, his heart pounding rapidly. It was his fault that Gilbert had gotten into trouble. Gilbert was horribly weaker, worse than he looked. Maybe Gilbert wasn't a dark wizard after all. Maybe none of his friends are. Or his friends are dark wizards, but the albino himself wasn't. Maybe Gilbert was dead, and just a ghost disguised as a human. What if...Harry had killed him?
Harry shook his head rapidly, and rubbed his temples, trying to concentrate. His head was throbbing awfully, and it was the worst feeling in the world. He thought of the wise words of Gilbert. "Don't come to conclusions," as the albino would say. Maybe he was thinking too fast, and isn't able to process everything. He needed time to think. He needed research. He needed evidence. And most of all, Harry just wanted to relax and clear his head, but that's not going to help anyone.
The Gryffindor had had enough of exploring the castle and sneaking into the Restricted Section. He wanted to go back to his room and just go to bed to let his brain think properly.
Harry shakily pulled himself up and stood unsteadily, hovering by the wall for a moment, before taking a long, deep breath, peering into the corridor. Just walking for a few minutes would take him back to the portrait of the Fat Lady, for he had not gone that far from the Gryffindor Tower, but the boy, still traumatized by everything he had seen and heard, took some time to get there. He kept close to the wall and occasionally trailed a finger across it, just in case he lost balance due to his trembling legs.
His shoulders, still rusty and stinging from the fall, screamed at him to put his hand down, but he swallowed the pain and just kept walking. His head was hung low, and he didn't quite have the motivation to even watch where he was going - he was certain that the hallway was empty and if he just followed the walls, he would get back to his room.
Boy was he wrong.
Harry wasn't even able to process what was going on when he walked straight into the suit of armor. There werinte loud crashes and clangs, and he lay, dazed, on the pile of half-rusted metal that tangled around his limbs, his Invisiblility Cloak slipping off. The screams of Filch, for the second time that night, rang through his ears, and Harry hurriedly picked his cloak up and rushed into the first room with an open door that was closest to him, not having time to put his Cloak back on. Harry pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath, his heart thumping, as Filch raced pass the door of the room he was in. When the yells were completely gone, he allowed himself to breath.
The worse wasn't over yet, though, because Filch's voice floated along again, and this time he was accompanied by another set of footsteps.
"Another one of them? Don't these kids know when to sleep? God, they never appreciate the free time they have to rest! So ungrateful." Filch growled, his footsteps getting louder as he neared. Harry hastily fumbled around with his Cloak, before just throwing it over his body in hopes of it covering him up completely.
"They can't be far." And to Harry's horror, it was Snape who responded to Filch. What the hell was he doing out here?
"Oh, I'm sure they're not." Filch grunted, holding his lamp up just a bit higher, and the light from it illuminated the room Harry was in. Harry's heart skipped a beat when he realized that his foot was still visible, and the boy briskly pulled it out from the light just in time as they passed the door. Covering his mouth to keep himself from screaming in fear, Harry watched as Filch and Snape stared right through him, not noticing his foot.
"Why's this door open?" Filch mouth twisted into a frown.
"Maybe this is where the intruder is." Snape whispered, his words curling into Harry's ears like a venomous snake ready to strike. Harry's heart was beating so loudly that he knew they would hear it and it would give him away. His breathing grew faster as Snape stepped closer to him, with narrowed eyes that contrasted to is own wide open ones, and Harry was too afraid to back away, because Snape might then see his uncovered foot. Filch shook his head.
"They're no one in there, so this is probably where the intruder was in before he opened the door, knocked down that suit of armor, and ran away in a different direction." Filch muttered, glancing around the hall. "We should continue walking."
Snape looked at Harry one more time. It looked like he was glaring straight into Harry's eyes, but Harry knew the Potions teacher was just looking through him. When Snape finally tore his eyes from Harry, closed the door, and began walking away with Filch again, the boy almost did his victory screech out loud. That was close! It was so close that his heart hurt from the thumping. It was so close that he was ready to die.
Harry punched himself lightly in the head, trying to get his nerves to calm down. That was probably the most intense and horrifying experience in his life, and he did not wish to relive it again. He was still panting, and his head was still throbbing from the stress, but he was was not caught. For now.
It was only then that Harry stopped to look around the room he had landed himself in. It was empty and eerily dark and silent - in other words, not very inviting. He could still hear Snape and Filch outside, so, for just a second, he pulled his Cloak off and put it on again, properly this time, so his entire body was covered. Then, quietly as he can, the boy tiptoed around the room to explore and investigate it. He didn't even realize this door existed until he got here!
The room was dark and musty, cobwebs clinging to the ceilings and corners and in the nooks and crannies of the overturned table legs. It looked like a creepy abandoned classroom, with its chairs and tables all scattered about in such a chaotic way. Even the dustbin by the half-broken teacher's desk seemed to be knocked over, crumpled pieces of parchment spilling out from it and lay skewed. Harry shivered at the eerie atmosphere.
Perhaps the most peculiar thing stood in the middle of the room. It was a tall, flat figure that reached far up to the ceiling. Upon further inspection, the figure was a mirror. Just...a large mirror, with a gold frame with strange images engraved into it, standing on supporters that look like nothing other than...claws. Carved around the top were letters with magnificent curvy handwriting that read, erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. It looked like a different language that Harry couldn't decipher.
Harry decided to peek into the mirror before heading back to bed, but he got much, much more than just a little peek.
The second he stood in front of the mirror, he saw something baffling. There he was, standing, in the mirror. He was sure he was invisible, but he was there. And besides him were...people. About ten of them, all staring back at him. Alarmed, Harry spun around, expecting to see them behind him. There was no one. Harry turned back to the mirror again, and the people were there again, smiling at him. Two of them stood out to Harry the most - a woman with green eyes, just like Harry's, and a man with glasses.
Harry turned around again, to inspect for a second time. Still, he was the only one in the otherwise empty room. Looking back at the mirror again, Harry tried to breathe. Maybe...it showed invisible things? Maybe his parents were there in ghost form? Does it show dead people? What is it?
Harry turned back to the mirror. The figures smiled gently at him - and Harry felt comforted, warm, welcome. The woman looked very pretty, with her flowing red hair, and her smile. Her smile so soft, yet she was crying, and looking at him sadly. The man next to her put a hand on her shoulder. He was tall, then, and his black hair was messy and matted. Suddenly, a giddy, sad feeling punctured him in the stomach, and he gulped, staring at the people in the mirror. They...were they his parents?
Harry was now so close to the mirror that his nose was almost touching it. He peered into it, at the people who were possibly his parents, his breath hitching when they smiled wider at him.
"M-mom?" He whispered, stuttering. "Dad?"
A sudden noise startled him. It was Filch cursing - the non-magical kind - and it seemed like he had dropped his lantern on accident. It then dawned to Harry that it was probably best to leave. Harry adverted his gaze from the mirror, and turned around.
"I'll be back," He told the reflections - if they could even be considered that. With his head throbbing with stress of all these new discoveries, Harry slipped out the ajar door as slowly as he can without touching it, then just ran as quietly as he can from Filch and Snape, all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Dumbledore sighed as his quill touched the parchment, ink flowing off of it gracefully to form long, cursive writing. He was making notes - of how many times the young first-year who sat in front of him had gone out of bed at night, against the rules. Said albino was sitting in the chair in front of him, clenched fists on his lap, legs tense and rigid on the chair leg, shivering rapidly, his head hanging and his eyes avoiding anything in the direction of Dumbledore. He looked...pathetic, to say the least. This is not what Gilbert normally looked like, but Dumbledore had seen him in this state enough times to not be surprised anymore.
"Alright." The old man sighed gently, making Gilbert's head rapidly snap up to gaze, terrified, at Dumbledore. Dumbledore continued, "You will receive detention on the night after tomorrow."
Gilbert's unnatural blood red eyes flashed with a pure horror, and his shoulders tensed up more than they already have. He sat upright, skin becoming paler and paler every minute. "N-nein! Please don't!"
"Gilbert-"
The boy shook his head. "I'm not going back to that Forest! No! Never!"
"Please, Gilbert"
"It's hell over there!" The albino's eyes were beginning to water again as he peered at Dumbledore, desperately, hoping that there may be just a small sliver of a chance that the Headmaster might let him go.
"It has been decided, Gilbert. You leave me no choice. This is the fifth time this term." Dumbledore replied cooly. Gilbert's eyes were brimming with tears, and he feebly shrunk down in his seat. He looked lost and defeated.
"You will go into the Forest with Hagrid." Dumbledore muttered, though Gilbert already knew what was in store for him. "You may leave."
The boy shakily got up his tears began flowing freely, his mouth quivering. And he exited Dumbledore's office, barely being able to stand due to his unstable little legs.
After the door was softly closed, Dumbledore let out a long, frustrated sigh. He really didn't want to do this to Gilbert, but what can he do? It was a rule to all students, and the albino had broken it more than enough times.
"You're being too harsh on him, don't you think?" A man in one of the many portraits in his room let out a huff. "He's just a kid."
"Yes, but..." Dumbledore stared at the chair that Gilbert had sat on. "I feel like he's much stronger than you may think he is. He'll survive."
The man in the painting rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering to himself something about Dumbledore being an insolent fool and that the kid was terribly, terribly weak.
Dumbledore closed his eyes to comprehend what the painting just said. Maybe he was right, but...Dumbledore had this feeling, this hunch that Gilbert wasn't who he seemed. The first-year had the same mysterious aura that surrounded Arthur Kirland and his peculiar brother Scott - a kind that no matter how hard Dumbledore thought of it, he just couldn't quite understand it. They had some sort of...mental barrier around them that no human - muggle and wizard alike - would be able to penetrate. These people have suffered far, far more than anyone could have ever imagined. And Dumbledore was angry at himself for not being able to read them.
The next morning, Harry had woken up feeling especially anxious - he had to do some research, about Nicolas Flamel and maybe, possibly, dark magicians. After all this time, the boy was beginning to doubt it. After all, the whole thing was something that Malfoy simply spewed out out of anger...right? Harry couldn't be quite sure - the disturbing aura was still around these people, and Harry could sense something in them - something much more sinister and dark. Even if dark magic wasn't the case, he has to be safe than sorry.
The boy unintentionally pushed his worries behind and focused on the mirror. That mirror he saw last night - he had to get back to it. He wanted it. He wanted his parents. Research can wait - Hermione was going to be back soon anyway. The mirror comes first. Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Is Flamel really important? Did he really care that Snape had stolen whatever the three-headed dog was guarding?
"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked when Harry told him about his experience with the mirror at breakfast.
"Yeah, Harry! I wonder what your mom looks like." Matthias smiled, forking some bacon into his mouth.
"Maybe it only shows family?" Ron tapped his chin. "Because I totally want to see yours!"
"And I can see yours too." Harry smiled. Ron just laughed.
"You can see my family any old time, Harry. Just come round at summer."
Harry shrugged. "Fat chance. The Dursleys exist."
"Wow, sucks to be you." Matthias muttered, gulping down a spoonful of mashed potatoes. "People let me do anything at home, as long as I don't annoy Lukas or set anything on fire or chop someone's head off with an axe." The statement earned him a few laughs from the people all around the table who overheard him, but Harry didn't think he was joking.
"Anyways, I'm definitely going back to that mirror. Gilbert can come too if he wants to." Harry added, suddenly remembering what he had seen last night. Maybe this can be an opportunity for him to ask the albino about it - but the German didn't seem in the mood for a conversation at the moment. He was strangely quiet, and didn't even speak as much as a good morning to anyone at all. Harry suddenly felt the guilt stab him in the stomach again - he was probably the reason that Gilbert was going to get punished!
"Yeah, Gil! Wanna come?" Matthias shook the albino's shoulder excitedly. Said boy shook his head lightly and returned to his meal, ignoring Matthias. Hell, it didn't seem like he was eating much at all, just playing around with the peas on his plate with his fork, head resting on his hand with his dull eyes unfocused. Matthias tilted his head, and suddenly his happy demeanor was gone, replaced by a concerned expression.
"Well, I'm sure Gil can come tomorrow." Ron faked a smile to cheer Matthias up. It wasn't very effective, but the blond's lips twisted up into a very small grimace-like smile, to show that he appreciated the effort.
Matthias finally inced away from Gilbert once more, scraping his bacon on Harry's plate. "Have some breakfast, Harry." The black-haired male barely touched the food, to anxious to come face-to-face with his parents again.
Ron frowned at the Harry. "What's wrong? You look odd."
Harry merely shook his head.
That night, when it was dark and cold, Harry, Matthias, and Ron stepped out their common room, effectively scaring the Fat Lady in the portrait again. With the Cloak covering all three of them, somehow, they crept down the halls again, just like Harry did last night.
"Are we there yet?" Matthias whispered, only to be shushed by Harry.
"Yeah, my feet hurt. Let's just go back to bed, eh." Ron grumbled, wincing at every step.
"No!" Harry hissed. "We have to find it! I know the room is here somewhere!"
Truthfully, Harry really had no idea where the room was, since he just found it by chance while escaping certain death. The boy was scared that he wouldn't be able to find it again, but relief flooded over him when he spotted the familiar glint of the suit of armor, standing by the door, now fully fixed, and assembled, of course. Signalling to Ron and Matthias to shut up, he crouched down lower than he already was and slipped through the suspiciously open door without touching the suit of armor - not that crouching will help in any way, but it made him feel safer than he actually is.
One by one, all three of them squeezed their tiny little bodies inside the room. Once inside, there was an excited squeak from Matthias when the looming mirror came into sight. Ron just looked impressed, and nudged Harry with an expression that congratulated him for finding it. Harry grinned, his heart pounding with the small pit of hope that maybe his parents would still be there. He was correct - all the people from last night were still standing there, waving, smiling. Harry smiled back, feeling a wave of calmness and comfort wash over him. It was like an addictive drug, and Harry couldn't help but stare at them, dazed, for as long as he can.
"I don't see anything." Ron mumbled, breaking the perfect silence. Harry, both confused and annoyed, pointed at the mirror and mouthed a silent 'look again, they're right there.' The redhead simply shook his head, and, against Harry's pretests, pulled the boy with glasses away from the mirror to get a full look for himself. Matthias watched silently from the side when Ron was finally standing alone in front of the glass. The redhead let out a surprised and amazed gasp.
"What, do you see your family?" Harry inquired, slightly impatient to have the mirror back.
"No...but I see me! Standing alone! I look older...and I'm Head Boy!" Ron beamed, but Harry scratched his head in confusion. The Weasley continued, "A-and I have the House Cup! And the Quidditch Cup! Great Merlin, I'm the Quidditch Captain!"
"What?" Harry was now very perplexed. "What does this mirror show, exactly?"
"Maybe it shows the future!" Ron smiled, closing his eyes to imagine himself in the situation. "I'll be famous! And rich!"
"How could it show the future?" Harry frowned. "My parents are dead - move, give me one more look."
"You've had the mirror all to yourself last night, let me have a chance!" Ron protested, his voice getting louder and louder. Harry growled and began to forcibly shove the boy away - Ron snarled and pushed Harry back.
"Guys, volume down - and stop fighting, you uncultured swine - I mean, you're acting like animals, stop!" Matthias hissed softly, but earned glares from Ron and Harry.
"Who are you to say, you and that git Gil have been wrecking his castle since you got here!" Harry aggressively roared, not caring about his voice or how harsh he was being.
Harry stopped abruptly when his eyes caught something. Matthias raised an eyebrow, but his eyes suddenly flashed with horror, and he picked up the Cloak that they had dropped and hurridely dropped it over the three of them. Harry didn't even have time to react when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The eyes of Ms. Norris shone back at them, and they held their breaths. The cat blinked, and darted away.
"She's going to tell Filch, it's not safe." Matthias rumbled, and before anyone could say anything else, the Dane had dragged them out the room.
...
"I know that face."
Harry tore his eyes from his breakfast to look at Ron. "What?"
"You're going back to that mirror, aren't you?" The first-year narrowed his eyes as he scooped a spoonful of curry from his place.
"And what are you going to do about it, Ron?" Harry countered. Only after did he finish the sentence did he realize how hostile he sounded, but at this point he didn't care anymore.
"Just...I have a bad feeling about it." Ron shook his head. "And you have had too many close calls - you were almost caught that first time, weren't you?"
"Almost, but I wasn't." Harry rolled his eyes. "Why do you care anyways?"
"Harry." Matthias looked as serious as ever, and that was saying something. "It's too dangerous...plus, there is a Berwald-like aura coming out from that thing..."
"Berwald isn't even that scary anyway." Harry lied, realizing too late that the Hufflepuff could probably hear him, evident in the fact that the Swede's head turned when he uttered the words. But he shrugged it off. Berwald may look intimidating at first, but he was gentle (especially to Tino, for some reason) and was probably too cowardly to even lay a finger on Harry.
"Harry." Matthias fixed him with a very un-Matthias-like gaze. "Don't go back."
Harry scoffed. Ron and Matthias couldn't stop him. The third night he went again, and he had less trouble finding it this time. His footsteps were louder than usual, dangerously loud, but in the back of the black-haired boy's mind, he knew that he wouldn't encounter anyone on the way - and he was right. A pure white owl circled outside the window just when he found the door. He stepped in front of the mirror again, and saw his family again, and it made him feel warm inside. The first-year plopped down to sit on the ground and made himself comfortable. This time he will stare at this mirror all night, and there will be no one to stop him.
"Back again, Harry?"
...Never mind.
Harry suddenly froze. Shit. Shit. He tore his eyes from the mirror and turned around to face where the voice was coming from.
Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a desk by the wall, smiling at him. However, the Headmaster's expression wasn't important right now - Harry had been caught. Did Dumbledore slip in after Harry? Did Harry walk past the old man without noticing him? Harry's heart began to pound faster and faster. He decided to say the smartest thing ever said by mankind.
"I...I didn't see you there, sir."
Well, Harry had fucked up on so many levels.
"Funny how being invisible makes us all so near-sighted, eh?" Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't even need a Cloak to be invisible. Harry simply stared at the man who he had suspected to be mad since the beginning.
"So..." Dumbledore muttered, hopping off the desk to join Harry on the floor. "You, like many others, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"Is that what it's called, sir?" Harry tilted his head, glancing back at the mirror. His family was still there, and one of the people who Harry assumed was his grandfather nodded happily at him.
"Yes..." Dumbledore muttered. "But by now you must know of what it does?"
"N-no, sir..." The student answered, scratching his head.
"Look at it this way." Dumbledore tapped his chin. "The happiest person on earth could use it as a normal mirror - he would see a reflection of himself like normal, going about his every day life. Do you get it?"
"So...it shows what we want, whatever we want..." Harry trailed off when he saw the amused look on Dumbledore's face - he must have said something wrong.
"Not quite." Dumbledore murmured softly. "It shows a person's deepest and darkest desire - no more, no less. You, who has never seen your family before, could see your parents in that mirror. Ron, who is always constantly being overshadowed by his brothers, see himself as important, excellent. Matthias only caught one small glimpse of the mirror, but he had seen himself - an older version of himself - with Bondevik, Berwald, Tino, Emil, and all of his friends, including the one that he had claimed was missing, I presume."
"I see..." Harry tilted his head. "Matthias barely talks about his missing friends."
"Indeed, he likes to hide his feelings behind his happy demeanor, I'm sure you've noticed. Same with Gilbert - but that boy had had some trouble concealing it these past few weeks..." Dumbledore trailed off, and seemed to stare pass Harry. Harry breathed and nodded - he had noticed it too, definitely.
"However." the Headmaster began again, snapping out of his short trance. "The mirror shows no truth nor knowledge. People have wasted their life on it - intrigued by it, being driven mad over the thought of all of it being real, not knowing whether or not what it shows can even be possible."
"The mirror, Harry, will be moved to someplace else tomorrow. Please do not go looking for it - and if you do happen to stumble upon it again, you are prepared. Don't dwell on dreams and forget to live. Now, Harry, put on that admirable Cloak and get back to bed."
Harry nodded, but stopped when he was fully covered. "May I ask you something, Dumbledore?"
"Well, you just did." The Headmaster chuckled. "But you may ask one more question."
"What do you see in that mirror, sir?"
"Me, holding a pair of woolen socks." Dumbledore said simply. "One can never have too many socks. Such a shame people insist on giving me books on Christmas."
"Ah..." Harry tried not to stare. Perhaps it was a personal question.
A/N just so you know there will be blood here k bye
Prussia was shivering - his flimsy cloak wasn't enough to shield him from the frost of the night. It was dark, obviously, since it was eleven at night. Prussia could be sleeping right now, but due to his own stupidity, he had to journey into the forest once again, to face its secrets and its horrors once more. Stupid, stupid Prussia. The nation thought to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around him It didn't help at all, and he was still freezing - he could even see his breath, forming a white mist that curled around him as he stumbled along the uneven road, the light from Hagrid's lantern only flickers dimly and did little to illuminate the area.. Oh, he wished he was with Gilbird right now - the awesome bird could definitely assist the awesome nation. But he had left Gilbird in his room today, safely tucked under the blankets. He did not want to risk his precious Gilbird being eaten by wolves - it had almost happened once, the last time he came here, and it will not happen again.
"We're here." Hagrid huffed, stopping abruptly. "You know the rules - send flares from yer want when yer in danger."
"Y-yes." Prussia stuttered, his teeth chattering. He mentally hit himself for sounding lame. He was supposed to be cool and awesome, damn it!
"Now, what I want you to find this time..." Hagrid lifted his lantern up just a bit and pushed the bushes down with his enormous hands, just enough so Prussia could see over the leaves - being short does not have advantages at all. To his surprise, there was shiny silvery liquid, in a pool on the ground. It smelled horrible.
"Unicorn blood." Hagrid explained. Prussia shuddered - he had seen blood of humans, but definitely not blood of supernatural creatures. To think that whatever creature that had killed the unicorn was still lurking out there...
"This is the first time anything like this had happened, Hagrid murmured, stroking his large, bushy beard. "And judging by all the smears, it seems that the unicorn had been struggling around for a while..."
"And...I'm supposed to fine whatever killed it?" Prussia furrowed his eyebrows, imagining himself being ripped to shreds by some monster.
"No, no. Find the unicorn. If it's not dead yet, put it out of its misery - it's unsavable at this point." Hagrid shook his head. "And we'll need its body to find out what happened to it...but I assume you wouldn't care if whatever killed it was running around the school." Hagrid gave Prussia the hairy eyeball - a disapproving look that the albino had grown so used to, for no one trusted him. Prussia just sighed and returned his gaze to the pool of unicorn blood. Strangely, after a while, it didn't disturb him at all - he was so used to death and gore that blood was nothing to him.
"Right. Just go on out this way-" Hagrid pointed a meaty finger into a direction deep in the forest, "-and I'll be goin' this way." Hagrid pointed in the opposite direction. Prussia gulped. He will be going pretty far into the maze that was the Forest - and he would be alone, vulnerable to-
The nation shook his head. He was brave! He was strong! He knew he was lying to himself, but just this once - he will venture in there by himself and get out successfully. Giving Hagrid a forced confident look, he nodded and marched in, pulling his cloak around himself so tightly that he thought it would rip at any moment.
Stumbling over roots and pushing away leaves and branches, the albino decided to pick up a stick to help him on the journey. It proved quite useful, for he was able to knock out all the annoying little bushes that were flung in his way - without getting cuts on his arm. First off, he stepped into the clearing with the pool of blood to investigate. God, it smelled dreadful! Prussia couldn't help but cough at the stench - but he looked around anyway, in hopes of at least one clue of where the unicorn could be, so he could find it quickly and get back to bed already.
Lucky for Prussia, there was a trail of blood - evidence that the unicorn was indeed running around when it was injured. The nation roamed around the area, seeing where each trail led, but to no avail. There was simply too many of them, and each meddled into the other so it was quite impossible to tell where the albino was supposed to go. He found himself wandering aimlessly in the area, examining each and every drop of the sticky silver liquid.
After a while, Prussia felt hopeless - he wasn't getting anywhere! He desperately want to be back in the Gryffindor Tower, with Denmark and Gilbird. Or better yet, at home, eating pancakes with West and Italy. God, he missed both of them - and he swore to himself that he will. He came here to find them, after all...and he desperately hoped that he will. But for now, what choice did he have but to pay for his mistakes, out here, in the dangerous woods where he was most likely to suffer an unspeakable death?
Groaning in frustration, the nation headed yet deeper into the forest, the kindled flame of his confidence now dwindling into a mere flicker. He closed his eyes to take a sniff of the air - the smell of unicorn blood was very faint, but it was there if he concentrated hard enough. He followed the scent, occasionally tripping over sticks and stones and fallen branches. The forest was eerily silent - not something once would expect from what was apparently the home of the ecosystem, with plants and animals and just generally noisy organisms. But if there was one good thing this did was that it did help him be more aware of the surroundings - he would jump at every little twitch, thus making him quite prone to any changes in the environment, so he could sense danger more easily.
A sudden sound made Prussia stop. The leaves in a nearby tree were rustling - but there was no wind., not even slight breeze. The Prussian narrowed his eyes, not daring to take a step anywhere in fear of whatever creature that was in there suddenly pouncing out at him like a predator with its prey. There was more rustling, and a hint of scraping and scratching against the the branches, and the nation held his breath.
Something was flung out of the clumps on leaves, making the albino yelp in surprise and hop backwards. Something that was originally white and black, but was now covered from head to toe with red, sticky liquid.
It was a bird - a puffin to be exact - drenched in its own blood.
Prussia's breathing grew short, shallow, and uneven, and he could feel his heart pounding and rattling in his chest, as if it were about to burst out in any moment. He stared, horror-stricken, at the mess that was his Iceland's only companion, his feet frozen on the ground and he didn't dare to move. Trembling in fear, the fallen nation placed a shivering hand on his chest to calm himself down, but it was no use. Mr. Puffin wasn't moving. Putting a hand over his mouth, the nation tried his hardest not to throw up at the smell.
Petrified and still panting, the albino swiveled his head around to the branch again. This time, a pair of glowing beady eyes were fixed at him, staring straight into his soul and beyond. Prussia's heart stopped when the eyes blinked, and the figure that held them emerged from the shadows. Familiar gleaming white feathers appeared in the nation's vision - and he gasped. Iceland's owl tilted its head and eyed him curiously, almost innocently, but the splotches of scarlet on its pure white feathers and sharp talons said otherwise.
Prussia was too shocked to scream or even move; he just stood there, feet rooted to the ground, stupidly gawking at the creature that had kill his best friend's friend - and may potentially kill him too. Nor and Ice were right to be suspicious of Snowy. Prussia, caught off guard, simply gulped, feeling a large lump forming in his throat. While he was lost in thought, the snowy owl screeched and took the opportunity to lunge for him. Before the fallen nation could even think, he felt the pain of a thousand sharp needles being embedded into his neck.
And for the first time in a while, the Prussia screamed. It was a long, bloodcurdling one - and he screamed until his throat felt raw and his voice began to crack. The sharp pain flared from his neck, traveling to his shoulders and to the rest of his body. His heart, once again, was more than unsteady; it dangerously close to bursting from the energy at any moment. He screamed again when the talons dug into his neck for a second time, his tears finally breaking free from his eyes, and he was demolished; fell to the ground on his belly with a thud, his arms flailing helplessly, gripping and grabbing at the roots and grass in a desperate attempt to escape.
Snowy was still on him, squawking and wailing, repeatedly stabbing and tearing at his flesh. Warm liquid gushed out from the wound in Prussia's neck, and he howled in pain, clenching his teeth and curling his hands into a fist. It was too much. Prussia's ears were ringing and buzzing, and he suddenly felt lightheaded as dizziness swallowed him. He howled in pain again, and he violently spun around, scrambling about the ground, his hands reaching out and grabbing at nothing.
Every grey cloud has a silver lining - Prussia had grappled onto the soft, blood-covered bird. It shrieked and frantically squirmed around, struggling to get out of Prussia's iron grasp. Despite everything, Prussia smiled - a mad, bloodthirsty sort of grimace. His other hand reached out and gripped the bird, no matter how much it hunted to move. He let out one last demented scream, and snapped the bird's neck in half.
There was a crack. There was no blood - but the bird had stopped struggling and now hung limp from his hands. The nation's head throbbed like crazy, but his heart was strangely, perhaps insanely, calm. He dropped the corpse from his hands and scrambled away, from the blood, from everything in a hasty attempt to pull himself together. Alas. The lack of blood had finally taken a toll on him, and he slumped onto the ground, his head spinning. It was horrible. He was horrible. He had just killed something with his bare hands; In the past he had used swords, but this...this was something else. But what choice did he have?
There were sudden rustling in the bushes. "Well, I knew the bird won't be able to do much other than spying. Good riddance, I didn't like her anyway." It was Professor Quirrel's voice, coming closer and closer. At this point Prussia was too exhausted to care. Someone stepped out from the shelter of the leaves and branches, briskly walking over to the nation, looming over, casting a shadow over him. Prussia closed his eyes.
The last thing the fallen nation heard was the Professor's voice, whispering into his ear.
"Gotcha."