Now before you say that I have abandoned this story let me explain you a thing-

Be rest assured that I am not dead. Tumblr has merely sucked up all my time. Sorry!

Anyway, huge thanks to my beta DarkAngelMitsunai. She beta'd this at the speed of light. And a big thank you to everyone who favourited, followed or reviewed the story. Your encouragement means a lot to me!

Enjoy.

Chapter 14- Error

"That was awful," announced Ron to no-one in particular as he and Harry climbed down the ladder after Divinations. Umbridge had been in Professor Trelawney's class, lurking around the corners of the misty room and springing on unsuspecting students with random questions. The stress had nearly reduced Professor Trelawney to tears and she had lost her temper with Umbridge towards the end of the lesson.

Harry had seen the smirk on Umbridge's face as she descended down the ladder, and he almost pitied Professor Trelawney.

With a sigh, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder. There was nothing he could do about it. Umbridge had avoided him throughout the entire Divinations lesson, and he wasn't complaining either. The less he saw of Umbridge, the happier he was.

"Hey," said Hermione as he and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table. "How did it go?"

"Awful," Harry echoed Ron's earlier comments. "As if she was purposely out for Trelawney's blood."

Hermione 'harrumph'd' as she took Professor Kirkland's journal out of her bag, flipping it open to a random page. The trio had been trying to decode the journal, but the more they tried, the more confusing the journal became; like it was trying to prevent them from discovering its secrets.

After they'd finished their lunch, it was time for Defense against the Dark Arts. With an internal groan, Harry dragged himself into Umbridge's classroom, his mood darkening further when he saw the same smirk at Divinations on Umbridge's face.

Time passed painfully slow, but when Hermione started arguing with Umbridge regarding Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard, Harry sat up straighter. His temper rose when he heard Umbridge putting down Hermione's arguments and, without thinking, without even considering the impact of what he was saying, he made a snarky remark about Quirrell to Umbridge.

The whole class gaped at him.

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh.

And that was how Harry ended up with another week worth of detentions.

England was dozing in front of the fireplace of his private chambers when Scotland decided to interrupt him via Floo powder. Again.

With a yelp, England pushed himself back in surprise as the fireplace flared green abruptly, the book in his lap flying into a corner of the room.

Scotland's head floated in the fireplace, but there was something wrong with it. There was no mirth on it, no trace of a smile nor of laughter.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

England recomposed himself as he knelt down in front of the fireplace, his eyebrows knitted together. "I assume this isn't a social call," he remarked bluntly.

"No," snapped Scotland. England's eyes slanted. "All right, sorry, that was rude. I'm just feeling really mad at the moment. Did yer know there was a bloody break in at Downing Street yesterday?"

"What?!"

"Yeah, yer Prime Minister contacted me because he couldn't get a hand on ya," said Scotland. "Anyhows, the intruder only took certain documents stored down in the old vaults. And oh yeah, they killed a couple of guards on the way. The morning shift discovered them in the broom closet." He wrinkled his nose. "Not a very pleasant sight."

England's heart stopped momentarily. "The old vaults? But that's where-"

"-information regarding the nations are stored?" finished Scotland. "Apparently so, because guess whose file was missing, bro?" He paused. "Yours, and the Yankee."

England sat down heavily on the floor, his head spinning. Maybe now was a suitable time to break out a bottle of wine from the kitchen. "Any magical traces?"

Scotland shook his head."Other than the Killing Curse on the guards, nothing. Maybe they mind controlled somebody to snatch the documents." He narrowed his eyes. "Is the Yank with ya?"

"He's down at the Quidditch pitch," muttered England, his head in his hands. Oh why did this have to happen, on top of everything else going on? He was going to get rapped by the other nations when they found out that somebody had broken into the vaults and had nearly exposed all their information. "Do the other nations know about this?"

"No," replied Scotland, "but an emergency meeting has been called, and I'm flying to Berlin in about an hour to attend it." He sighed, his expression turning serious again. "Look bro, I don't know what's going on, but yer have to handle the fallout over at your side now. I'm already doing all I can to contain this incident and Ireland is in charge of tracking down the documents, but the ball's in your court now. Somebody, and I meansomebody, from that side you're currently on has a real serious grudge against yer. I can't do much to track down the bloody culprit if I don't have any clue what I'm dealing with, get it?"

"It's Voldemort," said England without missing a heartbeat. "Definitely him."

Scotland's face paled at the mention of the name, but he didn't flinch. "And you're so sure that it's him because...?"

"Well, there's no other suspect, is there?" answered England, glancing at the door and praying that America wouldn't barge into the room without warning. "Other than the Ministry of Magic, that is..."

Scotland choked. "Yer own Ministry? What the heck?"

"They seem to think I'm some weird Muggle man with magical abilities, so yes; they might've been trying to dig up information about me."

Scotland was silent for a minute, probably contemplating the many ways he could strangle his younger brother, even though he was just a projection in the fireplace. "Yer know, yer could just tell them about yourself. I don't need an extra enemy to deal with because of your stupidity."

"Maybe later," England waved it off. "For now, I have to get back Alfred's military records from that bi- I mean, Umbridge before she hands it in to Fudge. Or, heaven help me, Malfoy."

"Did yer tell the Yank that she has his records?" asked Scotland, his eyes sharp. "And how did she-?"

"Alfred has old records of himself in the Ministry of Magic's foreign wizards archive dating back from the Second World War. And don't ask me how they ended up there because I don't even want to know." England massaged his temples. He really needed that bottle of whiskey, nevermind that it was only one in the afternoon.

"Well, it's only a matter of-" Scotland suddenly cut off, turning his head around in the fireplace. To England, it was as if he was looking at the brick wall of the fireplace. "What the f-"

"Scot?" England knelt down even further. "What-?"

"Someone's trying to cut off the connection, but that's impossi-" Scotland's head abruptly vanished, leaving behind green flames that flickered irregularly. Another voice replaced Scotland's, a very familiar voice. One that went with the image of a fat, toady woman dressed entirely in pink.

England rocketed backwards as the hand of Umbridge appeared in the fireplace, groping around the exact same spot that Scotland's head had been a few seconds ago.

He had no choice but to make a dash for it, heading towards the kitchen; nevermind that he collided into Professor Flitwick along the way. As he muttered his apologies, England's only thought was on that bottle of whiskey waiting for him in the kitchen.

And hoping against hope that he wouldn't get called in for illegal communications through a fireplace.

England sat down sullenly on the chair in Umbridge's office, the second time that week. It was two times more than he wanted, thank you very much.

"So, Arthur," said Umbridge sweetly as she leaned forwards over the desk, her hands clasped together. "I received information that you communicated with an unknown person over the Floo Network. You do know that under the new Educational Decree, you are required to log all communications you've had with outsiders into the system, right?"

"Really?" England tried to look unimpressed. "I did not know of this rule. When was it implemented?"

"Oh, right before lunch," answered Umbridge, a smirk on her face.

England sighed. "Fine, I will log in the next time I speak with somebody. Can I go now? I do have a lesson to prepare."

Umbridge's smile widened. "I'm not done with you yet, Arthur. Who was it you were communicating with?"

"That is none of your business, Dolores," snapped England. "I have a right to keep private conversations private. You do realise that they are called private for a reason...?" His fatigue and stress was making him snarky, but England couldn't care less about it at the moment.

"I am only going to ask you one more time." Umbridge's tone turned dangerously soft, venom dripping from each word. "Who was it you were talking with?"

England rolled his eyes. Sorry, Scotland. "Fine. I was speaking with my older brother, Scot. I'm sure you have that information on my record, don't you?"

"Really?" Umbridge's tone was disbelieving. "Are you sure you weren't communicating with certain unsavoury people? Hm... maybe, members of the Order of the Phoenix, for instance?"

England threw his chair back. He wasn't going to answer that particular question. He had told her the truth; if she didn't believe him, too bad for her. "You must excuse me. I do have better things to do than answering far-fetched questions that are apparently aimed at exposing me as an agent of Dumbledore's organisation."

England slammed the door behind him as he exited, taking great satisfaction at the stunned expression on Umbridge's face.

America looked around. He had been hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter during the Quidditch tryouts for Gryffindor, but despite the large crowd that had gathered to watch the tryouts, the boy wasn't around.

"Excuse me," America stopped one of the red-headed Weasley twins (he had no idea which one it was though). "Have you seen Harry around?"

The twin stared at him. "Haven't you heard, professor?" He jerked his head towards one of the many windows of the castle. "Harry's in detention with Professor Umbridge. Something about telling lies. She wouldn't let him off the hook for it."

There was a sour taste in Alfred's mouth. That bitch again. "Thanks, pal." He clapped the twin on his back. "See you around."

"Got it, professor." The Weasley twin tramped off, leaving Alfred standing alone on the side of the pitch.

Gee, refereeing this is way harder than I thought it was, Alfred reflected as he watched the tryouts begin. I wonder what England is up to now...?

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited Transfigurations the next morning, three identical grins plastered on their faces.

"I wish I had a camera when McGonagoll offered her a cough-drop," chortled Ron, blissfully happy. "That expression on her face...!"

Harry smiled, but it quickly vanished as soon as it had come. "It's Care of Magical Creatures now," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Sure enough, Umbridge was already lurking around Hagrid's hut when the trio arrived, looking rather furious as she scribbled something on her clipboard. Professor Kirkland, to his credit, was steadily ignoring her as if she was merely part of the scenery.

They were studying Bowtruckles today. Interesting little creatures that lived in trees whose wood was used for wands. Harry noted the frown on Umbridge's face as Professor Kirkland generously awarded twenty points to Hermione for the third time; she had been the only one in class able to answer his questions regarding Bowtruckles.

As soon as Professor Kirkland had separated them into groups of three to study and draw a diagram of a Bowtruckle ("No, Mr. Malfoy, I can assure you that they won't bite unless you aggravate them. Now stop being such a coward and take the Bowtruckle."), Umbridge was on the prowl, pouncing on unsuspecting students and firing questions at them. Unfortunately, she had made a beeline for Malfoy, who was still very unhappy from the way he had been reprimanded by Professor Kirkland.

"Now, Draco," Umbridge smirked as her quill poised above her clipboard, ready to write down any remarks or comments. "I heard from your father that you were injured quite recently in Professor Kirkland's lesson...?"

"Oh yeah," said Malfoy eagerly as he showed Umbridge the wound which was still healing on his hand. "A Flying Mint Bunny bit me on the hand-"

"Only because you were too dumb to listen to the Professor," snapped Harry irritably a few metres away.

Umbridge turned and looked at Harry with that sickeningly sweet expression on her face which told him that he had overstepped a line.

"I think another week's worth of detention will do you some good, Mr. Potter." she said softly as she snapped her clipboard shut, Malfoy smirking behind her.

"What?" said Professor Kirkland sharply as he straightened up after helping Parvati with her Bowtruckle. "What has Potter done now to deserve another week of detention?"

"It's okay, Professor-" said Harry softly, but Professor Kirkland was having none of it.

"Harry, get back to your Bowtruckle. Professor Umbridge and I are going to have a talk, right now."

As the pair moved further away from the class and closer to the Forbidden Forest, Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione and Ron, who merely shrugged in response.

"Why do you keep insisting on giving the boy detention?" whispered England furiously once they were out of earshot. "He has done nothing to warrant the punishment-"

"What punishment I deal out to Potter is none of your business right now, Arthur." said Umbridge sweetly. "Now, as part of your evaluation, I will require you to answer some questions..."

England nearly threw his hands up in exasperation.

Harry trudged glumly along the corridors as he returned from yet another session of detention with Umbridge. His hand was bleeding again and he didn't bother to hide it, not this late at night with nobody out in the corridors.

"And you didn't bother telling me this earlier?" A sharp voice punctuated Harry's thoughts. He halted in the middle of the corridor as the voices floated down the corridor around the nearest corner. "Arthur, you have no idea how serious this is getting-"

"Will you please calm down, Alfred?" another voice which Harry recognised as Professor Kirkland answered tiredly. "Scott is flying over to Berlin for an emergency meeting now, I'm sure it'll be settled in a few days..."

"No, it won't!" Alfred's voice became louder and angrier. "You should've told me this earlier in the morning, then I could've-"

"Could have what, Alfred?" Professor Kirkland replied as Harry slowly made his way closer to them, trying to be as quiet as possible. "This is out of my hands already. You know the reason I even took up the job in the first place, Alfred, so don't lecture me on the merits now." A few seconds of silence before a sigh came. "Potter, you do know that eavesdropping is frowned upon in most societies, right?"

"Sorry, Professor," stammered Harry as he rounded the corner. Professor Kirkland and Alfred were standing in the middle of the dimmed corridor, their expressions tense. "I was on my way to Gryffindor tower, I just had detention with Professor Umbridge."

Alfred glanced at Harry, his eyes travelling downwards and widening when they saw Harry's bleeding hand. "Harry, your hand-"

"It's nothing-" said Harry quickly as he hid his hand, but Alfred was quicker, reaching Harry in two strides and cradling his injured appendage. The American's eyes narrowed and he swore when he read the words etched into Harry's hand.

"Does she make you do this every time you go for detention?" The anger was evident in Alfred's voice now as Professor Kirkland came over to where Harry was, his expression turning blank when he saw the words on Harry's hands.

"Yeah," said Harry as he yanked his hand back. "Because I told her about Voldemort, the truth about him." He glared at the two older men, daring them to correct him.

Professor Kirkland's eyes softened. "We believe you, Harry," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder as if making sure no one else could hear him.

Alfred was still riled up. "I'm gonna go and kick Dolores in the butt right now, she has no right to-"

Professor Kirkland grabbed Alfred firmly by the shoulder and steered him in front of himself to prevent Alfred from stomping up to Umbridge's quarters and murder her. "Better get back to the tower, Harry." said Professor Kirkland as he strained to maintain his grip on Alfred. "Oh, and by the way, you should tell Miss Granger about your hand. She might be able to do something about it." With much effort, Professor Kirkland pushed Alfred and they were both on their way, their silhouettes rapidly disappearing into the night.

Hermione was waiting for Harry when he got back, a bowl in her lap. Surprised, Harry sat down as she pushed the bowl towards him.

"Essence of Murtlap," she explained, looking shrewdly at Harry. "It should help with the hand."

Harry stared. "Did Ron-"

"Yeah, and I think you're a total idiot for not telling us about it," replied Hermione. "Now just soak your hand in it. I have something to discuss with you."

Warily, Harry soaked his hand in the liquid. To his surprise, the pain in his hand was instantly numbed, the throbbing lessening gradually.

"I'm sure you know about this, but Professor Umbridge is a lousy teacher." said Hermione bluntly.

"Tell me something I don't know," muttered Harry.

"And, on top of it all, this is the year we sit for our OWLs!" Hermione said heatedly. "So Ron and I were talking about it earlier, and we both agreed that we were never going to pass the practical for Defence Against the Dark Arts at the rate she's going-"

"So?" said Harry.

"So we were thinking-" Hermione took a deep breath. "About you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Me? What do I have to do with this?"

"Well, technically speaking, you are the best out of all of us in this subject," said Hermione a little timidly.

Harry laughed. "I thought you were the best, Hermione. You always beat me in the tests, remember?"

"Not really," said Hermione. "In our third year, the only year where we got a proper teacher and a proper test, Professor Lupin told me in private that you'd beat me in the subject. So you are better than me."

"What difference does it make anyway?" sighed Harry. "Umbridge is determined to mark me down no matter what I do-"

"So we were thinking, maybe..." Hermione's voice trailed off. "Maybe we could start a small study group, with you as the leader."

Harry went silent as he stared at Hermione before laughing. "No, no, Hermione." He paused. "You're serious?"

"At least give it a thought or two, please," pleaded Hermione. "You could give private lessons to say, half a dozen of us? It'll help us for our exams, and I do know a few people who are interested."

Harry's head was spinning. "No, I don't think so, Hermione." It wasn't that he didn't want to do it, it was just- "And what'll Umbridge think of me suddenly teaching all her students, huh?"

"Well, last I checked, a study group or club wasn't against the rules." Hermione stated firmly. "So it's not like we're doing something illegal."

Harry stood up, clutching his hand to his chest. "I think it's time I went to bed."

"Just think about it, will you?" said Hermione as Harry retreated up to the boys' dormitory. "You don't need to make a decision now, you can always tell me tomorrow or next week-"

"'Night, 'Mione," muttered Harry as he rushed up the staircase, unable to look at Hermione's half-hopeful, half-disappointed face.

He'd consider it later when he was feeling much better. For now, all he wanted was to lay down on his fluffy bed and sleep, preferably forever.

It was almost three in the morning when England woke up to something that always irritated him to no end.

The sound of a mobile phone ringing.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he bolted upright, a sudden thought entering his head.

He was in Hogwarts.

Mobiles didn't work in Hogwarts.

America was sleeping in the temporary bed hastily placed next to his, his snores echoing off the walls of the room. Despite Dumbledore offering him a room and the fact that there were a million other spare rooms in the castle, America had insisted on sleeping in his room.

England wasn't going to admit that it made him feel a little smug that America still insisted on sleeping in the same room with him, just like he always did when he was younger.

"Wake up, America. Your mobile's ringing." No response. "America, wake up." Still no response.

England groaned. "Fine, you made me do this." With one mighty yank, he pulled the blanket off America, leaving the younger nation laying in the cold with only his trousers on.

America woke up instantly and yelped as the sudden cold hit him. "England! What the fu-"

"Your mobile is ringing, wanker. Answer it so that I can go back to my much needed sleep without that bloody thing waking me up." England grumbled, the feeling of uneasiness gnawing away inside of him as he threw the blanket back onto America, eliciting a growl of protest from the younger man.

With an evil glare at England, America grabbed his ringing mobile and pressed it to his ear. "Yeah, Alfred here," he drawled as he leaned back lazily against the pillow, wiggling his eyebrows at England staring worriedly at him.

Does he not know that mobiles don't work in Hogwarts? What is going on?

"What?" the sudden sharp tone of America made England sit up even straighter, his uneasiness even more prominent now. "Who's this?" A pause. "No, whoever this is, this isn't funny. Alright jackass, I have nothing more to discuss with you and no amount of bargaining will do you any good-" Another pause. "No, nothing's gonna change my mind, so stop-" The younger nation's expression abruptly changed from serious to terrified in the span of a second, his hand quivering as he pressed the mobile even harder against his ear.

"Matthew?"

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