I'm back! You missed me and my awesomeness! Happy Birthday Prussia, Haps baps and all of the rest. I have been a busy person and that's why I'm updating at 9:50PM on a Sunday. Fun.

Make sure to comment on this chapter - do it for Prussia, It's his Birthday!

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"So." Alfred looked over the top of his glasses at the unfortunate George Weasley. "You thought that this would be funny, eh? What a laugh."

The redhead stared back at him, blankly. Alfred made a clucking noise in the back of his throat and raised his eyebrows, gesturing for the seventh year to speak.

"Go on. Give your fantastically good excuse for slipping Melanie Guie a love potion. I'm dying to hear it."

"I-I…" The boy's throat sounded dry and strained. America masked his concern, sliding over a glass of water with an impassionate hand. George took it gratefully and then gulped the entirety of it down in two swigs. "I d-didn't."

It wasn't convincing.

America rolled his eyes. "Sure you didn't. I assume that the extremely talented young girl just happened to suddenly pick up a strong infatuation with me?"

"Yeah."

"George." Alfred clarified, "I'm going to Grimmauld Place for Christmas with you. If you don't want Molly to know…"

"No!"

"Then tell me. Heaven knows I don't bite."

"I can't." George spluttered.

"You know…" Alfred said craftily. "Fred has already told me."

"But he told me that if I told- Oh. Very clever, Mr Jones."

"Thanks, I don't usually get enough credit for it. Anyway. What did Fred tell you to do?"

"Nothing." George protested. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Really? The same 'nothing' that meant that at the last night before term started you couldn't sleep and had to get a hot milk from the kitchen, regardless of the rats and doxies? Ah, that is the sort of casual beginning of a new term that everyone wishes for, don't you think?" At George's stare he smiled. "Your mother told me to keep an eye on you two. She's worried about you both."

"Worried, why?"

America looked at George carefully. "Well. You've become a lot more withdrawn and quiet whilst Fred has become louder and more disruptive. It doesn't take a genius to work out that something is up."

"I can't say."

"I can force you." Alfred said reasonably.

"You can't, you're a teacher!"

"I'm a teacher, yes, but no one would blame me." He countered, still mild.

"No."

Alfred reached in his desk, feigning looking for his wand. "Where is it…?

"Fine." George snapped. America looked up. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

"Elaborate?"

"Okay, so basically, Fred is generally perfect. He is everyone's favourite twin. When people talk about us it's always 'Fred and George', not George and Fred. He's smarter, he gets all the girls, he could have the pick of practically anyone to date. I'm known as Fred's twin. I always feel like I'm worthless when I'm with him. All of our friends like him better than me. I just feel like I'm invisible sometimes, you know, when he is taking up so much space in their heads that there is none for me. It's not malicious! He just genuinely doesn't get why I feel so depressed when I'm around him and makes me stay where I'll always be in his shadow. It's not easy being the less noticed twin."

"Oh." Alfred breathed, the pieces clicking into place.

"It's just… When I act up suddenly the focus is on me, and what makes me tick. My family view us both as a disappointment but at least they know that I'm here. I guess I'm lucky that I was born now and not hundreds of years ago. I don't think I'd have had a chance back then, when children were seen and not heard. I would become invisible. That's why I go along with all of these hair-brained schemes. At least, when I'm suspended, Mum will look me directly in the eyes and talk to me instead of to us." He paused for breath. "…Wow. I guess that's been a long time coming."

"You needed to talk." America nodded. "You needed someone to find out what was bothering you instead of having to be told."

"Yeah." George was quiet.

"You know…" America began, "I'm a twin, so I know what you're feeling. Well, most of it."

"Two of you?" George muttered, just slightly too loudly. "Oh, sorry."

"Yup. Me and my bro, Mattie!" America beamed, mouth aching at the forced repetitive action. "Tell you what… People say that I'm loud and sorta obnoxious, I know, as if, right? But anyway, maybe he knows what you're feeling. People ALWAYS call him Alfred and he's shy and stuff. Do you want his address?"

"That would be good, sir, thank you." Said George, slightly more respectfully.

"Awesome!" Alfred scribbled Canada's address on a scrap of paper with a biro and handed it to George. "Just tell him I told you to. He lives alone so I'm sure he'll love a pen-pal."

"Thanks." George said, standing to go.

"Oh, wait!" America said, hurriedly. "Minerva told me to tell you that under no account are you allowed to sell, test or use your products whilst at school, unless you are to place a 'puking pastille' into our dear DADA teacher's tea. I believe that she's making herself quite unpopular."

"Will do!" George gave a mock salute. "Good class, Mr Jones. See you!"

He left.

"See ya." Alfred murmured, leaning back in his chair and shielding his eyes. It was only the second week and already he was exhausted. He soon drifted off into an uneasy sleep. His dream was not a pleasant one.

A man was shouting. The sound echoed throughout the high ceilinged room.

"You can't bloody do this to me. No! I refuse. Kill me now or LET ME GO!"

A high, cold laugh.

"England, have you not learnt your lesson? Crucio."

The man screamed and twitched as he fell to the floor. His eyes rolled back into his head. His limbs seized up and shiny tears joined the salty tracks down his face. Suddenly, he stopped. He shakily pulled himself off the ground and faced the direction from which the voice had come.

"It appears that I have not, Voldemort. You can hold me captive but no one will come for me, you can count on that. They promised. You can't get any further."

A tall, thin man stood next to England. His fingers caressed the dirty face of the former empire.

"What light is to the eyes - what air is to the lungs - what love is to the heart, liberty is to the soul of man. I can get you to do whatever I wish, Arthur. I can mould you into MY nation."

"No – No man has any authority over his other men!" Arthur shouted. "Bastard!"

"I will be immortal, England, you can't stop me!"

"You fool." England said quietly. "The person who has lived the most is not the one with the most years but the one with the richest experiences. Live a rich life, Tom, by all means, just don't kill my people in order to get more."

"You've killed more than me, England." Voldemort sneered. "You are just as bad as I am. Come over to my side."

"I may be no better than you, but at least I'm different." Shrugged the nation, wincing.

"I kill for my cause."

"Political language... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. In our age there is no such thing as 'plain politics'. All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred and schizophrenia. I will never follow your cause, Voldemort. You'll have to command my cold dead ashes."

The room was silent for a second, then the screaming started again.