CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: BROOMSTICKS

America was undertaking an extremely dangerous mission. Stealth was key. Arousing any suspicion could lead to disastrous consequences. He called it Operation: Dust Storm. He needed a better name for it. Whatever its name was, the operation consisted of him hiding a copy of Which Broomstick inside a textbook so that Hermione wouldn't yell at him for trying to help Harry or, far worse and far more likely, for not studying. So far, it was a success. Hermione was so immersed in her books and essays that she'd barely looked at him.

But, of course, no battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. An unforeseen distraction appeared in the form of Harry walking into the Common Room carrying a Firebolt. America had the prescience to close the textbook and hide the magazine before leaping to his feet and running over. "DUUUUUUUUDE! So, can we all be friends again?"

Harry nodded and Ron (who America only now really noticed had entered with Harry) said, "Sure, mate."

America grinned. "Sweet! Gimme a sec." He ran back to Hermione. "Yo, Hermione!"

"What is it, Alfred?" she asked wearily, not even looking up.

"Harry's got his Firebolt back, so we can all hang out together again!" His excitement got the better of him and he ran back to Harry before he could see her reaction, pushing his way through the crowd with ease. He spent the next ten minutes or so trying not to drool all over the Firebolt or laugh at the subtext of everyone wanting to touch Harry's broomstick. After that everyone seemed to get bored and go back to their own Firebolt-less lives.

Harry and Ron approached Hermione. "I got it back," said Harry, grinning.

"See, Hermione? There wasn't anything wrong with it!" said Ron.

"Well – there might have been!" said Hermione. "I mean, at least you know now that it's safe!"

"Okay, seriously, dudes, if you don't stop fighting I'm going to handcuff you all together until you do," warned America.

"It's fine, Alfred, we're good now," Harry reassured him. He gestured to the Firebolt. "I'd better put it upstairs-"

"I'll take it!" said Ron, snatching the broom so fast America wondered whether he'd learned telekinesis. "I've got to give Scabbers his Rat Tonic." Harry didn't outright refuse right away, so Ron took the opportunity run off back to the dormitory like a thief in the night.

"Can I sit down, then?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I suppose so," said Hermione, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair and onto America's. Hermione was looking really stressed, and America didn't feel like getting jinxed, so he made no comment and just moved the pile onto the floor.

Harry looked at Hermione's enormous pile of work in disbelief. "How are you getting through all this stuff?" he asked her. America opened up his textbook again. He didn't need to look for a new broom anymore, so he started wondering how he was going to dispose of the magazine without Hermione noticing.

"Oh, well – you know – working hard," said Hermione.

"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry asked.

Hermione stared at him as if he'd suggested dropping a baby from the Astronomy Tower. "I couldn't do that!"

"Arithmancy looks terrible," said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart.

"Hey, Arithmancy is great!" said America. "It's like Divination with numbers instead of stupid!"

"Yes, it's-" Hermione never got to put her two cents in, however, because she was interrupted by a strangled yell coming from the staircase. Everyone in the common room went quiet and turned to look. Loud footsteps echoed down the stairs, and America prepared himself for an adventure. His hopes were rather dashed when it turned out to just be Ron holding a bedsheet.

"LOOK!" he bellowed, striding towards them. "LOOK!" He shook the sheet in her face.

"Ron, what-?" asked Hermione, reflecting America's own confusion.

"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!" Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking understandably bewildered. America looked at the sheet and saw-

"BLOOD!" Ron yelled, his voice all the louder for the silence around them. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"

"N-no," said Hermione shakily.

Ron threw something on the table with the same aplomb that bad people in movies would throw down someone's decapitated head. America was rather relieved when he realized it was just some hair. Hair that looked like it belonged to Crookshanks. America sighed. Just when they'd made up… It's like I'm living in a soap opera. A really weird soap opera with magic and dragons and sports even more ripe for innuendo than most, and that's saying something.

Whatever progress the return of the Firebolt had made towards mending Ron and Hermione's friendship was completely obliterated. America had hoped that he and Harry wouldn't be dragged to either side of the argument again, but that hope died horribly when Harry pointed out that all evidence suggested Crookshanks had indeed eaten Scabbers.

"So, back to square one," Canada sighed, flipping a page of his Muggle Studies textbook.

America decided to join in on the sighing for once. "I wish. This is more, like, square negative fifty." He glanced at Hermione, who was sitting farther away than usual. "So… what would you say are the chances of her clawing my eyes out if I tell her Harry has a point?"

"Don't sell Hermione so short, Al," said Canada. "She'd curse you."

America groaned, slamming his forehead into his book. As he raised it again he saw Professor Burbage giving him a 'please get back to work, Mr. Jones, before I hang you from the battlements by your ear' look. America dipped his quill in the inkwell and managed to write a whole two sentences before his determination to actually do schoolwork disappeared into the night like a ninja.

Canada leaned over to check what he'd written. "It… was a good try."

"I got literally everything wrong, didn't I?" said America.

"I am honestly impressed by the sheer inaccuracy," said Canada cheerfully. "So, how's Ron doing?"

Relieved to once again have a distraction, America replied, "Bad. You'd think he'd be happier – he was always complaining about that stupid rat."

"Alfred, you of all people should know that animosity and concern aren't mutually exclusive, eh," said Canada.

America turned to look at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Canada shook his head and muttered something under his breath before saying audibly, "Nothing, apparently. Look at it this way – Ron's known Scabbers longer than he's known either of us. He'd be upset if we mysteriously disappeared leaving nothing but blood and cat hair, no matter how much he complains about you."

"He complains about me?"

America could practically hear the gears in Canada's head rapidly switch directions. "No, no, of course not. N-not more than friends usually do, anyway. And sometimes, people only complain because they care and want to improve the thing they're complaining about, you know?"

America cheered up. "Well, when you put it that way… Anyway, you planning on pulling a Switzerland again?"

Canada nodded. "Somebody has to." He glanced at Professor Burbage, who was giving them an 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' look, and quickly went back to work. His heart wasn't in it, though, because scarcely five minutes later he leaned over and whispered, "Anything else I've missed?"

America tried not to smirk as he filed this incident away in his memory for the next time someone tried to shame him into doing actual work by comparing him to his hard-working, blessed-by-the-angels brother. "Uh… Harry's going to try out his Firebolt for the first time tonight. He promised Ron would get a turn after practice, so I butted in and made him promise to let me have one, too. Wanna come with? Harry's a total pushover, he'd let you have a go."

"Aren't I the enemy?" murmured Canada.

"You supporting Ravenclaw tomorrow?"

"No, of course not."

"It'll probably be cool." America paused to review that statement. "Actually, maybe not. If this place had yearbooks, Wood would be listed as 'most likely to have a psychotic break and beat someone to death with a broom'. Heh, 'wood would'."

Canada shrugged. "I think I'll be okay. If worse comes to worse, you can always hide and let me impersonate you."

"Yeah, that would be- wait." America narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to get me out of the picture so that you can get more time on the Firebolt, aren't you?"

Canada's expression was the sort of pure innocence possessed only by the guilty. "Don't be silly. You can ride Harry's broomstick all you want."

America threw up a little in his mouth. "Why'd you have to say it like that? You make it sound so… France-y. Now I don't want to touch it." The smug look of triumph on Canada's face made America shove him out of his chair, Professor Burbage's disapproving gaze be damned.

A/N: My mind was a bit in the gutter when I wrote this chapter, wasn't it? Ah, well, TOTALLY PLATONIC HUGS! \(^-^)/ Onto Q&A! To various people: Yes, it was a Fullmetal Alchemist reference. I've never actually seen it, though, I just got it from TVTropes. To Polly Little: I don't know yet. One good thing about pantsing, I guess - no need to worry about spoilers. To pinkdoughnuts: I'll try. As I've said before, I love good sibling relationships. To kakahi: As I have said, I don't know. Even if that changed, I don't want to spoil you guys, so it would be nice if you could stop asking that question. To WhenTheSunRiseSets: 1) Not in the foreseeable future, I'm afraid. 2) No major ships, other than indisputably canon stuff like Ginny/Harry. Sorry. 3) ... Let me see what I can do ;). To Guest: Dang, that was a missed opportunity. Ah, well. For the second point, I think he just treats them like normal students. Very annoying normal students in America's case. NEXT CHAPTER: Sirius Black is bad at revenge. See you all next time!