Hello canon-HP characters we haven't seen some of you for a while.


Snakeskins

Unfriendly

Arthur wanted to scream.

'Potter won't release the book.

-D.A., Kingdom of Scotland'

This was no petty issue of jurisdiction! Arthur almost tore the letter from Scotland in half when he read it that morning on their last day at Hogwarts. He stomped back down to the great hall from the owlery, dropping himself down amidst the chatter of homebound students at the Slytherin table to seethe.

Their friends were entirely fed up with the way he and Italy refused to kiss and make up, but after that last upset a week ago outside the history room, Arthur was sick of the issue and wanted nothing more to do with it. He didn't want to talk about Gryffindor seizing another House Cup Win right out from Slytherin's nose thanks to those dashed two hundred points from his and Italy's suspension. He didn't want to talk about how the house cup announcement had come with a hex that turned all the first years' robes Gryffindor red (and he did mean all the first years, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw collectively had not been impressed). So he certainly didn't want to deal the other nation who didn't even look up or acknowledge him when they were forced to sit next to each other for breakfast. Fine, be that way! He was entirely fed up and doggedly counting down the hours until he wouldn't have to deal with Italy again directly until the end of summer.

He could handle a conference or two, he was sure, but no more of this living within ten feet of each other at all hours! It was driving Arthur positively mad.

He didn't bother writing another letter down to London or attempting to inform Italy of the upset in the bureaucracy, he'd be home by the end of the day and fully capable of marching into the Ministry and likely taking Mister Potter by the tie and giving him a good shake for all the trouble he was causing. But until he could get his hands on the source of his grief, Arthur had to just sit there at the Slytherin table and stab at his eggs like they'd offended him.

"Before I bother telling you why I'm asking, are you even going to be in Britain for the summer, Vargas?" He beat his eggs a little harder listening to Scorpius break out the traditional summer vacation spiel from across the table.

"I don't think so, my brother wants me home."

"Kirkland?"

"Oh probably." He committed, primarily out of spite after Italy's rejection, but also because he really wasn't sure about how busy he'd be after the end of next week. It certainly brightened Scorpius up a little bit, the pale boy sitting a little straighter over a bit of toast and jam. "What are you planning this year?"

"Quidditch world cup is happening over in Ireland." Err, Arthur probably would have to ask and make sure that was alright. He certainly got on better with his sister now, but not by a great deal. "My family's all going, so's Charlie's."

"Tom's team plays one more game next Saturday," It was hard to forget that Thomas Higgs was a professional Quidditch player now, albeit a rookie, because Charlie enjoyed talking about it almost as much as Scorpius loved listening and vicariously living out the dream. "If they win it then they're in for the cup!"

Letting the conversation revolve around Quidditch kept the nations from having to interact directly, and with their dorms and trunks already set in order through a combination of their own work, house elves, and a few minor enchantments, they went from the great hall outside in order by year to reach the carriages down to Hogsmeade. First years were called first to leave the castle, and by the time the third years made their chatty way through the massive stone doors Arthur and Italy had already freed themselves of the little cage their classmates kept building by constantly circling around them. No, they were not going to talk: there was no need to spark another argument.

The weather was positively delightful, but Arthur hadn't a care for the sweet scent of fresh grass or the cheerful summer sunlight bathing the landscape. Hogsmeade was snow-bound for much of the year and the wind was still rather chilly for the season, but it was gloriously bright and utterly useless at changing his mood. In fact, as they arrived at the bustling train station and navigated the jets of steam and streams of underclassmen to climb about the Hogwarts express, things only went down-hill.

It was normal for the third year Slytherins to split up to filter into compartments before the upperclassmen could catch up and bully them out of the way. Instead of splitting up five and two as they normally did, Italy moved without a word and ducked into the same compartment as Flint and Finnick, leaving the other three children scandalized and Arthur forcefully ushering them into their own little box of seats before it could be snatched up.

"Did you see that?" Charlie gasped, falling on his seat like a rock next to the door as Arthur muscled Scorpius inside after Ellie and then closed the compartment up once they were all in. He turned back around to Charlie gesturing with big empty hands and wide eyes staring around the space like he'd never seen the brown seat covers or the faces of his friends before. "He just went on his own merry way without even a look back! Unbelievable!"

"I know he's easily caught up in things-" Ellie squeaked, "-but that was just- just-"

"Just rude is what it was," Scorpius finished off, arms folded and sitting next to Ellie who had the pleats of her skirt balled up hard in her hands, twisting the grey fabric back and forth with nerves showing. "So what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Oh not this again-" Arthur started, but was quickly cut off by Charlie behind him.

"You've got to stop saying this isn't you fault, because even if it isn't he certainly thinks the opposite!" Look at him, being spoon-fed advice by teenagers!

"Look, I know what will calm him down," Arthur soothed, walking from the door over to the window so he could turn around and see all three children clearly. "I just have to get home and fetch it. We wrote to each other- only a little, but we did try to talk things out while on suspension." Eliza just shook her head like he was lying, mouth scrunched up in an ugly way which warned of tears on the horizon.

"Then why are you being so awful to each other?" Just because they'd spoken didn't mean they hadn't argued for most of that, but Arthur wasn't willing to say it. "It's miserable watching you two walk around with your noses in the air."

"I promise we'll work something out by September."

"Or Flint will catch him in her web and we'll never see or hear of him again." Arthur sincerely doubted that Italy was mad enough to make a habit of spending eight hours locked in a tiny compartment with Gloria Flint fawning and nagging over him. Still, just the snide way Scorpius made the comment made Charlie roll his eyes and Ellie gave him a push on the arm while muttering 'that's not funny' softly under her breath.

Exhausted all over again by both the drama and the charade, Arthur Kirkland pulled his skinny pre-teen knees up under his chin, tucked himself down in the corner of his seat, and stubbornly decided to nap most of the way from Hogsmeade down to London.


Thirty minutes after leaving Hogsmeade Feliciano regretted the decision not to sit with his usual friends: he would have happily traded England for Gloria. As tense and angry as the other nation made him, at least Feliciano knew how far he could push back against Arthur before running the risk of damaging some integral piece of his soul. Gauging that distance with a human girl was much, much harder, especially because of how hard he choked just trying to talk her down in the first place.

"I think it's rather marvelous that you've broken off with Kirkland." What an awful thing for her to say, Feliciano just sat there staring at her where she'd claimed the spot right next to him on the compartment seat. "Half-bloods aren't that far from Mudbloods after all, or so my father says, and you should know his opinion of House Kirkland isn't very high either for that matter."

"You should really stop and listen to yourself sometimes, Gloria." The witch tilted her head with big blue eyes to the side, brown hair coiled over her shoulder in a thick braid ending with a sharp green ribbon. Her pouty little mouth was pursed, but Feliciano lost the will to push through and try to scold her again. She was thirteen, she'd either see it eventually or grow old enough for him to take her seriously. For now, he had to settle with: "My family has a very good opinion of House Kirkland, enough that they sent me here to Hogwarts with him."

"But if you'd only convince your brother to spend a fewweeks here in Britain then my father could easily aquatint your family with the right kinds of people!" She wasn't very good at pleading or at accepting rejections. While Feliciano sighed under his breath wondering how long the train ride would last, she took his gloved hand between both of hers and held it warmly. She was smiling at him now, almost eager to please but at the same time going the wrong way with it.

"Gloria." He warned, tugging his hand back gently, she didn't let go and he had to settle for anxiously thumbing the clasp of his book-bag with his other hand, the satchel resting in his lap for the journey. He'd hoped to pass some of the time today sketching the landscapes they passed on the train but that probably wasn't going to work out. His fingers were stiff: all normal and as expected, but the more he used his hand the faster it would recover now that the painful parts were over.

"What's the point of you coming this far for schooling if you're only going to mingle with the rabble?" She pouted, encouraging Margaret to look up from the book she was reading across the compartment next to the window. "Playing those awful muggle sports and always hanging around Kirkland. Like I said, cutting off ties with him is the best move you could have made! It's a decent start."

"Higgs and Malfoy are just as pure as you are," Feliciano tried to keep his tone mild but he watched the words needle her anyways, the warm hold around his fingers tensing up. "The Gamps are an old and deeply respectable house, and again: the Vargases like the Kirklands. I like making friends, Gloria. I want you and Margaret and I to all be friends, and maybe even Albus Potter and Rose Weasley someday too. But I can't be friends with someone who only sees people for their titles and bloodlines, and I won't be friends with someone who laughs when I lose a friendship."

"You're the one who got into a shouting fit with Kirkland last week!" Gloria bit back, finally tossing Feliciano's hand down like something nasty she didn't want to touch anymore. "He's the one who got you hurt and then almost expelled, so why bother being upset about it? Stop defending him!"

"Then stop attacking him for things he can't control!" Feliciano wanted to go home. He wanted to throw the charm in a box and go through six hours of tax law revisions instead of sitting here anymore and talking about England again. "Blame him for lying, blame him for being a jerk, blame him for things that are actually his fault, but leave his family out of it!"

"We lost the House Cup again this year because of you and Kirkland." She spat venom at him with her lips curled back around her teeth, rising to stand over him instead of staying seated. She was quivering with anger, hands in tight fists at her sides as she stared down at him and hissed: "Malfoy couldn't catch the snitch if Potter handed it to him. You already said its Kirkland's fault the headmistress took two hundred points from Slytherin, and after he couldn't take your place in this years' tournament, that mudblood Baker got the better of me with a spell Higgs showed him! As for deeply respectable Miss Gamp-!"

"Do not talk about them like that." Standing up, Feliciano was still shorter than her and he was probably going to stay that way until fifth year unless she stopped growing, but he didn't need his height: his voice worked just fine. "I've had enough, Gloria. You and Margaret enjoy the ride home, I'm going to sit somewhere else."

"You can't!" She said, sneering at him with her nose scrunched up. "The whole train is packed full!"

"I'll make do." He said, pushing the compartment door open.

"Oh Feliciano wait-" Margaret called him and Gloria grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe, yanking him back inside before he could swing a foot out into the hall. She tossed him firmly back down on the seat and shut the door again, hands on her hips, and scolded him with one pouting lip stuck out. The nation held his breath telling himself he wasn't half as fed up as he knew he was.

"You're much too sensitive." She tsked.

"Don't talk about my friends like that, Gloria."

"Alright fine, lets talk about you and I instead then!" That wasn't much better, but at least Feliciano was more comfortable answering questions about Wizarding Venice and Rome than he was with listening to Gloria spout hateful things about her classmates and peers. Margaret was also allowed to join the conversation, which was a big bonus, and when the girls pulled out a deck of magical cards for a few games he touched graphite to paper and tried to wrap his stiff fingers around the strokes and smudges of the sketches.

It was a long and tedious train ride through the summer sunshine and on into late evening. When the train finally began to slow down and pull into Kings' Cross Station in London, Feliciano changed out of his robes and was the first one out of the compartment and waiting at the door to be let out on to the platform.

South Italy and Scotland were standing there with the usual parents: Mister Gamp, Mrs. Malfoy, and a tall, lanky wizard Feliciano didn't know whose thick black hair and long nose reminded him of Charlie- so maybe it was Mister Higgs. Wandering over to them through the clouds of steam and clusters of students and parents, Feliciano took a spot to his brother's right and was greeted with an acknowledging touch on his shoulder.

They collected his luggage and were gone before Feliciano saw England or any of his other friends. The brothers talked in the taxi that went speeding away through the warm summer night to the airport so they could get home as soon as possible.

"Did you settle anything with Kirkland?" Lovino asked.

"No." His brother wasn't happy with that answer, but Feliciano didn't have a better one for him. Lovino was wearing a muggle suit and tie because this time there was no stop-over at England's house to change out of magical robes. Feliciano would have to wait for the airport to take off the charm in a bathroom stall and flash his ID to let the weapons that would reappear be packaged up for international travel. "But he told me Potter is getting in your way, is that true?"

"You'll have to ask Chiara, she handles all that magical bullshit for me."

Talking about magic was awkward after that. South Italy didn't really want to look at him while he was still wearing the disguise, and North Italy wasn't enough like himself with the charm around his neck to come up with anything better to talk about. It got a wash of nervous pin pricks running down his spine as they rode the taxi in silence, but when they were finally let out and they vanished through the plexiglas doors of the airport Feliciano ducked into the closest men's room and sent up a fast, silent prayer that Lovino's modifications to the rosary would help him.

He wound up on one knee coughing his insides up into the toilet bowl, head spinning and limbs shaking, but the nausea passed with the last of his candy-laden lunch and after a few minutes of being sick and miserable, Feliciano felt his senses realign and his identity come washing back down over him.

"Oh thank god…" It was all there, from infrastructure and investments to cultural works mingled with climate change, North Italy breathed a heavy sigh and turned around to answer the rough knock on the stall door.

"You're still dressed to deal with those wackos," Lovino sniped at him, his shoes tapping irritably on the tiles. "Put these on, idiot." A small blue dufflebag was set on the floor and kicked under the door, and Feliciano stood up properly to take a look at the blue wizarding robe he'd put on in Venice almost a month ago.

The strange clothes, his wand, the gun, tazer, night-stick and magazines all went in the bag, and he was given a much more comfortable green track suit to put on instead. He wasn't going to look very professional as he swapped the boots for an old pair of running shoes from Rome, but he was a lot more comfortable when he opened the door again and flung his arms around Lovino, whining about being carried while his brother hissed at him to stop making a scene.

He slept for the two and a half hour flight from London down to Rome and drank more wine than he should have over left-overs in their kitchen later that night. Feliciano's first night home was dominated by not getting anything done in favour of a hot shower and flinging himself on his own bed like a child, nevermind the yowls from Gino who wanted out onto the patio so badly Lovino almost flung the cat onto the street.

"Just shut up and go to sleep," was the last thing his brother said before Feliciano rolled over and found his other half settled under the blankets next to him, not touching, but stubborn enough not to move when Feliciano wiggled closer. This bed was so much bigger than the stone one he slept in at Hogwarts, so the size and the presence of another person would take some getting used to…

It was hot in Rome too, especially compared to the Scottish highlands which at best were 'kind of warm-ish' in May and so-so in June. Feliciano adored it: he'd missed it. Waking up to clear skies the next morning, he got a shout from his brother for letting the cold from the air-conditioner out onto the street by flinging the windows open with a cheer.

"Cut it out!"

"No way! Just turn it off for now because I've been freezing up north!"

The sun was hot and bright through the haze of the city and he spent his first full day of summer vacation ignoring what his brother had to say about business meetings and a conference call from America. He escaped out the back door before breakfast and had his first coffee in weeks while walking down a crumbling sidewalk, fetching a sandwich from a small shop before indulging further with a cigarette borrowed from a small group of construction workers. They talked to him about the city, the changes and plans and problems in Rome and on the news, and with his heart beating a little easier and his head on much straighter Feliciano was able to go back to his house without giving his brother a fit.

"You can't expect me not to vanish like that."

"Who said I didn't expect it? Did I fucking say anything about it? No, now shut up." It was good to be home. There was nothing better than being back where he belonged, even if it meant living with his grumpy and bitter older brother.

But they did have to talk about business eventually. Lovino didn't bring it up right away and Feliciano avoided it for the rest of that first day, but the next morning at breakfast his brother came downstairs with a heavy sigh and a grim look on his face. They shared fresh coffee over a bundle of parchments neatly scrawled over and sealed with a bright blue wax crest from the British Ministry of Magic. It was a report from Auror Potter explaining why the book had not been handed over to the Italians yet…

The report was a summary: the book was Italian in origin and Auror Potter was (very rudely, Feliciano thought) requesting to know which public or private collections would have included a copy of "Advanced Wanding Endowments" by Ignio Medici. It seemed obvious that it had belonged to one of the Rosetti children because of the language: none of it was in English, and what could be read through several years of water damage and rot showed no signs of being translated. The British wanted to verify that it had come from the Rosetti family collection, Feliciano just wanted a concise answer for why they weren't giving the book back especially since none of them could even read it.

"Who would bury a book about wands under an old tree?" Lovino had read the report already and was just going through it again for Feliciano's sake, so the younger brother looked up with the question and watched his other half just sit there at the kitchen table with a sour look on his face. Green eyes dark, teeth chewing on the corner of his mouth, it was his thinking face instead of him just being pissy and unhelpful when he didn't answer.

"Could you tell what kind of tree it was?" Lovino asked. "If it's a wanding tree then it might explain some of it." A wanding tree: the kind wizards and witches could cultivate the wood from to make a wand in the first place. You couldn't just walk up to any tree in a forest and cut off a branch for a wand, it had to be special in its own way. "Did he have an interest in making wands?"

"I don't know..." He didn't honestly know what either child had wanted to do after graduation. "And all I remember of the tree was it being very old and very ugly." Maybe they could convince Hogwarts to let them go back and see it again in the daylight this time. Lovino could talk to Scotland about it and probably save Feliciano the hassle of contacting England trying to get help from someone who was so unwilling to do his job. "I want that book back."

"I know you do," the whole point of bringing nations into these kinds of investigations was to stop the jurisdictional back-and-forth. England and Feliciano working together meant that these requests should have been private and easy.

Even if they were mad at each other and not getting along right now, England still should have been able to deliver the book to Rome before their suspension was over. What was taking them so long to get through to their own ministry?

"Has Scotland read this?" Feliciano asked.

"He's the one who gave it to me last week." What was the matter with them? "He said he's working on it, so we'll see."

"Why is a book about wands holding that kind of dark magic anyways?" The Rosettis hadn't been that kind of family, not for a few centuries at least. Every clan and head family had their secrets and their lapses, it would be impossible to find a line more than five centuries long that didn't have at least one cousin or disinherited child who'd gone off the rails at some point, nevermind the whole family when circumstances called for it. But to hoard dark magic texts and then send one of them off to their teenaged son? That made less sense than all this dancing around England and Scotland were doing with the bureaucracy.

They had plenty of questions, but answers were going to have to wait until a meeting next month in Paris where Lovino said Scotland had already promised him a sit-down.

"They're stalling."

"Their King- the British head of state's been sick since the New Year, that's probably what's distracting them." That was what the United Kingdom got for preserving their monarchy, but since England hadn't mentioned anything or maybe even known about it, Feliciano agreed to be patient. "What are you going to do with your vacation in the meantime, you lazy ass? Just sit around the house and drink wine?" Now that was actually a nice change of topic!

"I was hoping to do a bit of painting, actually." The two of them left their kitchen table behind and wandered into the sitting room on the first floor of their townhouse. It was a narrow building like any other metropolitan home in an ancient city was expected to be, but a white leather sectional was waiting to catch Feliciano when he dropped down in it across from an old red velvet arm-chair Lovino claimed across from him over a low, solid wood coffee table. It was wonderful to just stretch and lounge and be himself again, work lingering in the kitchen and poisoning the air in that part of the house, not this one with its stray magazines and an ash-tray next to an abandoned stack of office files. "You sent me all those wonderful paints and brushes but I haven't had a chance to use any of them."

"As long as you stay inside our borders you can go wherever you want to do that." Oh? What if Feliciano wanted to go up north and paint parts of Germany or Austria instead? "If you flake out and go running all over Europe I'll redirect your shipping contracts through Naples instead of Genoa."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Well, Feliciano hadn't wanted to leave Italian territory anyways, but that didn't mean he liked hearing restrictions and threats not to wander. "Look," But it was hard to get mad at Lovino when he looked like that: slumped so far down in his chair that his shirt was riding up his back and he had one leg stretched out so far his foot was resting on the coffee table. "I'm just sick of not knowing what's going on with you, alright? Stay home for a bit before you run off." Feliciano smiled a little bit, already happier than he'd been in weeks.

"You make it sound like you've missed me!"

"That's bullshit." No it wasn't. "Yes it is, I've never missed you a day in my life! Everything runs much better without you around!" Right… Sure, he believed that! "Shut up!"

Standing up with a laugh, Feliciano spirited over to his brother's chair where Lovino was sinking even lower like a turtle trying to escape into its shell. He put one hand on the chair's arm and the other on the back to take his weight before leaning down, chuckling at the low, rough string of half-formed profanities his brother growled under his breath.

"I missed you too, brother." He left a brief, affectionate kiss on the top of Lovino's chestnut head before straightening back up and leaning on the chair. His brother didn't bite back with anything right away, just stopped squirming in his seat and brought one hand up where his arms were both flung uselessly out to the side.

Their hands fit together very well. Lovino's skin was a little darker, Feliciano's fingers somewhat longer, thick fingers with callouses weaving through nimble digits marked with old paper-cuts and ink stains. It was hard to tell who was warmer because the two of them together formed the brilliant, summer-swept nation of Italy.

"Welcome home, asshole."


See you soon with 55!