I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia.
Chapter 4: In Which Feliciano Admits Why He is Scared of Flying
After the flying lesson, before dinner, Lovino and Feliciano quietly crept into the library and found a secluded corner, strategically placing themselves so that the bookshelves would mostly hide them from view.
"So, what's wrong?" Lovino asked Feliciano, frowning. "You looked like you were remembering something bad during flight lessons."
Feliciano hesitated. "I… I don't want to talk about it," he admitted. "Sometimes I still get nightmares from that time."
"Just tell me," Lovino urged. "We're brothers, right? You can tell me anything."
Feliciano sighed, his happy, oblivious façade slipping. "Fine, just give me a moment." He took a deep breath, calming himself. Lovino wrapped an arm around his younger brother's shoulders. "It's okay," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm here. You can tell me."
Feliciano took another deep, shuddering breath. He sounded like he was about to cry. "I-it happened during World War Two. When Mussolini sent me to the front lines…"
January 13, 1945
"What?!"
"You heard me," Italy's current boss, Benito Mussolini, said, lacing his fingers together. "I'm sending you onto the front lines. I know that just your presence will boost their morale and make them want to fight harder."
"B-but-"
"Don't worry, you're not going to fight with the infantry," Mussolini said. "You'll stay with them for a bit, but I want you fighting in the air. You'll be a pilot."
Italy cringed. Boss, that's not making me feel any better… Italian aircraft was not exactly the most reliable.
"Why are you sending me?" he asked tentatively.
Mussolini's face darkened. "Because I lost your brother to those d*** Allies! He was the better fighter, but since he's gone, I turned to you. You're a personification, aren't you? Fight for your people!"
Italy winced inwardly. Most people thought Italy was better than Romano in general, even Romano himself. But when it came to war, Romano was stronger and a better fighter; Italy was better at working behind the lines with the supplies and politics. As for fighting for his people, well, his people were rather divided at the moment. Some supported Mussolini, others wanted him gone. If he concentrated, he could hear the two sides screaming at each other in his head.
Fight for Mussolini and the Italian Social Republic [1]! He will make Italy great!
No, Mussolini is a traitor to our country! We should join the Allies and free Italy from the Nazis' grasp completely! Long live Italy! [2]
Since Sicily had fallen to the Allies and Allied forces were now on the mainland, Romano wasn't there to support him anymore. And Italian aircraft… the less said about them, the better. Italy knew this wasn't going to turn out well.
Two weeks later
"Alright, does everyone understand their mission?" the commander asked. "Get in, drop the bombs, and get out as soon as possible. Don't stick around waiting for their antiaircraft guns to shoot you."
"Yes, sir!" the pilots, including Italy, said. The commander signaled for them to get in position, and Italy quickly ran to his plane. It was one of the slightly newer aircraft. In other words, it dated back to a few years after World War One. Carefully Italy climbed into the cockpit, anxiety and nervousness gnawing at his stomach. He took one last glance out the plane's door before shutting it and starting the engine. One by one, under the cover of a darkening sky, the aircraft took off from the airfield, flying towards an Allied base.
It didn't come as a surprise to Italy when his plane started to malfunction. The engine spluttered and coughed, and the plane's nose kept dipping down, straining for the ground. It took all of Italy's strength to keep it in the air.
Maybe I should just make an emergency landing in Allied territory, he thought. Then I can surrender to them and see big brother again.
He was just considering the landing or possibly turning back when he was hit. An antiaircraft missile had grazed his plane's wing. With high-tech American or British planes, this wouldn't have been a problem, but it was too much for the older Italian plane. Half the wing snapped off and blew away into the dark sky. Italy cursed and tried to regain control of the plane, which had rocked dangerously when it was hit. Of course, a barrage balloon [3] chose that moment to materialize out of the clouds. Italy's plane slammed into the giant blimp, the nose of the plane crumpling in on itself and the plane rebounding away from the sturdy balloon. Italy frantically pulled at the throttle as the plane fell backwards.
It can't possibly get any worse than this, can it? He thought angrily to himself.
To his disbelief, it got worse. The next antiaircraft missile hit the back half of his plane. Italy was literally blown out of the air.
"What…no way."
"Italy? Can you hear me?"
"Italy, wake up."
Italy groggily opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground, gazing up at three hazy figures. His neck burned; he must have snapped his neck when he fell, died, and came back to life lying on this field.
"That's it. I'm never flying alone again…" Italy mumbled. The figures grew less hazy, and he made out some defining features. Some very familiar defining features.
Specifically a cowlick, a bouncing curl, and a pair of enormous eyebrows.
"Wait, hold on," Lovino interrupted. "Are you saying that three Allies found you after you crashlanded, and they didn't tell me?"
Feliciano winced and rubbed his neck. "I think so. I'm not sure. I mean, all I saw of the camp was a cell and the interrogation facility Canada, America, and England took me to."
When they realized he was awake, the three Allies blindfolded him and tied his arms together before leading Italy into their base. Italy had no idea where he was going until he heard the creak of a metal door. A hand shoved him into the room. Someone else took off his blindfold, and he spun around. He only caught a glimpse of Canada's hair curl before the cell door slammed in his face. Sighing, he sat down to wait. The cell was dimly lit but not very dirty, which Italy was grateful for. It must have been set up recently. He was just considering whether to try and break out or not when he heard England and America's arguing voices. They were talking about him.
"I don't think we should even try interrogation, dude," America said. "Last time he said he would spill everything. And he did."
"And isn't that a good thing?" England demanded. "We'd get free information with no hassle."
America sighed. "I don't feel really good about questioning him, though. We were on pretty good terms before the war [4], and he's just so innocent."
Innocent, am I? Italy thought. Oh, America, if only you really knew what goes on in the mafia… He turned his attention back to the Allies' conversation.
"I'll do it, then," England said. "You and Canada don't have to do anything; just leave him to me." There was a slight pause. "Hey, America. Why do you think he was flying a plane, anyway? And into our territory no less."
"I suppose his boss told him to do it," America replied. "Dunno why, though…"
Italy couldn't hear any more as they moved away from the door. He sighed and leaned back against the wall. Sure, he had been quickly captured and had volunteered information earlier in the war, but that was back when it seemed like the war was in the Axis's favor. But now too much was at stake. There was no telling what would happen to his country. England would not get any information from him today.
Less than half an hour later, the island nation opened the door to the cell, briefly startling Italy.
"Hello, Italy. Long time no see," England said, smiling.
"It's only been a few years," Italy replied. "I wouldn't call that a long time." Something about England's smile worried him. It seemed more… malicious somehow. When did England's smile change? Did the other Allies not notice? And there was something else in that smile too. Anger and… bitterness? None of this was making sense.
"How about I ask you a few questions, hmm?" England said, sitting down in front of Italy. Italy noticed that the other had two pistols strapped to his belt and shivered unconsciously. England's smile grew wider. The interrogation began.
"What are you doing here, Italy? Why were you flying a plane?"
Italy cocked his head and gave England a fake smile back. "Isn't it obvious? I was looking for pasta~"
England's smile faltered. "Pasta? In the sky?"
"Yes, don't you know? Pasta grows on clouds~" Italy gave England the most innocent face he could muster.
"Is that so," England hummed. "How's your boss? What's he been up to?"
"Nothing much," Italy replied. "Just, you know, figuring out how to kick the Allies' a**es."
England's eyes narrowed. "Not feeling very cooperative today, are we?"
"Not at all," Italy replied cheerfully. The more he irritated England, the better. Right?
England's eyes had narrowed to emerald slits. He looked kind of creepy with the slit-eyes and smile. "I think we'll continue this another time. I'll be off to arrange something, 'kay, Italy?" He got up and opened the door. Golden light from the corridor spilled in, outlining his silhouette. He turned and gave Italy one more smile. "Oh, and Italy, I think you should know this. We've captured the majority of the pilots who flew out with you. Your planes are very easy to bring down." Then he closed the door, leaving Italy staring at the iron in horror.
What was England, in this state, going to do to his soldiers? It wouldn't be anything good; England's last smile was the smile of a sadist. Italy's question was answered when, forty minutes later, England returned with two guards. They bound his hands and blindfolded him again, and led him through the camp. Finally, they took off his blindfold in a blocked off area with sturdy walls to protect from explosives and peeking eyes alike. Italy expected a torture arena or something similar, but the area was just… empty. There wasn't anything except a few windows on the opposite side. Outside the building, dusk was falling; he had been in the cell for almost an entire day. England walked towards the windows, beckoning for Italy to follow. Italy walked with England to the windows but didn't look out yet.
"You know, Italy," England began, "Since you were feeling so uncooperative today, I arranged a little show for you. Maybe afterwards we can have a proper conversation."
Italy didn't want to know what kind of "show" England had arranged. He didn't want to look out the window, but his curiosity overcame him and he looked. The windows looked out onto a dark, open field. Shadowy figures appeared, creeping quietly through what little grass there was. Italy's heart dropped into his stomach when he realized who those figures were.
"You see, Italy," England said. "I thought we might relax our security just for one hour. Just enough time for your fellow pilots to 'escape'."
"No! England, you-" Italy broke off as his pilots, his people, ran out onto the field with their bodies low to the ground, hiding as best they could under the cover of darkness. When all the pilots were in sight, England gave Italy a sadistic smile. "The show should begin any second now."
As he said the words, a flash of orange lit up the window, a slight rumble shaking the ground. The first flash was quickly followed by more explosions, forcing Italy to watch as his men were blown up right in front of his eyes. Pain from each of the Italians' deaths accompanied each bomb. When it was over, Italy sank to his knees, the last fragments of pain fading away.
"England… how could you?" Italy looked up at the island country, tears running down his face. "How could you do something like this?" he demanded. "This isn't you, England. The Great Britain I know wouldn't do something like this. What happened to you?"
England stared back at Italy, anger and bitterness filling his forest-green eyes. "What happened to me? The war happened. The Blitz happened. That's what, Italy. Do you know how much pain you and your f***ing allies caused me?" His voice had risen to a shout. Italy saw a crazed look enter his eyes and knew there would be no reasoning with England at the moment. He curled up and started to cry.
Lovino's face had changed rapidly from shock to outrage while he listened to Feliciano's story. "That bastard! Next time I see him, I'm going to kick his f***ing a** for making you watch that!"
Feliciano sighed sadly. "No, fratello, it's okay. I forgave him several decades ago; You don't have to punish him. It was pretty clear he had snapped a little; I don't know how the other Allies didn't notice. But that wasn't England."
Lovino growled in frustration. "Still, why didn't they tell me that you were captured?"
"Probably because Germany rescued me a few hours later," Feliciano replied. They sat in silence for a few seconds. Then Lovino sighed.
"So that's why you were scared of the brooms," he said. "Getting shot down, then seeing your own soldiers blown up… I don't know anyone who wouldn't be scared of solo flying after that." He gave Feliciano a genuine smile, one that the other countries rarely ever saw. "If you ever get scared, I'm here for you."
Feliciano broke into a huge smile too. "Aww, you do care!" He enveloped Lovino in a hug. The older Italian's face turned bright red. "G-get off me!"
"Lovino? Mate, you in here?" Ron rounded a bookshelf and, upon seeing the hugging twins, broke off midsentence. "Uh, am I interrupting something?"
"Nope!" Feliciano said happily. "Why are you here, Ron? Did something happen?"
"And how did you even know we were here in the first place?" Lovino grumbled.
Ron broke into an excited grin. "Oh yes, something happened. And the reason I knew you two were here was because Malfoy said something like, 'That scaredy-cat idiot and his brother are hiding in the library right now!' But Malfoy's not important right now. You two aren't going to believe this!" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Harry's the new Gryffindor Seeker!"
"Really? That's so exciting!" Feliciano chirped. "Wait, what's a Seeker?" Lovino facepalmed at Feliciano's question while Ron looked shocked.
"Didn't I tell you about Quidditch on the train?" he asked.
Lovino rolled his eyes "He probably forgot. What did you expect?"
Ron shrugged, and began explaining what a Seeker was to Feliciano while Lovino decided to tune them out. It was only when Ron began calling his name did Lovino return to reality. "Lovino? Mate, you listening?"
"Yeah, what?"
"It's dinner time," Ron said. "Weren't you paying attention?"
"No."
"Who cares?" Feliciano said happily. "FOOOOD!" He ran out of the library; Lovino could hear Madam Pince, the librarian, scolding him as he dashed out the door.
"Lovino, you coming?" Ron asked, getting up.
"In a few minutes," Lovino said. "I'm going to write a letter."
"Alright, find us when you're done," Ron replied as he disappeared around a bookshelf. Lovino sighed and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill and began to write.
Dear Arthur, you big jacka**,
Let me get something straight: I'm only writing this because I have to, and because after what happened in flying lessons my brother isn't going to want to talk to you anyway.
Feliciano was Sorted into Slytherin. I've been Sorted into Gryffindor, with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who are both nice people and infinitely better than you. Only one thing has found out our secret, and it's the Sorting Hat. We've had at least one class in every subject so far, and nothing terribly bad has happened yet. Professor Snape seems to hate Harry, any idea why? There's also this other Slytherin kid called Draco Malfoy who constantly picks on Feliciano and taunts Harry. What's up with him?
Anyway. Flying lessons.
We had our first flying lesson today, and Feliciano was scared out of his wits of getting on a broom and flying alone. Do you know why? I'll tell you why. During World War II, you, America, and Canada shot down his plane and captured him (and you didn't bother to tell me. Care to explain?) Immediately after he was shot down, you interrogated him, and when he refused to tell you any information, you blew up his remaining men to force him. You did it all with a smile on your face. What the f*** is wrong with you? Not even Russia is that cruel. Because of you, Feliciano is scared of solo flying of any kind. He said he forgives you. I don't. You'd better send me a sincere apology for what you did, you bastard.
Send me a reply soon. I'm waiting.
Lovino
Lovino rolled up the parchment and quickly made his way up to the deserted Owlery. The moment he stepped in, Chiara swooped down to land on his shoulder, hooting softly. Lovino smiled as he reached up to stroke her back. She nuzzled his wrist and clicked her beak in anticipation.
"Yes, I have a letter," Lovino said, holding it out for her to take. "I need you to take this to England. Got it? Take this to the United Kingdom."
Chiara gave a muffled hoot before taking off, soaring away into the night. Lovino stood and watched her for a few seconds before running down to the Great Hall to meet his friends.
The next day, Harry, Ron, and Lovino were eating breakfast when Hedwig and Chiara flew down at the same time and tried to approach their respective owners, only for their wings to hit each other in midair. Chiara was thrown onto Ron's chest while Hedwig landed on his plate. Ron's bacon and eggs flew into the air. As Ron cursed and tried to clean up the mess of feathers and food, Harry and Lovino plucked their letters from their owls.
Harry was wondering who would want to send him a letter; all his friends were at Hogwarts, and why would the Dursleys ever want to write to him? His question was answered when he unfolded the parchment and read the message, written in a messy scrawl:
Dear Harry,
I know you have today's afternoon off, so do you want to come down to my cabin for a cup of tea? Send your answer back with Hedwig.
Hagrid
Harry borrowed a quill from Ron and scribbled on the back, Yes, see you then. He held it out to Hedwig, who was ruffling her feathers, trying to dislodge a piece of toast. Harry fed Hedwig some of his own food, then gave her the letter. She nipped Harry's finger affectionately before flying off.
"Ron, Lovino, Hagrid's invited me to his cabin this afternoon," Harry said. "Do you two want to come?"
Ron glared at the scrambled egg he was brushing off his clothes. "Thanks so much for your help. But sure."
"Sorry," Harry said quickly, embarrassed that he had prioritized the letter over his friend. "Lovino? Did you hear what I said?"
Lovino looked up from his own letter. "Oh, yeah, sure. My brother can come too, right?"
"No reason he can't," Harry replied.
Lovino nodded, looking a bit distant. "Hm. Okay. I need to talk to Feliciano, so see you two in Potions." He got up and made his way to the Slytherin table, ignoring all the curious glances directed toward him. Harry watched him go before turning his attention back to his own breakfast.
"Ooh, look, it's the idiot's brother," Malfoy drawled as Lovino approached the Slytherin table. "What's wrong, coward? Going to get your brother so you can cry in the library together?"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Lovino replied, not really paying attention to the blond's words.
"Scared of flying? Or is it the brooms?"
Lovino's head snapped up. He whipped around and gave Malfoy a glare so intense the other boy instinctively shrank back.
"I said, Malfoy, shut up, unless you want to have your fingers cut off." Lovino snarled. "And if you know what's good for yourself you'll leave the subject of flying alone." He turned and stalked away, quickly going over to Feliciano and poking his shoulder. "Oi, fratello, Arthur sent a reply."
"Already?" Feliciano said, getting up. "Wow, Chiara flies really fast~"
The twins hurried out of the hall and headed towards the dungeons for Double Potions, reading as they went.
Dear Feliciano and Lovino,
First off, what is the Sorting Hat? Please remember that I haven't attended Hogwarts as a student since it was founded. Back then, students were Sorted by the founders directly. How does the Hat work, and how did it find out your secret?
Draco Malfoy is part of an old pureblood family, but I don't see any reason for him to hate Harry. As for Snape, I know he and Harry's father went to Hogwarts together, and they hated each other. Perhaps he treats Harry badly because he holds a grudge against his father.
To Lovino: I admit that I did shoot down Feliciano and blow up his men, but I was not… mentally stable at that time. I hid it from the other Allies, of course, but I was literally the Europe's last resistance against the Nazis, and taking so much damage did not contribute to my mental health. As for telling you about his capture, Alfred, Matthew, and I decided it would be better not to get your hopes up. After all, he was freed a few hours after I bombed his men, so there was really no point. But I am truly sorry about what I did. It was unnecessarily cruel, and my deteriorating mental health is no excuse. Please accept my sincere apologies.
Remember to use our public names in letters; there's always a chance they could be intercepted. And be careful and keep an eye on Harry. I have a very bad feeling about this year.
Arthur
"What does deteriorating mean?" Feliciano asked. "And what does he mean by 'public names'?"
Lovino rolled his eyes. "And this is why you did not get into Ravenclaw," he muttered. Then he explained, "Deteriorating means 'failing'. Only Arthur would use a word like that in a letter." He glanced around to check for other students before continuing, "And when he said 'public names' he meant our human names."
"Oh," Feliciano said, nodding in understanding. "We should probably get to Potions now, right?"
Lovino sighed and nodded before leading the way to the dungeons.
[1] 1943-1945: Mussolini was rescued from imprisonment by the Nazis and moved to German-occupied Northern Italy, where Hitler set up the Italian Social Republic, a 'republic' that was controlled by the Germans. It had its own army, flag, and currency.
[2]When Mussolini was established as the leader of the new republic, his first priority was to kill the council members who voted to remove Mussolini from the Italian government. These included his son-in-law, Ciano. Ciano's last words were "Long live Italy!"
[3]Barrage balloons were used as a countermeasure against low-flying enemy aircraft and unmanned missiles (the missiles had been created by the Germans; they were flying bombs that were set to explode at a predetermined target.) They looked like giant silver balloons tethered to the ground with strong cables, designed to stop or slow down the aircraft/missiles. I did my research: barrage balloons were in fact used during the Italian Campaign, which was the Allied mission to free Italy, led by England, America, and Canada.
[4] "On good terms before the war" Leading up to WWI America took in over four million Italian immigrants. Sure, most of them were South Italian, but details, details. Shh.
I am so, so sorry for not updating. I procrastinated a lot, but this chapter also required a lot of research for me to fit together. Also, since it's the end of the school year, my teachers decided to pile on the homework and tests. And in the end the memory turned out a lot darker than I originally planned. XP I don't have anything against England, he's actually one of my favorite characters. But the reasons he wrote in his letter were legit; England was the main resistance against Germany in Europe, even if it did have support from North America. If I were England, I'd probably go insane too.
By the way, I have a copy of the book now! Yay! Only thing is, it's in Chinese, but whatever. When I read through the flying lesson part, I realized that the flying lesson actually took place after their visit to Hagrid, so I'll just slot it in after the lesson. Also, in case you haven't figured it out, the cover picture for this story is a picture of Chiara.
Thank you to all my reviewers! Special shout out to Yuyake no Okami and TheWeirdGirl, the former for corrections on my Italian, and the latter for telling me the correct password to Gryffindor Tower in the first book. I have fixed the other chapters, so thanks! Since I have time today, I'll reply to some reviews.
GuestyGuest: Thank you for the info! I'm not sure how to use it in a sentence, though. Could you give me an example? Once you do I will go back and fix the previous chapters.
ArtofthePlate: That's interesting, I never thought of that! For the purposes of this story it probably wouldn't be best though; as far as I can tell Gryffindor doesn't have any classes with Ravenclaw.
BloodiedCoreOfHope: I'm sorry that it's so short. I do my best though.
Guest: That's going to happen eventually! Germany and Spain are definitely going to notice them gone, so...
To everyone, I'm going to be away a lot of the summer, and there's no guarantee I'll always have access to a computer/Internet. So if there are no updates, don't be surprised.
That's all, long Author's Note is over! Ciao~!
