Warning: Mild angst

Iceland decided this would be a good time to leave, not wanting to intrude on Harry's reunion with his Godfather, plus FOOD! Forgetting about the necklace clutched in his hand, Iceland ran to kitchen, a cavernous room which was scarcely less gloomy than the hallway was. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like volcanic ash, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling ('Hungary would probably like it here. Plenty of pots and pans to abuse Prussia with,' Iceland thought). Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table. Iceland distinctly felt like he had just walked into the living room at his house after the rest of the Nordics had had a drunken brawl.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. Iceland just noticed the fact that Harry had just walked in with Sirius. "Good to see you!" as Harry talked with the Weasley's, Sirius looked over at Iceland.

"What's that, Emil?" Sirius asked, gesturing to the necklace in his hand.

"Hm?" Iceland said, looking down at his hand. "Ah!" he yelped, realizing he still held the jewelry he had picked up earlier. "Sorry, I meant to put it back!" Sirius threw his head back and laughed.

"No, no, it's fine. You can keep it," he said with a smile on his face. Iceland blanched.

"Do you realize how much this is worth?" he cried, holding out the pieces of Iceland spar to Sirius.

"Not really, but you do, so you can appreciate it more than I can," he said, patting Iceland's head, messing up his already unruly hair. Iceland's eyes widened, and the hand holding the necklace started shaking as he unconsciously pulled it to his chest protectively.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup. Keep it kid," Sirius said, turning back to talk to Harry. Iceland didn't even think of snapping back that he was not a kid as he stood there in shock, eyes as large as serving platters. Snapping back into reality, Iceland looked over to Mundungus who had been saying something that didn't process in Iceland's head.

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry Molly."

A cloud of greenish smoke that had congregated around him vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered. Iceland put the necklace over his head, the crystals starting to give off a subtle glow as soon as they laid upon his chest.

"And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. "No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey —

"What can I do Molly?" said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forward.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive. Iceland snorted, it was exactly as if Denmark had offered to help Finland with Christmas dinner (not after what happened last time).

"Er — no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today —"

"No, no, I want to help!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried toward the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery. 'Yeah,' Iceland thought, 'Exactly like Denmark.'

Soon a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets, and food from the pantry. Iceland was left at the table ("No, sit down, deary, you haven't had enough sleep recently to be helping with the cooking, ou just sit and have some rest.") with Harry, Sirius and Mundungus, the latter of which was still blinking mournfully at Harry. Mundungus started a (somewhat) casual conversation, which Iceland ignored until he heard a loud screech from Mrs. Weasley (today was definitely Screech-Fest 1995, without a doubt).

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Iceland's snapped up so fast he was a step away from giving himself whiplash, and his eyes suddenly widened. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an Iron flagon or butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards him. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end (it was probably less than ten centimeters from Iceland's nose), leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents all over Iceland, turning his silvery hair a light brown, and the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, the point deep in the wood and quivering ominously, right between Iceland's arm and his rib cage, the blade maybe a quarter centimeter into his skin creating a short five centimeter horizontal cut between two of his ribs. Iceland was breathing heavily, not even having made a squeak at the piercing of his skin, stock still as his brain struggled to process what had just happened. The butterbeer in his clothes started to sink into the cut, making Iceland hiss.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Mrs. Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY THING!" (Screech-Fest 1995 trademark)

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward and wrenching the bread knife from Iceland's chair, the twisting aggrivating the cut, blood spilling onto the knife. Fred hadn't noticed yet. "Sorry Emil, mate — didn't mean to —" He stopped dead as he saw the crimson liquid on the knife. Fred looked at where he pulled the knife from the wood, seeing some of the blood that had spread onto the chair, eye widening as he traced it back to the cut on Iceland's side. Iceland grabbed the knife and a towel from the table and shakily cleaned the knife off (he was reasonably in shock at the sudden events), pressing the cloth to his side. He handed the knife back to Fred with a whisper.

"Be quiet, it was an accident and I don't want you in anymore trouble than you are now," he hissed at Fred, who nodded and, with a amazing display of acting skills, ran back to the kitchen to put the knife away as if nothing had happened. Harry and Sirius were both laughing, nobody besides Fred having noticed the cut, and Iceland sighed in relief. He hated being fussed over. Mundungus, who had toppled backward off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet. Crookshanks (Hermione's cat, if Iceland remembered correctly) had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from whence his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. The craziness was step away from being 'Tuesday' at the Nordic household (minus the injury to Iceland, the other Nordics often saw him as the baby brother [Sealand spent a lot of his time at England's or Latvia's house], and avoided even breathing on him in their brawls. It annoyed Iceland to no end).

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table (casting a quick cleaning spell on Iceland's clothes [which he was grateful for], not noticing the cut either), "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age —"

"— none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't Charm everything he met! Percy —"

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden. Iceland tensed, not wanting another argument or anything to break out.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly. 'Thank you, savior,' Iceland thought.

"It looks wonderful, Molly" said Lupin, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Fred handed a bowl of stew and a plate with bread and vegetables to Iceland (getting a few weird looks in the process, but nobody said anything), who accepted it graciously. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius and said, "I've been meaning to tell you, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like," said Sirius indifferently. Iceland quietly ate his food, pushing around his vegetables with his fork.

"The curtains in there are full of doxies too," Mrs. Weasley went on. "I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Sirius. Iceland quietly snorted, catching the blatant sarcasm.

Up a couple seats from Iceland, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn when she shocked Iceland by making her hair a bright silver to match when he had first met a few days previously, her nose swelled to a beaklike protuberance like Russia's, shrank to something resembling a button mushroom, and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Soon Hermione and Ginny started requesting their favorite noses.

"Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks..."

Tonks obliged, and Iceland had the fleeting impression that America's true form was grinning at Harry from across the table.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Lupin were having an intense discussion about goblins.

"They're not giving anything away yet," said Bill. "I still can't work out whether they believe he's back or not. 'Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it."

"I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. "They've suffered losses too. Remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends what they're offered," said Lupin. "And I'm not talking about gold; it they're offered freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment," said Bill. "He hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know —"

A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

"... and then," choked Mundungus, tears running down his face (Iceland was briefly worried about him, but then remembered he was a slimy bastard [to put it like Romano]), "and then, if you'll believe it," 'I probably won't,' Iceland thought, "'e says to me, 'e says, ''ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for twice what 'e paid in the first place —"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forward onto the table, howling with laughter. Iceland mentally thanked Mrs. Weasley, because, not to sound like England, he felt as if he listened to anymore of Mundungus' voice, his beautifully Icelandic accented English would start to sound like he was from the British underworld (which was going to raise some questions, not to mention make him look like a punk [which he was not {no matter what Mr. Puffin says}]).

"Beg pardon, Molly," said Mundungus at once ('Oh god, he's still talking,' Iceland thought), wiping his eyes and winking at Harry and Iceland (making the latter of which feel physically uncomfortable). " But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong —"

"I don't know where you learnt about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons," said Mrs. Weasley coldly. 'Ooooh, burn,' Iceland thought on instinct, but refrained from saying it out loud (these wizard folk didn't even get his anime references, making him feel as if everybody around him was stupid [but then again, he always felt like that], which is how many of us feel in everyday life [if you deny it, you either have amazing friends or are lying to yourself]).

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of butterbeer; George was hiccuping. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for desert. Iceland watched and listened as Harry looked round at his godfather.

"Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus," said Sirius in an undertone.

"How come he's in the order?" said Harry very quietly.

"He's useful," Sirius muttered. "Knows all the crooks — well, he would seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far." 'It is,' Iceland thought, crinkling his nose as he glanced at the person in question. "She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you."

Two helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later, Iceland's eyes had started to creep closed, laying down his spoon at a lull in the general conversation (the cut had stopped bleeding a while back, and the red-stained towel was now tucked into his pocket). Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks (who, now that Iceland thought about it, Greece would love) out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.

"Nearly time for bed I think," said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. Iceland kind of felt like Canada in this household (okay, that was little bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands). "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Iceland associated with Russia entering a room (or Belarus entering a room when Russia was there) or maybe America opening his mouth at the World Meetings. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Iceland really didn't get the big deal about Voldemort. Take away his wand, voilá. No more problem. Or you could, like, shoot him. Whichever one works better. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly ('And I heard it,' Iceland thought irritably). "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so —" 'You started screaming? As if it would make them suddenly eligible for the Order of the French?' Iceland thought, thinking back to when he walked into the kitchen to see dozens of empty wine bottle scattered across the floor and the tables. 'What is this, France?'

"And they're quite right," said Mrs. Weasley, snapping Iceland out of his musings. "You're too young."

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair (reminding Iceland of Germany), her fists clenched upon its arms (reminding Iceland of Germany at the World Conferences [or whenever Prussia entered a room]), every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen —" 'Has nobody noticed that even the house elf here knows more about this situation than I do?' Iceland thought bitterly.

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George. 'Took the words right out of my mind,' thought Iceland who was too 'polite' (he actually just didn't want to draw attention to himself) to interrupt.

"'You're too young, you're not in the Order,'" said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand —"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kind face looked dangerous. Kind of like Finland whenever Russia entered the room. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight. Now that Iceland thought about it, that was also kind of like the Finn when Russia was too close to one of his fellow Nordics.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Iceland, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George's heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally, or watching Greece and Turkey fight about whatever the hell they were fighting about (nobody really knew why they fought anymore) again. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But he was the one who saw Voldemort come back" (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name. Iceland rolled his eyes), "he has more right than most to —"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and —"

"— and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius. "and more than some —"

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. Iceland started to shake nervously, the argument bringing him back to when the Kalmar Union had started to dissolve. This is what the Nordic dinner had started to look like before he would be watching from the corner as everybody fought in bloody brawls. He never cried, there was no use (why cry when nobody answers, why frown when nobody cares?). To Iceland, this is what a family falling apart looked like. "But he's still —"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently.

"He's not an adult either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks like Romano when Spain hugs him. Though not quite with the same affection behind it. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!" Iceland was trembling violently at this point, as if he was in one of Finland's, or maybe one of Russia's mid winter blizzards without a jacket.

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!" Iceland squeezed his eyes shut as memories came flooding back, three select ones standing out above the rest.

Sweden had thrown open the front door and raced out, a small five year old-looking Iceland watching from around the corner, not understanding why Papa Sve was leaving. After a brief hesitation, Mama Finn picked up his bag and followed Papa Sve out the door. Big Brother Norge was traveling back and forth between Norway and Denmark handling both his and Big Brother Den's work. Big Brother Den was in his room, still recovering from his wounds he had gained fighting Papa Sve during the Engelbrekt rebellion.

Nobody had explained what a rebellion was or what had happened between Big Brother Den and Papa Sve to the young Iceland. All he remembered was watching the bloody fight between Papa and Big Brother Den unfold as Mama and Big Brother Norge tried to pull the two apart, to no avail. That was the third to last time Iceland would cry, who had, over the years, noticed that his family was quarreling more and more, and nobody would comfort him when he cried him anymore, so he started to cry less and less. Papa Sve had left several times in anger after an argument, but had always come back. This time he had said he was leaving for good, and Mama followed Papa whenever he left. Not knowing what to without Mama and Papa at home, Iceland waddled back to Big Brother Den's room, crawling into the bed with his big brother, who put his arm around his little brother unconsciously, pulling the young colony close to his body, where Iceland curled up close to the warmth.

Iceland fell asleep not knowing what was going to happen, but knew what had happened. His family had started to fall apart.

Iceland was starting to look around seven years old at this point, when Sweden had taken Norway kicking and screaming from Denmark's house. It had all started when England had barged into Denmark's house. Norway, having seen the temperamental nation coming over from his bedroom window, had told Iceland to go to his room and not come out until Norway called for him, his stoicism not telling Iceland anything was wrong. Iceland wasn't quite sure what happened, hearing yelling from the living room but not being able to make out what was being said by the raised voices, but the next thing he knew Norway and Denmark had been forced to ally with France.

France and his allies lost the war, leading to Denmark being forced to sign the Treaty of Kiel. Denmark had come back home in tears, blubbering to Norway how he had been forced to give him up to Sweden and how he was going to have leave and how he didn't wan to sign it but he was forced to and how he didn't want Norway to leave.

Norway still looked physically twelve at that point in time, and his eyes were wide open in shock, the expression looking almost ridiculous on his normally bored and indifferent looking features. After he had recovered from the shock, he had grabbed Denmark in a hug, who was shocked into silence, the flow of tears coming to a halt, whispering how it wasn't his fault. They stayed like that, leaning against the wall, Norway holding Denmark to his chest comfortingly, the rest of the night. Iceland had been watching from the top of the stairs, which was why he knew what had happened, Denmark refusing to even mention the matter of Norway having left after the fact and both of them never giving him a chance to ask in present day. Iceland had laid one of his wool blankets across his brothers after they fell asleep (Icelandic wool, of course. It got cold at night).

When the day came for Sweden to collect Norway, Iceland was crying. Iceland had given Norway a lopapeysa he had made himself, working on it after his older brothers thought he was asleep. It was one of the best he had ever made, and as Iceland gave it to Norway, the said nation had broken out in tears, and hugged Iceland close before handing the small boy to Denmark, tears still streaming down his face. When Sweden came to take Norway to his house, Norway had screamed himself hoarse at the tall kingdom, refusing to go with him. When Sweden grabbed Norway to drag the boy away, Norway clawed at the wall, leaving long scratch marks along the old wooden walls, somehow managing to scream even more after his voice was gone, shredding his vocal chords (this was the reason why Norway was always so monotone, his voice having been so damaged by the screaming and crying and wailing he had done that day, he didn't have the vocal flexibility he did in the past).

Denmark had kneeled down onto the floor, hunched over as he broke down into sobs, holding Iceland close to his body. The young colony was in shock. He knew this was coming, but now the true reality had dawned on him. Norway had left and he wasn't coming back. Iceland started crying as well as Norway's cries slowly started to fade out into the distance, finally dissipating into the sound of the two brothers crying and whimpering as they held each other close, the only family either had left.

Iceland slept in Denmark's bed for almost a year afterwards.

World War II was almost certainly going to end in Germany's defeat.

At the start of the war, Iceland was looking fourteen as Germany rampaged across Europe. Around the middle of WWII, Denmark had been gazing out the window with a frown on his face, like he always did since the war had started, and Iceland was sitting against the wall a couple feet away, feeding Mr. Puffin. When Denmark suddenly tensed and stood up, knocking the chair over, the bang of the chair clattering to the floor caused Iceland to look up at his older brother, who had a look of genuine fear on his face. When Denmark told him to go hide behind the false wall in the attic (Denmark had it built long before the start of the war for instances like these) with a tremble in his voice, Iceland was confused but listened to his brother and ran up the stairs.

Iceland could only hear crashes and war cries as Denmark fought somebody who had kicked in the front door. Knowing what was currently happening across half the ocean in mainland Europe, Iceland knew it was Germany. He wanted to help, but Germany was strong and Iceland only had a coast guard. He decided to stay hidden so that Germany wouldn't be able to get get his hands on Icelandic wool if he ever wanted to go fight in Russia, or if he wanted Iceland's fish as a source of food. Plus if stayed away, he could rally help to aid not only Denmark, but Norway and the rest of the Nordics as well.

Not too long after, Iceland was forced to declare his independence from Denmark. It hurt to leave the Dane like everybody else had, and knew his older brother would be offended that Iceland would choose to leave at a time like this. But hopefully Denmark would understand Iceland's situation and be supportive of his decision. Not long after declaring his independence, a note from the King of Denmark arrived, congratulating the new country, along with a separate note addressed to Iceland.

Dear Emil,

I'm glad to hear you're okay, Germany (even though he's kind of a dick [the worst], he used to be so sensible and reasonable. I think it's this new leader of his, he's not really thinking clearly) was 'kind' enough to let me send you a congratulatory note. I only have a few lines to get my point across, but you made the right decision. We are in the middle of a war, and staying in my house would have only led to your capture by Germany. I heard England is currently keeping troops on your island. If he ever visits, kick him in the nuts for pulling us into the Napoleonic Wars, will you?

Stay safe,
Matthias

Iceland was relieved to hear from Denmark, his brother and best friend. He broke down crying, holding the note close to his heart. He swore that day to stay as far away from international conflict as he could (and give England that kick in the nuts [What? He had always wanted to do it and now he had an excuse]), and if pulled into it, be the peacemaker, because as far as Iceland knew, fighting could only destroy. It had torn apart Europe before, and it is doing so again. It had almost torn America in two. It had cause Papa Sve and Mama Finn to run away. It had caused Sweden to take away Norway, who was kicking and screaming the bloody murder that haunted Iceland at night when he tried to sleep. It had taken Denmark, the only family he had left.

Fighting had torn his family and others apart, and one day it will tear apart the world.

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice rising. Iceland's eyes snapped open as he came back into reality, the influence of his memories evident as his mind started to formulate a plan of action.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" said Sirius loudly. As Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to shout back, Iceland slammed his hands on the table and stood up, a dangerous look on his face, not unlike Germany breaking up a brawl at a world meeting.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Iceland roared, everybody's heads whipping around to face him. There was dead quiet, having shocked every person there into silence, not expecting such a booming sound to come from a well-mannered Icelandic boy who was a mere 159 centimeters tall. If you dropped a pin, you would probably be able to hear it cutting through the air as it fell. "ALL YOU'RE DOING IS FIGHTING! THAT IS NOT GOING TO GET ANYTHING DONE!" several people, including Sirius and Mrs. Weasley, opened their mouths to talk before Iceland cut them off. "YOU TALK ABOUT HAVING TO BE AN ADULT TO JOIN THE ORDER BUT YOU'RE ALL SITTING HERE SQUABBLING AND GETTING NOTHING DONE, LIKE AMERICAN POLITICIANS, WHO ARE BASICALLY OVERGROWN TODDLERS! NOW SIT DOWN AND HAVE AN ADULT CONVERSATION WITHOUT RAISING YOUR VOICES OR I SWEAR TO GOD EVERYBODY IN THIS ROOM IS SLEEPING OUTSIDE TONIGHT! HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?" everybody in the room nodded frantically, suddenly afraid of the small Nordic. As Iceland deflated, his anger suddenly leaving him as silenced reigned over the room, his eyes widening as it ruled over the people in the room. Iceland could not believe how rude he had just been to his hosts, people who were kind enough to let him stay until the school year started. He stumbled and blubbered out an apology before sitting down and hugging his knees to is chest, only his eyes visible of his face, having hidden the rest in shame. Iceland watched the discussion continue, taking a minute to tune back into the conversation after a moment of wallowing in his embarrassment.

Mr. Weasley had taken off his glasses and cleaned them on his robes, speaking when he had replaced them on his nose, "Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that he is staying at head-quarters."

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to whatever he likes."

"Personally," said Lupin quietly, those in the discussion turning to him, "I think it better that Harry gets the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from... others."

His expression was mild, but Iceland felt sure that Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and look around the table for support that did not come, "well... I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who had got Harry's best interests at heart —"

"He's not your sone," said Sirius quietly. Iceland internally sighed. 'Oh god, don't start another fight, please.'

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Sirius started to rise from his chair.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Lupin sharply. Iceland mentally thanked the man for cutting in, bashing somebody for being framed and put in prison is a really low thing to do. "Sirius, sit down."

Mrs. Weasley's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Lupin continued. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," said Harry at once. 'It's not about what's going on, it's what's most likely to happen in the future you want to know,' Iceland thought irritably.

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny — Ron — Hermione — Fred — George — Emil — I want you out of this kitchen, now."

There was an instant uproar from the Weasley siblings.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. "I absolutely forbid —"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "They are of age —"

"They're still at school —"

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr. Weasley in the same tired voice that reminded Iceland of Denmark after he had a bad dream, often in the year following Norway's departure.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

"I — oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron hotly. "Won't — won't you?" he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

"'Course I will," Harry said. Rona and Hermione beamed like Veneziano whenever he saw pasta, or Spain when he saw Romano, or Russia whenever he saw... well, he always grinned liked that.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Fine! Emil and Ginny — BED!"

Iceland went without a word, but Ginny did not go quietly. As Iceland followed Ginny up the stairs, he got a front row seat of her raging and dtorming at her mother, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black's earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Behind he Iceland could hear Lupin running up the stairs to the portrait to restore calm, and then returning to the kitchen. As Iceland stood awkwardly in the middle of the hallway, he could see Ginny slam her door shut with a violent BANG! and, not knowing what to do with himself, he had a sudden realization. He waited a few minutes for Ginny to calm down before knocking on her door, which she opened with a pissed expression on her face, kind of like Finland if anyone other than Sweden woke him up, but less extreme.

"What?" she asked him moodily.

"Do you know where Fred and George keep their Extendable Ears?" Iceland asked, smiling as he saw the realization dawn on Ginny's face. They hadn't put the Imperturbable Charm back on the door when they had left. Ginny rushed up the stairs to Fred and George's room, leaving Iceland waiting two landings above the kitchen door for a minute or two. As she came running back with the gadget, he held his fingers to his lips, and they listened. Iceland didn't remember all of what they said, but what was implied (that he picked up) was:

The weapon is probably something that will gain him a lot of followers or a tool that will kill Dumbledore. If it's suddenly found out that Voldemort is still alive, there will be three major sides to the war: Voldemort's, Dumbledore's, and the Ministry's. People would think the ministry lied to them , considering the daily prophet, and that would knock their choices down to two. Those on Dumbledore's side would construct another group or army, assuming the Order of the Phoenix stays secret. And if Voldemort kills Dumbledore after the new group is created lots of people would join both sides, with very few feeling safe to stay on the sidelines. But if Voldemort kills Dumbledore at the same time he reveals himself to the world and not anytime before, there would be a panic, and most would assume Dumbledore's army had been destroyed or disbanded, and so you have the Ministry and Voldemort left to side with. However, everyone owuld, again, belive the Ministry lied to them, and so nearly everyone would join Voldemort's side with the rest hiding away soemplace they couldn't be detected. That was probably why he was laying low and searching for the weapon.

Iceland's head had started to hurt from the analysis, plus he hadn't slept in three days, so he bid goodnight to Ginny, who was in a much better mood than she was before (thank god, the girl was a nightmare if angry) and headed to his room. Iceland started to wonder as he pulled off his white gloves and pulled the end of his colonel tie, the ribbon sliding around and off his neck easily, thanks to the silk material. How would this war start to affect the Nordic states? Voldemort probably wouldn't want to stop with the United Kingdom, se he would probably move off towards the rest of mainland Europe, meaning that his country was safe, but was his family? Iceland peeled off his brown military jacket and white shirt, which were stained an ugly dark brown color and rouge respectively, the dried blood having glued the material to his sickly pale skin (it was naturally like that, even though most of the other nations who didn't live as far north as he did didn't believe him). He would probably go Norway first, it had the largest magical community and it regulated the magical communities of Sweden and Finland, who had smaller ones, not enough to need their own ministry (but they each had one school).

Iceland unlaced his tall white boots (this process took two or three minutes either way), toeing them off and throwing his socks into the pile of discarded clothes. Voldemort would then go to Denmark most probably, as conquering Norway meant you had Sweden and Finland (well, he'd have to try harder for the Finnish; the Finns he knew tended to be very independent and probably only used the Norwegian Ministry for convenience). Denmark didn't do anything remarkable in the magical community in Europe, but taking Denmark would take Greenland (a good chunk of North America) and the Faroe Islands, which would give him reason to start taking over North America (probably wouldn't have much luck with the United States of America; they whoop your ass, and they're damn good at it too). Iceland was right in between those two territories, which would draw Voldemort's attention to his country. He wasn't sure what his country could offer, as his magical community was minuscule and there was no resources there he could see as appealing to Voldemort. By this point Iceland had changed into his pajamas, and crawled into bed, curling himself into a ball even smaller than his pillow, and fell asleep, worries about evil British overlords soon wiped from his thoughts as he drifted away to the mansions of rest.

And there is chapter three! I've published this earlier than I said I would, but my aunt and uncle (whom I stayed with during my trip to D.C.) let me use their computer so I could write this in some of my free time (most was spent going to the new museums that had opened in D.C., and going to see movies that had come out recently). Did I ever mention ym aunt and uncle are the best? They both like J-Pop (which my parents hate), they both have started to like Hetalia after I showed it to them (which my parents hate), my aunt doesn't instantly look at me like I'm psycho when I mention I like Finnish death metal (which my parents hate) (don't question my life choices), and my uncle reads fanfiction (which my parents also hate). Basically my parents hate everything I like (they always look at me like 'where did I go wrong').

Anyways, I got the chance to watch Hetalia: World Twinkle (english dub) while I was in D.C. AND OH MY GOD DENMARK'S VOICE. WHAT THE HELL. IT'S REALLY WEIRD YET IT JUST WORKS AT THE SAME TIME. I LOVE IT. Also, I got to see 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' and OH MY GOD IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. If I don't find a way to incorporate some element of that movie (or the book, which I already owned and liked, but this movie took it to a whole new level) in this fanfiction, my life is over and I am just done.

Anyways, until next chapter, Bye!