WARNING: FILLER CHAPTER, BAD CHAPTER, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Iceland woke up at the crack of dawn, like always, and attempted to drag himself out of bed, drowsiness still reigning over his mind and body. He eventually just gave up and continued to lie in bed, his blanket drawn up to his chin. He rolled over in the bed to be able to look out the window, watching the sun peek it's head over the horizon. He knew there was no excuse to go back to sleep now, and knowing the twins, the would probably wake him up with ice water or something unless he got up himself. Tossing back the comforter, Iceland swung his legs off the side of the bed, yelping slightly when his feet hit the freezing cold floor. He stood up and groaned as he stretched, able to hear multiple things cracking in his back and shoulders. As Iceland dressed himself, he growled under his breath to himself.

'I'll be a morning person when it's socially acceptable to wake up at noon.'

Within half an hour, having dressed and eaten quickly, Iceland entered the drawing room a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in tapestries with a shaking cabinet in the corner to the left of the door. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, Ron, and Harry were grouped, all looking rather peculiar, as they had tied cloths over their noses and mouths. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

"Cover your face and take a spray," Mrs. Weasley said to Iceland the moment she saw she saw him, pointing to the lone bottle of putrid black liquid (Iceland thought it looked like that's what Russia's blood would be made out of) standing on a spindle-legged table. "It's Doxycide, I've never seen an infestation this bad — what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years —"

Hermione's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Iceland distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley at these words.

"Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage —"

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. Iceland shuddered. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Harry's inquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway... this writing desk..."

He dropped the bag of rats onto an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which was still shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs. Weasley.

They were both speaking in carefully light, polite that told Iceland quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before. Iceland 'tch'ed, thinking it was rather petty to hold grudges over something so stupid. Even America had forgiven Russia after the Cold War (because, despite the nation's happy-go-lucky personality, he could definitely hold a grudge), and that had only ended four years ago!

A loud clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying back out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more, "Stains of dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth..."

"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley.

Iceland rolled his eyes as Harry took as much time as was socially acceptable, obviously trying to get as much information as possible. The least he could do was try to be subtle. Maybe he should get the raven haired teen to take lessons from England (he may not be the best anymore, but he has the MI6) or maybe America (CIA). Actually, he takes that back. America was very touchy about his government agencies (because of the wildly varying opinions of his people, you never know how he will react whenever one of his agencies is brought up).

Iceland was brought out of his musings when he heard Sirius' voice calling for him through the now closed door.

"Emil! Mathias is here!" Iceland felt his face break out in a smile (ignoring the strange looks he got from the others) as he ripped open the door that Harry had had just closed (luckily not tearing another door off of it's hinges once more) and raced down the stairs, leaping towards Denmark to catch him in a hug. Denmark stumbled back a bit at the sudden attack, but quickly regained his footing as he wrapped his arms around his little brother with his face almost splitting in half with a wide grin.

"How ya been, Emmy?" Denmark asked, lowering Iceland to the ground. Iceland laughed.

"My name's still not Emmy. And I've been good, you?"

"I've been great!" Denmark said enthusiastically, before there was suddenly a ruffle of feathers and a sudden attack of pecks on Iceland's face.

"Hey, kid! Where ya been?" Mr. Puffin screeched at him in his mafioso way, "I've been forced to stay with cactus-head for the past four days!"

"I forgot," Iceland said lamely, swatting the Puffin away. The bird screech and fluttered before settling on the Icelandic boy's shoulder, hissing (Iceland still does not know how a bird can hiss, but whatever).

Denmark started laughing, before his face lit up with a question, "By the way, what on Earth was that screaming I heard? It sounded like Lukas whenever he sees our houses after a prank war." Iceland snorted, letting Sirius answer.

"It's an old portrait of my mother. We've tried getting it down, but she seems to have used a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back," at these words, Denmark frowned.

"Permanent Sticking Charms only wards off magical attempts of removing something. Why haven't you tried cutting it off? You don't have to do everything magically," not waiting for an answer, his face lit up and he thumped Iceland on the back, causing the frail nation to stumble (disadvantages of not having an army 601). "C'mon Em! I can fix this! Show me where this painting is!" without waiting for Iceland to lead the way, Denmark bounded up the stairs with the younger nation scrambling up behind him, with Sirius following with a chuckle.

When they were finally standing in front of the portrait, Denmark had a distinct look of being unimpressed, raising an eyebrow before yanking open the curtains, unleashing Mrs. Black's screams once more. Mr. Puffin started yelling back at the portrait. Sirius suddenly got why the Puffin and the boy seemed to get along. Kind of. Denmark sighed. "Rather weak screaming, don't'cha think?" Denmark asked, underwhelmed with the level of volume coming from the portrait. Iceland nodded, having sometimes worked as a healer during Denmark's viking times (and boy, could they shout). Denmark quickly turned to Sirius. "You don't like her do you?" he asked, easily raising his voice over the screeching woman's horrid vocals. Sirius gave a dry laugh.

"No," he said simply, shaking his head. Denmark's face lit up like Christmas had come early (he may look twenty three, but he was still a child inside [Legos people. Legos.]), and turned back to the screaming lady, Iceland standing back, making a guess on what Denmark was about to do.

Pulling his large viking battle axe out of nowhere (Iceland never understood how Denmark did it. It definitely wasn't magic, Denmark had been doing it long before he even knew what magic was), Denmark thrust his arms back to wind up, narrowly missing a large antique vase, and swung the steel weapon forward, landing it solidly imbedded in the wall, the width of the axe almost cutting the portrait in half. Too lazy to pull it out, and ignoring Mrs. Black's shocked looks and gaping, almost fish like mouth, he planted his foot onto the end table and jumped up onto his axe and sat on it, being deep enough in he wall to support his weight. Whistling casually as he worked, Denmark flipped out a pocket knife and started sawing away the wall that the frame was attached too. This process took a while, so Iceland took this chance to talk to Sirius.

"You don't mind about the wall do you?" Iceland asked calmly. Sirius started to sport a wide grin and shook his head.

"Not at all. Why haven't I thought of doing that?" Sirius said.

"Do you own a large viking style battle axe?" Iceland commented dryly, watching as Denmark cut away at the last side of the frame, catching it as it fell away from the wall. Denmark jumped off of his axe, still holding the frame, and walked past Iceland with a large smile on his face.

"C'mon, Ice! Come outside, we need to burn this!" Iceland sighed, but had a small grin on his face as he rushed outside after his brother, Sirius following with a smile on his face.

After burning the remains of the portrait and Denmark freaking over the fact that he had left 'his precious baby (*cough* battle axe *cough*)' inside by itself, Iceland, Denmark, and Sirius had settled at the dinning room table, conversing over mindless topics, bouncing around subjects as if playing hot potato. And by mindless topics, Iceland meant a weird-ass conversation that made them sound as if they were drunk. Some of his favorite quotes from the talk were:

On the subject of Denmark's eccentric personality: "I was born to be a sparkly Dane." (Denmark)

On the subject of vegetarians and the ethics of eating plants: "Potatoes are people too." (Sirius)

On the subject of the latest sex scandal in Europe: "You know, one of the reasons I live nine hundred and fourteen away from civilization is because I'm kind of allergic to other people's drama." (Iceland)

Those were just some of the many beautifully high-on-drugs sounding the sentences spoken. Sadly, when their conversation was reaching the five hour mark, the 'sparkly Dane' was cut off in the middle of a sentence ("I'm like a salmon, defying gravity!") when the doorbell rang, the loud instrument's clanging reverberating throughout the house. Sirius tensed up, expecting is mother to start screeching, before remembering the piece of artwork had been destroyed. He started cackling like a hyena as the realization finally settles in that the last traces of his mothers face in the mouse had finally been erased. He continued to laugh as Mrs. Weasley thundered down the stairs to answer the door, and the trio eventually returned to their conversation about why Denmark felt like a salmon, cut off once more the red-haired woman's screaming.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!" Denmark and Iceland scrambled to the front hallway to watch the spectacle of Mrs. Weasley having a good go at Mundungus, who was holding a tall stack of precariously stacked cauldrons, the top one wobbling worryingly. The two brothers heads poked out around the corner leading from the hallway to the front room, looking vaguely amused.

"I mean, technically Sirius could be counted as a stolen good, but whatever," remarked Iceland dully, causing Denmark to snort. "Didn't you steal your axe from some blacksmith in England a millennia ago? Or was that your dagger? It might have been back sometime in 3000 BC, I don't remember."

Denmark suddenly looked flustered and embarrassed that somebody remembered that his axe wasn't Danish. "What? No, no, of course not," the Dane said, scrambling to recover from his stumble, the defensiveness of the phrase telling Iceland everything he wanted to know. The two nations tuned back to Mrs. Weasley going off at Mundungus.

"— COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T FOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE —" Iceland tapped Denmark's chest to get his attention.

"Let's go get your axe," the lithe country whispered, the two heading to the stairs back to the second level to where Denmark had let his large battle axe embedded in the structure if the house. Denmark raised an eyebrow when he saw fingerprints on the axe, as if someone had tried pulling it out, but shrugged and tugged on the axe with one hand, pulling out a couple chunks of drywall along with the steel weapon and braced it over his shoulder. The two then decided to go see what the others in the drawing room where doing, Denmark missed cleaning (his house was freakishly spotless, contrary to many other nations perception of the former viking) and Iceland felt guilty about not doing his share of work for Sirius being generous enough to let him stay there. When they reached the drawing room, They caught a glimpse of Sirius entering the area, and heard the mans voice ring out as they entered just seconds after him to see Kreacher (whom Denmark was shocked to see in a such a state, as house-elves in the Danish [and pretty much all of the Nordics'] wizard community were required to be paid and treated well, which this house-elf obviously wasn't) flinging himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout-like nose on the floor as he saw Sirius.

"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf said. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —"

"— and it's getting black every day, it's filthy," said Sirius. Denmark snorted and Iceland his a smirk, not that anybody in the room noticed.

"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone that most everybody in the room could hear, despite what the elf thought, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart —"

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite." At this, neither of the two nations could resist anymore and burst out laughing, getting weird looks from the current residents of the room and a small smile from Sirius. Kreacher paid them no mind.

Kreacher bowed again and said, "Whatever Master says," then muttered furiously, "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh my poor Mistress, what a disappointment he was —"

"I asked you what you were up to," said Sirius coldly, "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."

"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in the Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it —"

"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt." Sirius cast a look over his shoulder at Denmark, looking amused as he caught sight of the axe the nation was still holding onto, "Any ideas on how to get it down, Mathias?"

"Burn it. Sawing it away and taking it outside would take too long," Iceland got a spark within his eyes. While chopping things up was Denmark's thing, burning things to ashes was his life. Well, not his life, per say, but more of it was a past time he rather enjoyed whenever he got the chance. Sirius chuckled and turned back to Kreacher.

"Now go away, Kreacher," the man said coldly.

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him and right past the two nations, who backed into the room once the house-elf passed (Denmark still wanted to help the house-elf, but it was a much vaguer feeling than earlier, the grumpy creature having just insulted someone who was basically his new best friend) ,was redolent of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

"— comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too —"

"Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably (causing Iceland and Denmark to burst out into a new round of giggles), and he slammed the door shut on the elf.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," said Hermione pleadingly, causing Iceland and Denmark to look at her in a 'No, really?' kind of way, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him."

"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little —"

"If you just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, with the two Nordics' nodding along, "maybe —"

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order," said Sirius curtly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it."

Sirius walked across the room, where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Iceland, Denmark, and the others in the room followed.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Australia's koala had gnawed through it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far Iceland could tell) to the Middle ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

"Toujours Pur"

"You're not on here!" said Harry after everybody had finished scanning the bottom of the tree closely.

" I used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, rounded, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn (proving to Iceland the tapestry could be burned). "My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home — Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story underneath his breath." Iceland had noticed, and knew it quite well by that point having passed the creature multiple times in the hallway on his way to meals.

"You ran away from home?"

"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."

"Where did you go?" asked Harry, who was staring at the man. Iceland started to tune out the conversation, having already heard most of it off of both Kreacher and Sirius, and turned towards Denmark, starting a small conversation on what Iceland had missed and how he would receive paperwork while he was at the school (much to his dismay, Denmark had brought along a whole briefcase filled with Iceland's paper wok for the next two months [Iceland had been praying that Vigdís would let him off with no paperwork this one time, but that woman had raised children and knew all of the nation's tricks]).

To Iceland's delight, Denmark had taken sometime off work to stay with him at Grimmaud Place for the next week to help to with the house (Iceland still had no idea why the man loved cleaning so much), and help Iceland get through the paperwork quickly. Mrs. Weasley kept them most everybody else working very hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate; finally the only undesirable thing left in the room was the rattling writing desk; Moody (who neither Iceland nor Denmark had met yet) had not yet dropped by headquarters yet, so nobody was quite sure what was inside of it. Iceland and Denmark had done a joint 'operation' the same day the latter had arrived, burning off the Black family tapestry Sirius hated so much in a casual way, the others in the room watching them and wondering how the two could burn off an old antique so casually (to the two brothers, the tapestry was fairly new so they didn't really give a fuck).

They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground room (which is how Iceland and Denmark knew they were done cleaning the drawing room, as the dining room table was where they were doing the work. The others never never questioned the papers, thinking Iceland was helping Denmark with something for the latter's job, and none of the young cleaners could read either Danish or Icelandic) where they found spiders large as saucers (Iceland to say 'GODDAMNIT AUSTRALIA' on instinct. The others laughed, thinking it was a joke towards Australia's deadly wildlife,and Iceland laughed along, thanking the lord for the save) lurking in the dresser. Ron left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half. The others explained to the two that Ron was terrified of spiders, causing Denmark to tell the story of Australia's first world meeting, and how England reacted when he saw a large spider on his desk (with human names of course [England forever denied he screamed like a girl]). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius with a resounding crash, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed. Without even looking, Denmark whipped out his wand and sent a Banishing Curse at the photos, then sticking it behind his ear and returning to calculations about the trade deficit between Iceland and Sweden.

Iceland and Denmark found it vaguely amusing that the others were not so much cleaning as they were waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher (though the two joined the fight four days in, having finished the paperwork Denmark brought along). The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said "Master must do as Master wishes," before turning away and muttering very loudly, "but Mater will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudbloods and traitors and scum..."

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room. Not even Denmark had much sympathy left for the house-elf.

The door bell rang several times a day, which consistently distracted everybody except Denmark and Iceland, whom were used to trying to work at World Conferences (if anything, the silence was more disorientating than any other noises). It was also a cue for Harry and the others to attempt to eavesdrop. Among some of the visitors, Iceland had the chance to meet his Potions professor, Severus Snape, whom the small island nation thought was an asshole, and his Transfiguration teacher, who Iceland thought was polite enough, and the subject seemed interesting. Both were always too busy to linger. Neither of the teachers seemed very taken with Denmark, who was very overenthusiastic over meeting Iceland's teachers, and mortified the country by sharing stories about the boys adventures as a child ("Remember that time you burst into the room shouting 'BLUE FROGS IN SPACE'?"), like an embarrassing parent. Iceland was very close to disowning his brother.

Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help; Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet (Denmark shocked all the wizards by severing the old creature clean in half with his appearing-out-of-nowhere axe once the ghoul decided Iceland would be a good meal), and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order (Denmark knew what was happening, apparently Dumbledore decided having somebody as high up in government as Denmark is [albeit the Danish government] would help. and therefore inducted him into the order), helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts of lighting at passersby. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs. Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes (both Denmark and Iceland thought the article of clothing was hideous) that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe. Denmark thought the situation was hilarious, even Iceland had a small smile on his face, which he hid behind his hand as Sirius burned the fabric.

On Wednesday evening, while Denmark and Iceland were quietly conversing in Danish, Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry during dinner and said quietly, "I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry and I want you to wash you hair tonight too. A good first impression can work wonders."

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, Denmark, and Iceland all stopped talking (the last two because they didn't get why this was such a big deal) and looked over at the raven-haired boy. Harry nodded.

"How am I getting there?" he asked Mrs. Weasley, confusing Iceland and Denmark, whom had no idea what anyone was talking about.

"Arthur's taking you to work with him," said Mrs. Weasley gently.

Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.

"You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing," he said.

Harry looked over at Sirius, and the kid looked ready to ask a question before Mrs. Weasley spoke.

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say —"

"— think he's quite right," said Sirius though clenched teeth.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

"When did Dumbledore tell you that?" Harry said, staring at Sirius.

"He came last night, when you were in bed," said Mrs. Weasley.

Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fok. Harry dropped his eyes to his plate. Iceland decided he was done not knowing what was going on, and opened his mouth to ask a question.

"Mind explaining what exactly you're all talking about?" Iceland closed his mouth and turned to look at Denmark, who was wearing a distinctly annoyed look on is face.

"Harry has been accused of a violation of the International Statute of Secrecy and is going to be put on trial for that and underage magic!" Hermione exclaimed, and it was very clear that she was ticked off with the situation. There was a beat of silence around the table as Denmark raised an eyebrow.

"So he's breached the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and what I assume would be section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy? If I may ask, what exactly is this 'unreasonable' use of underage magic that a fifteen year old boy not even out of school is being put on trial for?" the others launched into an animated retelling of the story, Harry sitting there looking vaguely amused at how his friends were waving there arms wildly as they talked. At the end Denmark looked pissed. Iceland inched his chair away a centimeter. The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath then reopened them.

"Emil, kan du gå få mig en pen og et par ark papir," Denmark said to his little brother flatly. It wasn't question, it was a demand.

"Men —" Iceland started to argue.

"Nu."

Iceland nodded, eyes wide, and stood up and a few minutes later there was dead silence around the table as Denmark's pen flew across his third pice of paper. There was a soft 'click' sound as the Dane set the pen down on table, and folded the (what Iceland presumed to be) letter and scribbled a name on the front and handed it to Iceland.

"Få Mister Søpapegøje at give denne til Finland og Sverige."

"Hvorfor er du sende et brew til Finland og Sverige?"

"Jeg hag brug for at få tilladelse til at afskære handel med magiske storbritannien."

Iceland's eyes widened as he realized what Denmark was planning to do, before smirking and racing up the stairs.

Emil, Kan du gå få mig en pen og et par ark papir - Emil, can you go get me a pen and a few sheets of paper

Men — - But —

Nu - Now

Få Mister Søpapegøje at give denne til Finland og Sverige - Get Mister Puffin to give this to Finland and Sweden

Hvorfor er du sende et brew til Finland og Sverige?

Jeg hag brug for at få tilladelse til at afskære handel med magiske storbritannien - I need permission to cut off trade with magical Britain

Ok, I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to get out! I was on vacation the week the first three chapters came out, and now I'm back at school and, sick of the 'You're the disappointment of this family' looks I get from my parents, I have been trying harder to get good grades. Plus, living in the good ol' United States, I had to take the TerraNova (no, I am not missing a space, that is actually how they spell the name of the test. It's weird, I know) standardized test. Joy.

As many of you will probably be able to tell, this is a filler chapter, and I am so sorry you had to wait two whole weeks for a filler chapter. But I had an idea, and this was the only way I could think of to set it up. Plus, a reviewer, by the name of LaserkittenLucy, who had the ingenius and beautiful suggestion of having a howler sent to Iceland from Sweden and Finland, plus a reference to Finland being Sweden's wife :3 (SuFin has got to be canon, I do not care what you tell me), a way better idea than I could ever come up with. I also plan to upload ever weekend. Ish. It's not going to be consistent everywhere, if you factor in timezones and stuff, but I'll try.

Anyways, sorry for the crappy quality of this chapter, I spent the past week working on this (well, technically I worked on it last week as well but I only wrote, like, 86 words), and I had no idea how I was going to do this chapter. I had some notes that I made on my graphing calculator (fancy) while I was supposed to be paying attention in Math, but they were generally nonsense misspelled little details I wrote, with such beauties like 'iceland is smol' and 'iceland is a total sass machine like tf wer u thinking the wizards r like dafauq how can some1 so smol be so sassy'... I may have been a little tired at the time.

Moving forward, until next time!