You people might not believe me, but this chapter was not supposed to turn out this long. I actually started skipping things towards the end since it was taking to long to write (crappy technique, I know) and I felt bad about not uploading for so long.

Iceland had a troubled night's sleep. The other Nordics wove in and out of his dreams, making him relive the violent arguments at dinner or hushed verbal battles after they thought he, Faroe, and Greenland went to sleep. The other two would often crawl into Iceland's bed at night, often because of a nightmare or a monster under the bed, but, on occasion, they would wake him up crying because 'Mama, Papa, and Big Brothers are fighting again!' Every time, Iceland would tell them it would be over soon, and they would believe him every time. It eventually got to the point where he just moved their beds into his room so he didn't continue to snap awake every time a door opened in the house (that plan failed drastically, he could hear a door slowly creak open from thirty feet away and snap awake ready to comfort Faroe or Greenland. But, on the plus side, at least they didn't need to run across the house to get to his room anymore). He awoke abruptly for no apparent reason, snapping up in the bed as he breathed heavily, his eyesight swimming as he tried to remember what he had been dreaming about. Iceland reached blindly at his bedside table, slipping on his glasses (they looked like Sweden's, Iceland thought sluggishly), not feeling like putting in contacts that day.

Iceland barely registered the yelling that poured up the stairs as he held up his brown military coat, frowning as he finally noticed the extensive damage that had been done to the article of clothing by the wand trials the day before, and his other one had a large tear and was partially stained with blood. Sighing, he slipped off his pajama top and was about to trade it for one of his crisp white dress shirts, when he passed by the mirror on is way to his suitcase. Iceland did a double take, taking a few steps back to look at his bare torso in the mirror, seeing the cut he had gotten two or three weeks back, inflamed and irritated red skin puffed surrounding the laceration. To say Iceland was surprised was an understatement. Nations would usually heal from wounds within two hours. Iceland hadn't checked it the night he got it, thinking it would have already healed by the time he got to bed. Twisting his body to get a clearer look, he hissed as the scabbing on the wound broke, and started to bleed sluggishly, the blood trickling down his side. After running to the bathroom to press a towel to his side, Iceland frowned as he slipped on his white boots, trying to figure out why it hadn't healed at all. Throwing the towel into the laundry basket as he slid on a high collared dress shirt, tying the ribbon around his neck, Iceland pulled out one of his many lopapeysas (seriously, they make up like 90% of his wardrobe) and donned the wooly article as he packed his suitcase.

Then tuning back into the screams that poured up the stairs, Iceland noticed there was a lot of commotion in the house. From what he heard as packed away some books Sirius said he could borrow, he gathered that Fred and George had bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that thy had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Weasley was screaming at the top of her voice.

"— COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS —"

Iceland decided to once again to ignore the yelling, he folded the two ruined military jackets and laid them on top of the books, deciding to fix them later. each one would generally last at least a year before it got damaged to the extent that those ones were. Giving up on being neat with packing, Iceland just threw in his pajamas on top of the brown fabric, roughly closing the lid of the trunk and tucked is wallet (plus a small pouch of galleons Hong Kong had given him the day before) in his pocket. It was too early in the morning to put up with this crap. Poking Mr. Puffin to awaken the bird ('WHY'D YOU HAVE TO WAKE ME UP, PUNK?!'), Iceland had everything together (not as if he ever carried much around anyways) and Mr. Puffin settled on his head to continue napping, he picked up the trunk with a small grunt (disadvantages of not having an army 701) and headed towards the door, leaning lopsidedly to compensate for the large weight of his luggage.

"WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed and Iceland sighed, quickly opening the door and heading down the stairs. "Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks," Iceland heard her say. "Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor's going to deal with the luggage... Emil, that goes for you as well, leave your trunk here and come with me, Harry, and Tonks," Mrs. Weasley finished as Iceland entered the room, who dropped the trunk with a sigh of relief. Harry gave him an odd look, eyes flicking from the glasses to the woolen sweater, but shrugged and decided not to ask any questions. "Oh, for heaven's sake Sirius, Dumbledore said no!"

A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry's side across the room as Iceland clambered over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh honestly..." said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, "well, on your own head be it!"

She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak september sunlight. Iceland, Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry said, looking around as they went down the stone steps of number twelve, which vanished the moment they reached the pavement.

"She's waiting for us just up here," said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, averting her eyes from the lolloping black dog beside Harry. Iceland just tried to stifle his laughs.

An old woman greeted them on the corner. She had tightly curled gray hair and wore a purple hat shaped like a porkpie.

"Wotcher Harry, Emil," she said winking. "Better hurry up, hadn't we, Molly?" she added, checking her watch.

"I know, I know," moaned Mrs. Weasley, lengthening her stride, Iceland struggled to keep up, cursing how short he was, "But Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again... but Fudge wouldn't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand traveling without magic..." Well, Iceland personally thought planes were a crappy experience, but he liked trains, horseback and boats as means of travel, thank you very much.

But the great black dog gave a joyful bark and gamboled around them, snapping at pigeons, and chasing its own tail. Harry and Iceland couldn't help laughing. Sirius (Iceland assumed the man/dog/whatever was a animangus) had been trapped inside for a very long time (to Iceland's understanding). Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in an almost Norway-when-Denmark-starts-shouting-in-his-ear-ish way.

It took them twenty minutes to reach King's Cross by foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than Sirius scaring a couple of cats for Harry's entertainment. Iceland found the man/dog/he-had-no-goddamn-idea hilarious, smiling at the creature the whole time. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten (Hermione had explained the entrance to the station to Iceland a few days earlier) until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through onto platform nine and three quarters (Iceland personally thought it should technically be nine and a half, due to where the barrier was situated, but it wasn't his problem), where the Hogwarts Express stood belching steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families. Iceland suddenly felt a pang of guilt, missing Denmark, Sweden and Finland, but most of all Norway. As much as he vehemently refused any relation to the Norwegian, Iceland did care about and missed his older brother, who had taken care of him on his own for 118 years. Iceland was personally surprised that Norway still cared about him after he had been such a brat to the elder nation.

"I hope the others make it in time," said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, staring behind her at the wrought-iron arch spanning the platform through which new arrivals would come.

"Nice dog, Harry!" called a tall boy with dreadlocks.

"Thanks, Lee" said Harry, grinning, as Sirius wagged his tail frantically. Iceland registered the name in the back of his mind, deciding it was a good idea to at least have some names to put with the many faces he assumed he would meet at Hogwarts.

"Oh good," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding relieved, "Here's Alastor with the luggage, look..."

A porter's cap pulled low over his mismatched eyes, Moody came limping through the archway pushing a cart full of their trunks. Iceland felt a shudder travel up his spine, having the distinct feeling that the man's magic eye was staring right at him.

"All okay," he muttered to Mrs. Weasley and Tonks. "Don't think we were followed..."

Seconds later, Mr. Weasley emerged onto the platform with Ron and Hermione. They had almost unloaded Moody's luggage cart when Fred, George, and Ginny showed up with Lupin.

"No trouble?" growled Moody.

"Nothing," said Lupin.

"I'll still be reporting Strugis to Dumbledore," said Moody. "That's the second time he's not turned up this week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus."

"Well, look after yourselves," said Lupin, shaking hands all round (Iceland just stood back, feeling awkward as the only new person there, and it's not really as if he had any friends among them. Sure, he talked to Hermione, but that was only over books.). He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "You too, Harry. Be careful." And Iceland had once again faded into the background. What was new.

"Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled" said Moody, shaking Harry's hand too. "And don't forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it into a letter at all."

"It's been great meeting all of you," said Tonks, hugging Hermione and Ginny. "We'll see you soon, I expect."

A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying onto the train.

"Quick, quick," said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random and managing to catch twice. And missed Iceland. Surprise. "Write... Be good... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on... Onto the train, now, hurry..."

Iceland moved onto the train himself with practiced ease, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry pouring on after him. The three waved at the figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody (who was still staring at Iceland creepily), and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that were shrinking rapidly, but the black dog (Iceland believed it was Sirius) was bounding alongside the window, wagging it's tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train , and then they turned the corner, and Sirius was gone.

"He shouldn't have come with us," said Hermione in a worried voice.

"Oh, lighten up," said Ron, "he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke." Iceland raised an eyebrow, but pushed the comment aside. It's not like they ever had to live through dark ass winters and had to put up with the sun being gone for over a year due to volcanic ash.

"Well," said Fred, clapping his hands together, "Can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later," and he and George disappeared down the corridor to the right.

The train was gathering still more speed, so the houses outside the window flashed past and they swayed where they stood. Iceland adjusted his weight so that he didn't fall over or disturb Mr. Puffin, who was still sound asleep on his head.

"Shall we go find a compartment, then?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, and everybody still had yet to remember Iceland was there.

'What am I, chopped liver?' Iceland thought bitterly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

"Er," said Ron.

"We're — well — Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage," Hermione said awkwardly.

Ron wasn't looking at Harry; he seemed to have become intensely interested in the fingernails on his left hand.

"Oh," said Harry. "Right. Fine."

"I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey," said Hermione quickly. "Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine," said Harry again. "Well, I — I might see you later then."

"Yeah definitely," said Ron, casting a shifty, anxious look at Harry. "It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather — but we have to — I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy," he finished defensively.

"I know you're not," said Harry and he grinned. Hermione and Ron dragged their trunks Crookshanks, and a caged Pigwidgeon off toward the end of train. Iceland sighed.

"Are we going to find a compartment or what?" he asked irritatedly. Ginny and Harry jumped and spun around to see the disgruntled Iceland staring at them in a puffy sweater and glasses. Ginny giggled.

"Come on," she told them, "if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places."

They had carried on for five consecutive carriages before reaching the very last one, where they met a slightly pudgy boy, his round face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on a struggling toad.

"Hi, Harry," he panted. "Hi, Ginny... Everywhere's full... I can't find a seat..."

"What are you talking about?" said Ginny, who had squeezed past the boy to peer into the compartment behind him. "There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here —"

The boy mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone.

"Don't be silly," said Ginny, laughing, "she's all right."

She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside it. Iceland, Harry, and the pudgy kid followed.

"Hi, Luna," said Ginny. "Is it okay if we take these seats?"

The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty-blond hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of butterbeer caps, or that she was reading a magazine upside down. Her eyes ranged over the pudgy boy, Harry, and came to rest on Iceland. She nodded.

"Thanks," said Ginny, smiling at her.

Iceland, Harry, and the boy whom Iceland still needed to know the name of stowed the four trunks and Hedwig's cage in the luggage rack and sat down. Well, Iceland remained standing to rummage around in his trunk before his head popped back up with a stack of papers in one hand and a pen in the other. Then he sat down. A disgruntled puffin settled itself in his lap as he laid out the papers in front of himself. The girl called Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called The Quibbler. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry, who had taken the seat opposite her. Iceland just started to quietly mutter in Icelandic as his pen scribbled signatures and numbers on official looking papers, not that anybody around him could read the foreign language. He continued to listen to conversation as he worked.

"Had a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," said Luna dreamily, without taking her eyes off Harry. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter," she added.

"I know I am," said Harry.

The pudgy boy chuckled. Luna turned her pale eyes upon him instead.

"And I don't know who you are."

"I'm nobody," he said hurriedly.

"No you're not," said Ginny sharply. "Neville Longbottom — Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," said Luna in a singsong voice. Iceland shuddered, feeling distinctly reminded of Denmark, or maybe Seychelles. The pale girl's eyes turned to face the Icelander. "And you are?"

"Hm?" Iceland said, looking up. "Oh, I'm Emil Steilsson, a transfer student from Iceland. Nobody important." Harry suddenly looked as if he remembered something.

"That reminds me, Emil. When I was at my court case a couple weeks ago, the Minister referred to Mathias as 'Denmark'. Do you know why that is? It's been bugging me for a while." The rhythmic scratching of Iceland's pen suddenly froze.

"Uh..." he said, looking up pretending to think. 'Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, I knew that English minister guy was fishy, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.' Iceland thought for a moment. "Mathias is pretty high up in the Danish government, both muggle and magical, and has quite a bit of authority and power as well, so sometimes people refer to him as being the personification of all of Denmark's power, so maybe that's where it came. I'm not terribly sure, but I can ask him if you want."

A little white lie never hurt anybody.

"No it's fine, it's not really important anyways," said Harry waving it off. Iceland nodded and ducked his head back to work on the papers Denmark had forwarded to him, missing the way Harry's narrowed at the top of his head.

The train rattled onward, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously gray clouds. It kind of reminded Iceland of the weather at Denmark's place.

"Guess what I got for my birthday?" said Neville.

"Another Remembrall?" said Harry. Iceland briefly wondered what a Remembrall was, before deciding to look it up later.

"No," said Neville, "I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago... No, look at this..."

He dug the hand that was not keeping a firm grip on his toad into his schoolbag and after a little bit of rummaging pulled out what appeared to be a small gray cactus in a pot, except that it was covered with what looked like boils rather than spines.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," he said proudly.

Iceland stared at the thing. It was pulsating slightly, giving it the rather sinister look of some diseased internal organ. Maybe the lung of a dying smoker, perhaps.

"It's really, really rare," said Neville, beaming. "I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My great-uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

"Does it — er — do anything?" Harry asked.

"Loads of stuff!" said Neville proudly. "It's got an amazing defensive mechanism — hold Trevor for me..."

He dumped the toad into Harry's lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. Luna Lovegood's popping eyes appeared over the top of her upside down magazine again, watching what Neville was doing. Neville held the Mimbulus mimbletonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot, and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill.

Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant, thick, stinking, dark green jets of it; they hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine. Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as if she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing the escape of Trevor, received a face full. Iceland, who had been bent over his paperwork, had the entire right side of his body was covered in the slime. Mr. Puffin, who was resting comfortably in his lap (protected by Iceland's body from the green substance), woke with an angry cry as the smell drifted towards him. It smelled like rancid manure. Iceland gave a horrified shout that mingled with Mr. Puffin's as he saw all papers he had been signing covered in wet, sticky green slime.

Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes.

"S-sorry," he gasped. "I haven't tried that before... Didn't realize it would be quite so... Don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful onto the floor.

At that precise moment the door of their compartment slid open.

"Oh, hello, Harry," said a nervous voice. "Um... bad time?"

Iceland wiped the lenses of his glasses on his pant leg, remembering why he preferred contacts over spectacles. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at Harry.

"Oh... hi," said Harry blankly.

"Um..." said the girl. "Well... just thought I'd say hello... 'bye then."

She closed the door again, rather pink in the face, and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned. Iceland raised his an eyebrow at Harry's blurry figure before going back to trying to remove the last smudges of slime from his glasses.

"Is that your girlfriend, Harry? I was expecting you to date Ginny," he commented blankly. Ginny' s face quickly lit up to a similar color as her hair and Harry turned pink.

"What? No, no, I'm dating either of them..." he said, mumbling the rest of his sentence. Iceland 'tch'ed.

"Never mind," said Ginny bracingly. "Look, we can get rid of all this easily." She pulled out her wand. "Scourgify!"

The Stinksap vanished. Iceland blinked before shrugging and sliding the glasses on. He then turned to his next task, attempting to calm the screaming Mr. Puffin.

"Sorry," said Neville again, in a small voice.

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for nearly an hour, by which time the food trolley had already gone by and Iceland had given up on paperwork, stowing away in his trunk once more and trading it for more of his stash of black licorice, which sufficiently calmed Mr. Puffin. Harry, Ginny and Neville had finished their Pumpkin Pasties and were busy swapping Chocolate Frog cards when the compartment door slid open and they walked in, accompanied by Crookshanks and a shrilly hooting Pigwidgeon in his cage.

"I'm starving," said Ron, stowing Pigwidgeon next to Hedwig, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Harry and Throwing himself into the seat next to him, ignoring the annoyed grumbles from Iceland as his behind crumpled the pages of his book. He ripped open the wrapper, but off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had had a very exhausting morning.

As they proceeded to talk about prefects, Iceland drew his knees to his chest and kept reading his book and ignored the humans in the compartment, Mr. Puffin's head sticking out from between his knees and torso, shuffling closer to the warmth of Iceland's body. He was successful in ignoring everybody until the compartment door slammed open, causing the Icelander to look up with an irritated growl.

"What?" Harry asked aggressively to the three males in black and green robes who stood in the doorway of the compartment. Iceland figured they were Slytherins.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," drawled the smallest one, obviously the leader of the trio, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin gave off a distinct impression of evil. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah," said Harry, "but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville laughed. Malfoy's lip curled.

"Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?" he asked. Iceland frowned and leaned down to whisper to Mr. Puffin.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione sharply.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," said Malfoy, smirking. "Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line." The smirk was suddenly wiped off the blond's face as Mr. Puffin launched himself from Iceland's lap, ramming hard enough into Malfoy's forehead to send him stumbling back into the arms of his cronies. Iceland was briefly reminded of France's bird, Pierre. He darted forward, picking up Mr. Puffin, pretending to act almost like an upset parent.

"Gott starf!" he said, waving a finger in the Puffin's face. Everybody else was too shocked by the sudden turn of events to comment and or laugh. Iceland turned to Malfoy. "I am so sorry about him, he does stuff like this sometimes for attention. Are you alright...?" The teen narrowed his eyes at Iceland.

"Of course I'm alright. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle, let's leave these looser's to it," he said irritatedly, trying to ignore the angry red welt on his forehead as he stalked off. Iceland sighed as he closed the door to the compartment, before turning around to face the surprised faces of his fellow passengers.

"And that, children, is how you passive-aggressively attack someone," a few seconds after he finished his sentence, everyone burst out laughing. Even Luna giggled a bit. Iceland just gave a satisfied smile as he returned to his book, muttering a few sentences of praise to Mr. Puffin under his breath, causing the bird to preen.

"We'd better change," said Hermione after another hour of silence and the occasional small talk, and all of them opened their trunks with difficulty and pulled on their school robes. She and Ron pinned their prefect badges carefully to their chests. Iceland saw Ron checking how it looked in the black window. Iceland simply took off the lopapeysa he had been wearing and shrugged on the black robe.

At last the train began to slow down and they heard racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready for departure. Ron and Hermione were supposed to supervise all this; they disappeared from the carriage again leaving Harry and the others to look after Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon. Iceland just decided to stay uninvolved.

"I'll carry that owl, if you like," said Luna to Harry, reaching out for Pigwidgeon ad Neville stowed Trevor carefully in an inside pocket.

"Oh — er — thanks," said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting Hedwig's more securely into his arms.

They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly they moved towards the doors. Iceland could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down onto the platform and looked around. Iceland was separated from the rest of his group as he moved off along the platform and out through the station. He allowed himself to be shunted forward onto the dark rain-washed road outside Hogsmede Station.

Iceland looked closer at the hundred or so stagecoaches. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts; if he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeleton, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither — vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister.

"Huh," Iceland said blandly, vaguely recognizing the creatures, as he had seen them at Norway's place. It was after a few minutes of staring at the creatures fascinated, that he noticed that Ron, Harry, and Hermione were standing next to him deep in conversation.

"Can't... can't you see them?"

"See what?"

"Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?"

Ron looked seriously alarmed.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"I can see them, too," Iceland said quietly, interrupting their conversation and diverting all attention onto himself. "I don't remember what they're called, but if I'm recalling correctly, they can only be sen by someone who has seen someone die or something along those lines." Iceland took one look at the shocked faces of his soon-to-be fellow students and rolled his eyes. "Come on. Let's get a carriage, if we hurry, we might be able to get one to ourselves."

Iceland didn't realize they had arrived at Hogwarts (he was fighting with Mr. Puffin over the last licorice wheel) until he heard Ron's voice ring out.

"Are you two coming or what?" said Ron from beside them. Iceland snapped back into reality, and Harry had answered just before he realized where he must be.

"Oh... yeah," said Harry quickly, and the three joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast (Hermione had been all too happy to discuss the school with him).

The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the table, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes.

Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth years and left to sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville found seats together about halfway. Iceland, not knowing what to do, told them to save him a seat as he rushed through the bustling crowd towards the head table (he used skills he had developed from navigating fights at World Conferences to sit with Hong Kong and Seychelles to avoid being ran over by anybody).

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Iceland said, coming to a stop next to the Headmaster, who was standing behind a podium, watching the students run around with a smile on his face.

"Ah, Iceland, my boy, how wonderful of you to join me," the old man said cheerily.

"If anyone's the boy here, it's you," Iceland retorted easily, his eyes straying away from his conversation partner to watch the children and teens wave and shout to friends. Dumbledore laughed heartily.

"Right you are, right you are," he said happily, blue eyes twinkling behind half moon spectacles. "If you would mind standing with me until the sorting is finished...?" Iceland nodded.

"Of course. It's the least I could do after you agreed to take a foreign immortal government official into your school," he responded, muttering the last part dryly.

"You are not the only government official staying at my school this year," Dumbledore commented, earning a confused look from the Icelander standing next to him. "You see that women in all pink over to the left?" Iceland subtly glanced over his left hand shoulder, pretending to look at the ceiling while stealing a peek at the staff table. He nodded. "That is Professor Umbridge, a high-up official in the Ministry of Magic. Since I was unable to find a suitable Defense against the Dark Arts teacher before the start of term, the Ministry placed her here, no doubt to spy on the school," the Headmaster told him, somehow managing to continue cheery throughout the unloading of information, although there was an undertone of morbidness. Iceland could understand, remembering all the scandals of the past where nations had begun spying on other countries citizens without checking with the personification in question first (*cough* America and Russia [although they've started to patch things up] *cough*).

"I see," Iceland said, returning his gaze to the four long tables, the ruckus having started to settle (people hard started gesturing to him while whispering to friends), waving briefly to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville at the Gryffindor. Dumbledore led Iceland off to the side, mentioning that the first years would be entering to be sorted soon. He bit into his last licorice wheel after having fought Mr. Puffin for it earlier, crying out when said bird swopped off of his head to grab it, flying into the rafters to laugh at the steaming Iceland. "Stupid bird," Iceland muttered half-heartedly, not really having the will to hate the bird whom he had known longer than Denmark or even Norway. He had known the bird for at least 200 more years than his Norwegian sibling.

Iceland was snapped from his musings as the doors from the entrance hall opened, Mr. Puffin flying back down to nest on Iceland's head. He lifted a hand to trail a finger along the bird's feathers. A long line of scared-looking first years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard's hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the fray brim.

The buzz of talk in the Great hall faded away. The first years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back.

The first years' faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Iceland caught his eye and winked reassuringly, smiling as the boy seemed to instantly relax.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then a rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song. Iceland didn't really pay attention to the music flowing from the article of clothing, instead trying to wrap his head around the fact that a raggedy old hat was singing.

Once the song was finished, the hate became motionless once more; applause broke out (Iceland was paying enough attention to join in with a small, polite clap), though it was punctured with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbors and Iceland, clapping along with everyone else, didn't exactly know what it was about, seeing as he hadn't paid much attention to the words.

With a last frowning look that swept the four House tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out,

"Abercrombie, Euan."

The terrified-looking boy Iceland had noticed earlier stumbled forward and put the hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Iceland clapped, nodding to the boy when he looked back at the nation as he headed down to join his new Housemates.

Slowly the long lint of first years thinned; in the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat's decisions, Iceland could hear collections of stomachs rumbling loudly. Finally, "Zellar, Rose" was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Dumbledore took the podium, Iceland following a few behind.

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old hands — welcome back!" There was brief pause, in which Iceland began to sweat nervously. "This year we have been gifted with an exchange student joining our ranks. All the way from Reykjavík, Iceland, please welcome fifth year Emil Steilsson!" There was an all around clapping, accompanied by similar muttering and whispers to when the Sorting Hat had finished it's song. Hermione had explained to Iceland on his fifth day at Grimmauld Place that Hogwarts didn't often get transfers, the last one had been over a century prior. Iceland could feel his face burn as the attention he was receiving, only used having people pay attention to him at large gatherings whenever he, Norway, and Denmark had to pry Finland off of Sweden during Hockey season. "For the duration of his stay, he shall be housing with the fifth years in Gryffindor House!" Dumbledor gave Iceland a wink out of the corner of his as the boy hurried off of the elevated platform to join Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione, who had indeed saved him a seat between the pudgy boy and herself.

"Anyhow! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate — for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice.

Iceland blinked. Then he blinked again. Then one more time. The teen shrugged, deciding to worry about it later.

"Excellent," said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them onto his plate watched wistfully by a nearby ghost, who Iceland assumed was Nearly Headless Nick. He decided he had no interest in listening to their conversation, and eventually started to quietly bicker with Mr. Puffin in Icelandic about the merits of licorice (it was a disguise for arguing about who should've gotten the last piece a half hour prior). Iceland eventually stuffed a raw fish in the birds face to shut the Puffin up.

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep up again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. Iceland was feeling pleasantly drowsy by that point, with Mr. Puffin already sound asleep upon his head.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. Iceland sighed and began filtering the information. In other words, registering it in the back of his mind to think about later.

"Hem, hem." Iceland blinked. That definitely didn't sound like Professor Dumbledore. He turned to the staff table to see the Umbridge lady preparing to make a speech. "Thank you, Headmaster," Professor Umbridge simpered, "for those kind words of welcome."

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and Iceland felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. Iceland glanced over to Hermione, to see the girl was paying rapt attention to every word that poured out of that foul woman's mouth. While he normally didn't do it, Iceland decided to ignore the speech and resolved himself to ask Hermione about tomorrow. Instead, he gently picked up the Puffin seated upon his head, cradling the bird close to his body, turning his mind to more important matters.

That cut... Iceland thought back to that morning, when he had first realized that he wasn't healing as fast as he was supposed to. He couldn't possibly think of a reason why it would happen. It could be that there was an imminent volcanic eruption, but Iceland had had plenty of those before, and this had never happened before. Maybe he had been away from his nation too long...? No, that couldn't be it, all the countries that had fought back in World War II wouldn't have possibly survived if that had been the case. Iceland continued mulling over the issue, turning the problem over in his mind, looking it at every possible angle to try and find a reasonable answer.

Iceland's attention was once again brought crashing back down to reality that day by a great clattering and banging all around him; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!"

"Oh yeah," said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. "Hey — hey you lot! Midgets!" Iceland's eye twitched, feeling the slightest bit offended.

"Ron!"

"Well, they are, they're titchy..."

"I know, but you can't call them midgets... First years!" Hermione called commandingly along the table. "This way, please!"

A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group.

"See you later," Harry said dully to Ron and Hermione and made his way out of the Great Hall, Iceland running to catch up, not feeling like being grouped in with first years. They had been walking for about five minutes before they came to a halt at the end of a corridor, in front of a portrait of a fat lady in pink.

"Er..." Harry said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and sternly back at the two. Iceland had no idea what was going on.

"No password, no entrance," she said loftily. 'Ah,' Iceland thought.

"Harry, Emil, I know it!" someone panted from behind them, and they turned to see Neville jogging towards them. "Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once —" He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. "Mimbulus mimbletonia!"

"Correct," said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open toward them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Iceland, Neville, and Harry then climbed.

The Gryffindor common room looked welcoming, a cozy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the notice board. Iceland waved goodnight to them and followed Harry as he headed straight for the door to the boys' dormitories. Nevill followed along with Iceland.

Two other boys had reached the dormitories first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Iceland was fairly sure the two boys had most likely been talking about Harry, and quickly headed toward bed with his trunk on it to avoid any drama, Neville following suite.

Iceland laid Mr. Puffin down carefully onto a pillow, into which the bird snuggled into instantly. He smiled fondly before opening his trunk and pulling out his pajamas, heading into the bathroom to change, being extremely self-concious. He walked out two minutes later to a silent room, with what seemed like everybody refusing to look at each other. Iceland sighed. So it was going to be like that then?

Sliding off his glasses and placing them on the bedside table, he moved the pillow Mr. Puffin was resting upon down to the foot of the bed before crawling in underneath the covers, continuing to think about possible causes for himself not healing correctly. It couldn't be a natural disaster, nor was it the he had been in England for the past month (though he was now in Scotland), and it definitely couldn't be something like infection, since that didn't happen to nations easily from what he knew, and had done nothing that could warrant for even a human. Iceland frowned. Maybe it's because he had been in a magically rich environment for much longer than he was used to... Yes, that had to be it! It was the only possible explanation he could think of. He would write Hong Kong the next day to get a second opinion (he definitely wouldn't ask any of the other Nordics, they would most likely do anything to break down any magical wards the school had and the reinforced doors to drag him off to the nearest hospital). Iceland's train of though snapped as he heard Harry and one of the other boys insult each other underneath their breath.

This year was going to be miserable.

Gott starf - Good job (the idea is that he sounds like he's scolding Mr. Puffin when he's actually praising him)

And that was chapter 8! I hope you enjoyed this, and after four months of the fic being up, Iceland has finally arrived at Hogwarts (I know it's what you were all waiting for). I hope this chapter lived up to expectations, and that everybody following this had as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

Now, for a brief explanation of something: for some elements of the plot to work properly, I needed Iceland to be in Gryffindor, but let's face it, he's more of a Slytherin or Ravenclaw if you ask me. That is why I had the whole Dumbledore deciding what House Icey was gonna be in thing, because otherwise he would have ended up in a different house. Also, in the universe of this fanfiction, the explanation is that Denmark requested that Iceland be put into that house so that he could learn to be more sociable (but as you can see, it's failing already).

On a separate note, I would like to make a shout out to ThorirPP, who actually took the time to leave reviews on this story, correcting all the Icelandic :3 Thank you so, so, so much for your help.

Anyways, I would like to thank everybody for favoriting and following, and especially reviewing. Seriously, I check any notifications I get for this fic in class, and whenever I read reviews for the first time, I start to smile like an idiot and I think my friends are starting to worry about me.

Until next time, Hasta la Pasta!