Iceland had been up for about an hour by the time the other boys in the dorm started coming to consciousness the next morning, and was reading the book for History of Magic, much to everybody else's confusion.
"I'm trying to see if they ever truly focus on a nation besides England," he responded when asked. They were all thoroughly worried that they might have another Hermione on their hands.
The boy Harry had argued with the night before (Seamus, Iceland had learned from the mutterings of Harry) dressed at top speed, unlike the other boys, and left the dormitory before Iceland even had the chance to finish his page and say 'good morning.'
"Does he think he'll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?" asked Harry loudly, as the hem of Seamus' robes whipped out of sight.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Dean muttered, hoisting his school bag onto his shoulder. "He's just..." But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.
Neville and Ron both gave Harry it's-his-problem-not-yours looks, and Iceland just decided to stay uninvolved with the argument. Sensing the tension in the room, he sighed and snapped at the other boys to either get dressed or go to class hungry. Iceland snapped his book closed and stuffed it into his schoolbag, marching out to find the Great Hall on his own, Mr. Puffin flying fast to catch up with the irritated nation. He mentally congratulated himself on paying attention when he had followed Harry to the Gryffindor common room the night before, being able to find the Great Hall easily.
"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione vaguely (snapping Iceland out of his thoughts), sitting down beside Ron and pulling a plate of toast towards her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"
"I s'pose," said Harry, taking the bench opposite, right next to Iceland. "He was a good Keeper..."
"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron.
With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining outside. Iceland was only faintly surprised when two letters were dropped in front of his plate, figuring one was from Denmark and the other Hong Kong. Hermione had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak as Iceland looked at his letters.
Emil Steilsson with a neatly scribbled Li Xiao Chun in the corner.
"What are you still getting that for?" said Harry irritably as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. "I'm not bothering... load of rubbish."
"It's best to know what the enemy are saying," said Hermione darkly. She was about to unfurl her newspaper when she noticed the second envelope in Iceland's hand, which the said country was looking at confusedly as it started to smoke. Her drift of attention made Harry and Ron notice as well.
Emil Steilsson with a hastily scratched Tino and Berwald.
"Uh... Emil, you might want to open that," she said tentatively, as the red paper started to shake and spark violently. Iceland quickly took the advice of Hermione, not wanting to find out why an envelope was sparking and smoking like a dying flame.
"ISLANTI!" a strong voice rang out. Iceland flinched violently and dropped the letter, recognizing the voice. He was a dead man. All heads around the hall turned to se who had gotten the howler, and were surprised to see it was the stoic new kid. "YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE YOUNG MAN!"
"F'nn, please calm —"
"I AM CALM, RUOTSI!"
Everybody in the Great Hall just watched as Iceland's already pale skin seemed to become several shades lighter.
"Ice, I am so sorry about this, but Finn made —"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, TANSKA! I'LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER!"
"Was that Mathias?" Ron asked confusedly, getting a nod from an almost transparent Iceland.
"FIRST YOU LIE TO ME AND RUOTSI, TELLING US THAT YOU WERE SIMPLY TAKING A FEW MONTHS OFF TO GO ON HOLIDAY WITH LI XIAO, BUT THEN WE GET THAT LETTER FROM TANSKA ASKING TO CUT OFF ANY TRADE DEALS WE HAVE WITH ARTHUR'S STUPID MAGIC GOVERNMENT, although I can agree with you, he is pretty annoying, BUT YOU AND HIM SEEMED TO HAVE THOUGHT IT FINE TO FORGO MENTIONING THAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY GOING TO A TAIKA KOULU IN SKOTLANNIN! GIVE ME ONE REASON WHY I SHOULDN'T JUST GO AND TELL YOUR OLDER BROTHER WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW, I'M SURE NORJA WOULD LOVE TO KNOW YOU DECIDED TO GET YOUR KOULUNKÄYNTI IN ENGLAND RATHER THAN AT A NORJAN KIELI KOULU! DON'T YOU THINK THAT MAYBE AT LEAST PIETARI DESERVED TO KNOW?! HUH?! AND WHAT ABOU —" Finland's voice was muffled, and seemed to be screaming as everybody could hear him being dragged away.
"Sorry about that, he kind of threatened to go all Vinterkrigen on my røv, and you know how Finn can get. Sverige and Peter say hi. I'll make sure he doesn't tell Norge about it, don't worry." There were then some heavy approaching footsteps and a distant 'HI, UNCLE EMIL!' from Sealand.
"M'wife just had a hard time g'tting the permission to c't off the agreements on short notice. F'nn didn't like that you didn't trust us enough t' tell us where y' were going."
"Hi Emmy! I hope you're having a fun time at school! Mrs. Joensen showed us how to kill a sheep yesterday, it was very interesting. She even gave all of us a bag of sheep blood so that we could make blood sausages at home!" That was definitely Faroe Islands, she was the only one he knew of where kids were taught to kill sheep. There wasn't a problem with it, there just wasn't much use for the class elsewhere. Everybody else looked horrified at the prospect of learning how to kill a sheep in school
"Move it."
"Hey!"
"Emil, you need to tell your mother that your idiot brother is not a criminal on trial and that I am not a piece of evidence to be casually kidnapped and dragged to Denmark against my will. I'm fairly sure Arthur's going to complain about this, since I'm missing that stupid tea party he has everyday. I don't particularly care to hear his shàngdì zǔzhòu. I don't mind tea, but I hold my stance that black tea is not tea. Anyways, Michelle says hi." Without a doubt Hong Kong.
"Shove over, you teenaged rice-ball." Definitely Greenland.
"I don't like rice."
"Emil, please tell me that you'll visit sometime soon, Fríðunn is getting antsy. And also, that taqajak angut tried to hug me again today, and I think he cracked my ribs." The 'stupid man' he was complaining about was almost 100% guaranteed to be Denmark. "If I have to put up with that idiot for one more day, I'm going to go stay with Matthew until you come back, and I'm taking Fríðunn with me."
"Autdlâritâ, I don't think you're legally allowed to do that."
"Shut it, Rice-Face."
"...I still don't like rice."
"Do I look like I give a sh—" A bang and a crash could be heard in the background, then a angry scream that seemed ripped from Finland's throat.
"AND ONE MORE THING! YOU PULL SOMETHING LIKE THIS AGAIN, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN MYSELF AND I WILL GO ALL WINTER WAR ON YOU AND SNIPE YOUR ASS! YMMÄRRÄTKÖ?" There was another thump of somebody tackling Finland to the ground, most likely a combined effort between Sweden and Denmark, maybe Greenland too. Faroe probably had wandered off by that point, and Hong Kong was the type of person to not care and help himself to the food in Denmark's house. "I WASN'T DONE TALKING TO HIM, YOU —" and his voice became muffled, probably from either Sweden or Denmark putting their hand over his mouth, and then there was a pained hiss. Finland had always been the type to either bite or lick your hand if you covered his mouth.
"Listen, we have to go, Finn's going to murder me and then will probably continue yelling at you. Make sure to write back and mention when your first Hogsmede weekend is, it'll get worse if you don't. Bye, Ice," and with that the letter ripped itself to pieces. Iceland was almost definitely transparent by that point, and had his arms wrapped around himself as he trembled violently. The hall was dead silent. People slowly started to whisper to each other, trying to figure out what any of the letter meant, the slightly broken English giving the whole rant a somewhat cryptic meaning. After five minutes the Hall started to return to it's normal volume. Iceland slowly stopped hugging himself, instead putting his head in his hands while muttering under his breath, which was more short and uneven gasps and pants rather than actual breathing (Iceland unfortunately had some lung problems due to his extreme volcanic nature). Hermione gave him a worried look before unfurling the newspaper that had become slightly crumpled from her tight grip on it and disappeared behind the news. Out of the corner of his eye, Iceland could see the mirth in Dumbledore's eyes, and suspicions in Professor Umbridge's black orbs.
"Mate, who was that? She must be a beast, she managed to shout louder than my Mum, and even her husband sounded afraid of her," Ron asked, causing Iceland's eye to twitch. It was always very clear to find people who know Finland and Sweden and those who didn't, judging on who called Finland a female. Iceland thought for a few seconds, trying to decided how to answer the question.
"He," Iceland started, making sure to stress the pronoun, making Ron's eyes widen when he realized the voice was actually from a male, "is Tino Väinämöinen, and his husband, as you so accurately put it," he surprisingly was not being sarcastic when he said that, "is Berwald Oxenstierna. Here," he said, pulling his school bag up onto his lap and rummaging around in it. It took a minute, but he managed to pop back up with his wallet in hand (sure, it couldn't fit any of the coins that English wizards liked to use, but he carried it around out of habit and it wouldn't do to break it). Opening it up, he showed the two teens on the other side of the table the photo.
"Look," Iceland said, pointing to the picture. It was a picture of one of the Nordic's very rare family outings. It had been taken the winter previous, as they had all decided to go visit Finland for the holidays. Denmark had his arms around Iceland and Norway's necks, pulling them in close for the picture. It was very obvious that they had been trying to walk away, and you could see the 'oh fuck what' look on Iceland's face (Mr. Puffin was flying away just above his head) and the slight surprise on Norway's clear as day. Denmark just wore that ridiculously big smile of his. Greenland had a large grin that stretched across his face and was making peace signs at the camera, his shirt bearing the Erfalasorput, or the Greenlandic flag, and you could see the snow in his hair easily, due to the stark contrast between the black and the white. Right next to him was Faroe Islands, whom had a shyer smile on her face, but seemed to have sparkle of winter cheer in her eyes nonetheless. With her violet eyes and light hair, you would almost say she was more Iceland's sibling than Denmark's. Her fair and pale skin clashed greatly with Greenland's olive, but you could still see a sibling resemblance in both. They were physically ten and eight, respectively. Finland had a happy but slightly tired smile (it was a couple days before Christmas, and the Finn had been running around trying to do some last minute preparations), and was leaning Sweden, who had an arm around the smaller man's waist. On the taller nation's shoulder was a beaming Sealand, who seemed to be waving enthusiastically at the camera. You had to have known Sweden for years to see it, but the man had a small and satisfied smile on his face. To anybody else, it would have looked like a disastrous and failed family photo, but to Iceland, it showed how his family somehow still managed to stick together after many, many years. "This is Tino, he's Finnish," he said, pointing to the Finnish man in a dark red sweatshirt, the white beret he normally wore was missing. In his arms was a yipping Hanatamago. "And this is Berwald. Swedish." The man in question was in a dark blue trench coat like always, but his hat too was missing. The hand that was not around his 'wife', was clasped around Sealand's ankle, to prevent the boy form slipping off of his shoulders.
"You sure you didn't mix them up or something? Because I'm skeptical about someone that small can yell that loud," Harry said, looking at Iceland confusedly.
"No, trust me. Tino may seem small, but most everybody we know is scared of him. You have to really, and I mean really tick him off to get him angry enough to yell at you," Iceland explained, going to tuck the wallet back into his bag.
"Who were the other four?" he paused to look back up at Ron, who had asked the question.
"What?"
"The other four people in the photo. I could recognize Mathias and yourself, and we now know Tino and Berwald, but who were the other four?"
"Oh, well, uhh..." Iceland said, stumbling as he pulled the wallet back out. He definitely wasn't a doting parent (keep telling yourself that, Iceland, maybe one day you'll believe it), but he wasn't going to pass up a chance to show off Greenland and Faroe, the two siblings he had raised almost singlehandedly. "This one," he said, pointing to Greenland, "is Autdlâritâ Køhler," Harry and Ron seemed completely confused by the name. As the two looked closer at the tan boy, they started to notice smaller details about him, like how his dark hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, and only wore a light coat (similar to Finland) despite the heavy snow and icicles they could see hanging around the town square where they had taken the photo. "He's Mathias' younger adopted sibling, he's from Greenland."
"And this," Iceland said, pointing to Faroe Islands, "is Fríðunn Køhler." Faroe had her platinum blond hair in two braids the hung low over her shoulders and swung at her waist, and a thick scarf that only let her eyes peek over the woolen fabric. She also wore a long sleeved folk dress, the intricate patterns and small Faroese Mountain Hare cuddled in her arms only adding to pile of adorableness that was the Faroe Islands.
"Peter Kirkland," the micronation in question wasn't in his usual sailor outfit, instead he was dressed in a heavy black winter jacket and blue woolen hat, with his red mittens looking like they were going to fall off at the speed he was waving his arms. "He's actually the younger brother of a colleague who works with my siblings, but Arthur is very busy, so Peter spends most of his time at Berwald and Tino's house. They've practically adopted him."
"And this one is my older brother, Lukas Bondevik." The Norwegian was dressed in his usual blue sailor outfit. The hat was in midair, as it went flying off of his head when Denmark pulled him and Iceland back in for the photo, just before the photographer snapped the picture. His Nordic cross hair clip was shimmering, seeing as he polished it regularly. "He's from Norway." Iceland gave them a few more seconds to stare at the photo. "Anymore questions?" There was a pause.
"No."
"Good."
Hermione didn't reappear from behind her newspaper until after the three boys had finished eating. "Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything."
Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.
"Look at today!" groaned Ron. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted..."
"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry, pushing Iceland over. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"
"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."
"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Noseblood Nougat cheap if you like."
"Why's it cheap?" said Ron suspiciously.
"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said George, helping himself to a kipper.
"Cheers," said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, "but I think I'll take the lessons." Iceland would as well (sure, he couldn't actually die, but severe blood loss was not a fun experience, he should know).
"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."
"Says who?" said George, looking astonished.
"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron."
"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily.
Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.
"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."
"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.
"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George.
"So?"
"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to the grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.
"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George happily, and Iceland couldn't imagine why. "Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint..."
"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.
"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," said George.
"Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten... Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"
"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about the exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."
"Yeah... you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.
"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."
"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got —"
He broke off at a warning look from Harry. Iceland wondered what was happening there, but ignored it.
"— now that we've got our O.W.L.s," George said hastily. "I mean, so we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school earl, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."
"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."
"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" asked Hermione skeptically. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose..."
Harry did not look at the twins. His face was a bright red; he dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. Iceland was fairly sure he knew where those funds where coming from. "Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."
Harry emerged from under the table in time to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast. Iceland jumped up from his spot and almost dropped his school bag and narrowly avoided tripping over the bench as he ran to catch up with them. "Fred! George!" They both stopped and looked back at him with a pieces of toast stuffed in their mouths.
"Need something, Emil?" George asked after swallowing his piece of toast.
"Yeah, actually, I do. Didn't I tell you that you could stop the uncontrollable bleeding with Romanian Zengweed?"
"Yeah, you did," Fred answered.
"But we couldn't find it anywhere on the market," George added.
"And the lowest price Mundungus offered to get it for us at was ridiculously high —"
"— so we decided to see if we could find a different way to stop the bleeding."
"Oh," Iceland said, blinking his violet orbs at them. "Is that it? I have a friend who could probably obtain it for free and have it here by tomorrow." Fred and George looked at Iceland disbelievingly. "He lives with a British man, who gets regular imports of various plants from a Romanian friend of his, he most likely would have Romanian Zengweed. You just had to ask."
"Oh, Emmy, what would we do without you!" Fred cried dramatically, dropping into Iceland's arms, causing him to stumble back (disadvantages of not having an army 801).
"Oh, yes, our lord and savior, Emil!" George joined in, draping himself over Iceland's shoulders.
"Yes, if here is anything else I can do for you, please tell me. If you don't get off soon I'm going to collapse," he said with a strained smile as his legs started to tremble.
"That reminds us," Fred said, getting off of Iceland along with George, "can you come up with some sort of way to find the other common rooms and their passwords? We've tried for years, but we've never been able to find them."
"Done," Iceland said easily, lifting Mr. Puffin off of his head to hold in front of his face. "Vissir þú heyrir allt?"
"Skildu það til mín, pönk!" the bird said proudly, flapping off to follow a group of sixth year Ravenclaws.
"Okay, that's handled, anything else?" Iceland asked the astonished pair of twins.
"Uh..." Iceland raised an eyebrow. "No, we're cool."
"Catch you later, Emil!" George called out as he and Fred walked off with their toast. Iceland waved to them as they disappeared.
Iceland caught up to the Golden Trio in History of Magic, which Iceland quickly realized somehow had become the most boring subject when it really should be the most interesting. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, Iceland noted as heads started dropping around the classroom. The island nation already knew quite a bit about the Giant Wars, seeing as Norway had found it very necessary to educate him thoroughly about magical history, as well as crash courses about any and all major worlds events (Norway also had an enjoyable time educating Iceland about every country's government, along with their trade and foreign policies). So no, he really had no reason to pay attention to the class.
"How would it be," Hermione asked Harry and Ron (who hadn't been paying attention either) coldly as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"
"We'd fail our O.W.L.s" said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione..."
"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"
"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration — you're just cleverer than we are — is it nice to rub in?"
"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.
"I could probably tutor you, if you'd like," Iceland muttered quietly.
"What?" Harry asked, Ron and Hermione turning to look at him as well as they continued walking.
"I mean, you guys remember Autdlâritâ and Fríðunn, right?" Harry and Ron nodded while Hermione shook her head. "I'll show you a picture later, but they're Mathias' younger siblings. Anyways, I used to help Tino homeschool them for a while," and then eventually took over their education completely, "and I'm pretty good at history, so I figured it could help." There was a pause.
"Mate, we'd love the help, but I don't think me and Harry can fit that into our schedules with all the homework that's going to be assigned this year, we're not Hermione or anything." Iceland nodded in understanding.
"Then maybe I'll just do it for the first years or something, because if that's the teacher for all the years, they're probably going to need it," Iceland started to drift off, trying to remember what exactly the English stressed in their History, not paying attention when the same pretty girl from the train showed up and left a minute later, and Ron and Hermione bickering all the way down to the dungeons for Potions (the only reason he got down there in first place was because Harry had grabbed his arm and dragged him along). Iceland was slightly surprised when he returned to reality to find himself joined in the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom (he had heard about the classes from Harry and Ron's complaints). The ominous sound of the dungeon door creaking is what snapped any thoughts of lesson plans from his mind, though he still wanted to host some sort of study group for the first years in History of Magic.
"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need to call for order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence seemed to be enough to ensure a class's silence.
"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'acceptable' in you O.W.L., or suffer my... displeasure."
His gaze lingered next upon Neville, who gulped.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, and anybody could feel the hate and loathing that flowed between the two of them.
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-passlevel I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students. And one more item must be addressed before we begin," he said, turning to face Iceland, his robes swishing about him, "we have a new student in our class, one who I hope is not as dunder-headed as the rest of the House he is staying with." With one last glare at Iceland, he continued.
"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." 'Best 'say no' message I've ever heard. Don't do drugs kids,' Iceland thought. On his right, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness. "The ingredients and method" — Snape flicked his wand — "are on the blackboard" — (they appeared there) — "you will find everything you need" — he flicked his wand again — "in the store cupboard" — (the door of said cupboard sprang open) — "you have an hour and a half... Start."
Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.
"A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.
Iceland, who had managed to follow the instructions easily (came with centuries of being a servant to either a different nation or his own government), looked around at his fellow Housemates potions. Harry's was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of cauldron, as they had gone out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, contrary to many of the other potions in the room. Snape looked down his hooked nose at Iceland and Hermione's as he swept by, finding nothing to comment. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looking down at Harry with a horrible smirk on his face.
"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"
Iceland covered his face with his hands, having the distinct impression that this conversation was going to sound like a slow-motion car crash.
"The Draught of Peace," said Harry tensely.
"Tell me, Potter," said Snape softly, "can you read?"
Draco Malfoy laughed.
"Yes, I can," said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.
"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."
Iceland buried his head into his arms, attempting not to groan as Harry fell for the careful setup Snape seemed to have made.
"'Add powdered moonstone, stir three time counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drop of syrup of hellebore.'"
"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"
Harry mumbled something Iceland couldn't quite make out, and frankly, didn't want to.
"I beg your pardon?"
"No," said Harry, more loudly. "I forgot the hellebore..."
"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco."
The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.
"Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing," said Snape. "Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."
Fast-forward to lunch, Iceland was sitting a few seats down from the Golden Trio, reading the other letter he had received that morning, eating a cherry pie (with a side of black licorice). It was from Hong Kong.
Greetings, Emil (Unusually formal)
You're a dick. (there it is)
But let me tell you why you're a dick. I'm assuming you already got that howler from Finn? If you didn't, here's your warning (it got pretty bad pretty fast. It was like one train wreck after another). Anyways, Tino dragged me over as proof that you were going to Hogwarts (is he omniscient or something?), since Mathias denied it, trying to save his ass. Don't worry, your mom didn't hurt me, but I think I might have actually started to feel bad for the idiot Dane. I didn't know screams could go that high (remember that time at last years Halloween party when Natalya snuck up behind Ivan? That high).
Anyways, Michelle dropped by today (I'm writing this the day after we met up at Diagon Ally, it should reach you by tomorrow), and I told her where you were (I can't lie to her, she can be as scary as Elizabeta sometimes). She said the visit was for gaining better relations for when I move back to China, but I personally think she's trying to avoid her boss (I don't blame her, he's kind of an asshole and very shady in my opinion). She wanted to write to you as well, but I said no. I'm going to make her get her own way of getting them to you, I'm not an airport.
~Li Xiao
Iceland smiled. It was nice to hear from the other teen, seeing as he, himself, and Seychelles were the only nations (or colonies) in the same age group, with the rest being several years younger or several years older.
After lunch had ended, and Iceland had completely amazed the Ancient Runes professor ("It's complicated," he said, when asked how he was already so knowledgable in the subject), he found himself seated in the back of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, trying not to gag at the absurdly strong smell of chemical cleaner that drifted through the room. Professor Umbridge was already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Iceland struggled not to laugh; there were few people who could pull off the ridiculously large bow in hair look, like Belarus, Liechtenstein, and Seychelles, but Umbrdge was, without a doubt, not one of them.
The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be. Iceland already had doubts about the subject, since he had already read the whole book. Having spent about a third of his life putting up with legal bullshit, he could see very clearly that the book was designed to look as if it were teaching you, but was really doing nothing. It was talking, but not saying anything.
"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That simply won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good aftenoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her. Iceland added his own touch by instead saying "I don't want to be here, Professor Umbridge," the snide comment being drowned out by the rest of the class. The few that could hear him struggled not to laugh.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
'Oh, God,' Iceland thought. 'It's going to be one of those teachers, isn't it?'
Professor Umbridge opened her hand bag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared at once:
Defense Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles
The toad went on to ask about previous teachers, which Iceland ignored, seeing as he was new to the school. The only magic teacher he had ever had was Norway, but recently the Icelandic Magic Council had been requesting he received a 'formal' education (well, there was that one time he had gone to high school about ten years previous, but that was a completely different story on it's own).
Umbridge rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. Sounded pretty reasonable.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can be legally used. Well, the magical laws were vastly different in the Nordic regions than in the UK, so that would be useless
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. So they would just be reading and taking notes all year then? That meant that since he had already read the whole book, he could just sleep in the class for the whole year.
"Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
'Kill me now,' Iceland thought desperately.
"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Professor Umbridge left the blackboad and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with her pouchy toad's eyes. Iceland ignored the instructions and decided instead to start writing his reply to Finland and Hong Kong.
Dear Tino (and Berwald),
I'm sorry that I didn't tell you were I was going and that I lied to you. The reason for that was we didn't want Lukas knowing I was going to a magic school, and you know how offended he would be at that. The SMG had been pressuring me to get a formal magical education (Lukas would just get upset, thinking that he hadn't taught me well enough), and they told Denmark about it, telling him to figure it out. So yeah, that's how this all happened. And you're kind of a worry wart anyways, so don't worry about it.
My first Hogsmeade weekend is in October, on the—
"It is NOT a lie!" shouted Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"
Iceland slowly lifted his head back up, trying not to sigh. One day with out any drama, that's all I ask for.
"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o' clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside of class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.
There was a collective intake of breath of from the class. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.
"It was murder," said Harry. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."
Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment Iceland thought she was going to scream at Harry. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."
He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. The whole class was holding it's breath.
Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to Harry.
He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel, and left the room, not even looking back, and slammed the classroom door shut behind him.
Iceland frowned. This year wasn't going to be miserable, it was going to be positively torturous.
Islanti = Iceland
Ruotsi = Sweden
Tanska = Denmark
Taika Koulu = Magic School
Skotlannin = Scotland
Norja = Norway
Koulunkäynti = Education
Norjan Kieli Koulu = Norwegian Magic School
Pietari = Peter
Vinterkriegen = Winter War
Røv = Ass
shàngdì zǔzhòu = god damn bitching
taqajak angut = stupid man
YMMÄRRÄTKÖ = DO YOU UNDERSTAND
And that is Galdrastafir: Chapter 9! I hope you enjoyed (sorry not much happened in this chapter), and I'm sorry this is so late. I wrote most of this chapter one day while I was home sick from school, and then I got caught up in homework and school project and tests, so it sat unfinished for two weeks, but it's finally here!
I've been going through old chapters recently and cringing at some of the spelling errors and grammar mistakes I have made. It's like; Sometimes I English very well but sometimes no.
I also want to clarify some things: the OC's in this story, Greenland and Faroe Islands, are not going to play any major role in this story. Also, Faroe Islands is technically older than Iceland, but due to much smaller land size, less development, and is still considered part of the Danish Realm, will be physically and mentally younger than Iceland in this story (also, Iceland was an independent commonwealth for like 300 years before joining part with the Norwegian Kingdom, which then joined part with Denmark and Sweden [and by extension, Finland] in the Kalmar Union). The title Galdrastafir and the necklace Iceland obtained in chapter 3 is not going to be some sort of huge plot twist at the end, but it is going to become an essential part of how Iceland uses magic. Someone asked, so I decided to answer for every one ^-^
Anyways, until the next chapter; Hasta la Pasta