Hello again! Yep, I lied. It's not Tuesday yet. But darn it, this is one of my favorite chapters, and I couldn't wait. But anyway. Thank you to Zantetsuken Reverse, Aresjei, xXNaidaXx, and Crazy Awesome Neko for reviewing the last chapter and more thanks to Zantetsuken Reverse and Aresjei for OC's. I need more of those, people! Help me out a little! It's not hard. Or if you can't do an OC, reviews are also nice~ I do not own Hetalia or Harry Potter. If I owned Hetalia, it would never have become anything near popular, because I can't draw!

Chapter 5

America thought he had died and gone to heaven when he saw the ice cream parlor – the magical ice cream parlor. He dragged Canada in against the latter's will, and the two are sharing an eighteen-scoop sundae when Britain finds them. "Well, I've finally found someone," Britain huffs, grabbing America by the collar and dragging him away from the table. "We need to get to work, America. You still need robes and a wand and an owl. Come on." He lays a Galleon for the ice cream on the counter in an afterthought, and then the pair leaves the parlor (Canada, forgotten, finishes the sundae before setting out on his own.).

"Aw, come on, Iggy, can I at least get an eagle instead of some stupid owl?" America whines as he and Britain wander through Eeylops Owl Emporium. A barred owl near them hoots indignantly at his statement, and Britain grins.

"Alfred will take that one," he tells the shopkeeper, indicating the barred owl. As they walk out of the store after paying, Britain asks America what he will name the bird.

"Um… how about Roosevelt? That dude was a pretty awesome boss. He was carved into Mt. Rushmore, y'know."

"Yes, yes, I know," Britain says hurriedly as they go into Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, America carrying Roosevelt's cage. Inside that store, the duo finds Italy getting measured by an older witch, Hungary standing by the wall as she waited.

"Hello, Arthur. Sorry we ran off on you like that," Hungary apologizes when she sees them. "I just thought we'd start getting measured for robes."

Britain smiles. "Oh, that's just fine, love, but you don't have any money. Here, this should cover some robes. How many people are with you?"

"Roderich finished first and just left, but Antonio and Lovino should be around here somewhere."

As if on cue, a loud "WHAT THE HECK? I LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT!" rings out from a curtained corner of the shop. Hungary apologizes to a stressed-looking Madam Malkin and hurries over. Deciding that Hungary could make sure that things get done with her group and that the shopkeeper had enough on her hands for the moment, Britain takes this as a cue to leave and leads America out of the shop.

"So… the only other place we have to go is Ollivander's, for your wand," Britain states. "At least until poor Madam Malkin gets finished with Lovino and Feliciano."

"Whatever, Iggy. Hey, look, I see Switz- I mean Basch and Lili! Hey, guys! What's up?"

Liechtenstein smiles when she locates America. "We were just looking in the Magical Menagerie store, and now we're going to buy wands. How are you doing, Alfred? That's a really cute owl you have."

"Yeah, Roosevelt? I just got him. We were going to go buy wands too! Come on!" America calls, motioning excitedly for them to join him and Britain. They do, and the four make their way to Ollivander's. Britain reaches for the doorknob to go in just as Norway opens it from the other side. Iceland follows his brother out, holding a black wand box. He nods acknowledgement to the group as he slips into the crowd and they convoy into the tiny store.

"Oh, hello! What are your names?" the old shopkeeper greets. In response, Britain just smiles, eyes twinkling, and hands his wand to Mr. Ollivander. "Hawthorn, phoenix feather core, thirteen inches," he observes. "And still in almost as good of condition as when I sold it. Hello, Arthur. It's been quite a long time since you stopped in, hasn't it?"

"Indeed it has been, Mr. Ollivander, sir. These are Lili, Basch, and Alfred. I see you've met Lukas and Emil already."

"Yes, that Emil lad just bought his first wand. Bois d'Arc, unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches. One of the rarer woods, but a fine wand, a fine wand indeed." He adjusts his glasses on his nose. "Now, Arthur, I hope you shall explain all this. For example, why I just sold one wand to the entire nation of Iceland."

As Britain launches into the story, beginning with Liechtenstein's and Iceland's discoveries of their powers, Mr. Ollivander starts pulling thin boxes seemingly at random from the shelves. The other three nations in the room are, to say the least, concerned at the obvious ease with which Britain talks about their little secret. Still, the old man does not seem like a threat, and eventually they come to the decision that Britain could have a confidante. Besides, the wands are a little distracting. A moment after Britain finishes his narration, the shopkeeper hands a dark blue box to America, who pulls out a dark mahogany wand patterned with leaves. He just stands there looking at it for a moment. "Well, go on, try it out," Mr. Ollivander urges.

"Um… aguamenti?" America suggests, and the wand releases a spurt of fine mist.

"No, that's not it, then," the old shopkeeper says, though he does not seem disappointed. He hands America a white box holding a very long maple-wood wand.

He flicks it with another cry of "Aguamenti!" but nothing happens. "Huh, guess that one doesn't work," America says nonchalantly, placing the wand back in the box and giving putting it back on the desk.

"May I try?" someone says from behind America, who whirls around, not having expected Canada to be there.

"Uh, sure, dude. Next time, please tell me you're here, will ya, bro?"

"I was in here before you were…" Canada says, but gives it up and takes the white box. The simple wand fits comfortably in his hand, feeling almost natural. Canada flicks it upward and yelps as his brother goes up with it. Mr. Ollivander is grinning.

"Well, Canada," he says, and Canada decides it's better not to ask how the old man knows his nation name, "I think that's your wand. A bit strangely tempered for maple and phoenix feather, but I can't complain. Do you like it?"

"Yes," Canada says confidently, pushing America a little higher into the air.

"I thought so. Now you may wish to put down your brother so I can get him his wand." Canada nods and breaks his concentration, leaving America crashing to the floor. It is oddly satisfying. Mr. Ollivander chuckles and presents America with another wand box, this one burgundy. Inside is a redwood wand half an inch shorter than Canada's with a pattern of stars pressed into the wood.

Just for the moment in which America pulls it out of the box, the world seems a bit sharper, the dim store a bit brighter. He also thinks he sees a flying green bunny near Britain's head before he decides to drop the wand. "Dude," he says, addressing no one in particular, "Dude, that wand has drugs in it or something, I swear!" Britain rolls his eyes and Mr. Ollivander laughs. It takes a little convincing, but America finally gives in to the others' promises that no, wands can't be drugged; that's just what happens to some people when they find the right wand.

Finding Switzerland's wand is easy – the first one he tries, a simple and roughly-hewn ten inch ash wand with a phoenix feather core, works well for him, producing a stunning bouquet of edelweiss flowers – but Liechtenstein's wand takes time. The first ten blatantly reject her, refusing to produce any magic at all. For a while, Mr. Ollivander is at a loss. Then he seems to think of something, and he digs through piles of boxes at the back of the store for five minutes before producing one more wand.

The box looks as if it was once white, but age has changed it to a tone reminiscent of the ivory keys of Austria's piano. Inside lays an ebony wand. It is simple but elegant, and Liechtenstein does not even need to try a spell to know it is meant to be hers; even without a verbal spell, though, a gorgeous blue-and-purple butterfly flutters from the tip. It lands on Switzerland's flowers, resting there until Britain pays for the wands and the five leave the shop to continue their wanderings in Diagon Alley.

-/|\-

France has long known about magic and the magical community, having Beauxbatons, but has never gotten a wand of his own. He never had the ability to use magic himself – until now. And now that he can, even though he is in England and in the body of a fifteen-year-old, it's as good a time as ever to receive one.

He catches Norway as the latter leads Denmark away from Sugarplum's Sweet Shop, receives his allotment of Galleons from him, and makes his way to Ollivander's Wand Shop, taking care to avoid Britain and his entourage in the process. Somehow the old shopkeeper knows "Francis's" true identity right away, asking what he could do for the fine country of France today, but France knows better than to press for an explanation. He tries almost twenty wands of different woods – from lilac and silver lime to bird's eye maple and purpleheart – before he finds one that feels right. Paying for the wand, France bids adieu to the shopkeeper and steps into the street, examining his purchase. Ten inches, phoenix feather core, elder wood.

Elder wood. Said to belong only to the best of any company. Also said to bring affinity with owners of rowan wands, but, as he knows no rowan-wand owners, France focuses on the first part. He must be the best. Absorbed in these thoughts, he doesn't entirely watch where he is going.

"Oh, I am sorry, mon cher," France apologizes to the redheaded girl he had hit accidentally on his way down the street. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"You're bloody right you weren't looking," she retorts, reaching into her robe. She gasps. "My wand! Where is it? You!" she yells at France, snapping her fingers at him. "Did you see my wand? It obviously was knocked out of my robes when you bumped me."

"Non, but I'll help you look. What does it look like?"

She glances around the crowded street before snapping, "How many wands would be on the ground now, wanker?" After a moment of stunned silence and another check of her surroundings, though, she softens. "It's rowan - eleven and a half inches. Sorry. My name is Charlotte; I'm a Slytherin fourth year at Hogwarts."

The girl confuses France, but he is not one to refuse to help a damsel in distress. He begins to search the ground until he hears Charlotte let out an exasperated sigh. "Why don't you just summon it?" she suggests. "You know, 'accio Charlotte's wand.'"

"Oh... right." France is thankful she had said the spell, because he didn't know it. He lifts his brand new elder wand, praying that it doesn't fail him now. "Accio Charlotte's wand!" A dark stick flies at him from the gutter, and he catches it, dusting the rowan off before presenting it dramatically to Charlotte.

"You're quite the... odd... wizard," she says as she accepts her wand. "And I haven't seen you in Hogwarts before. Who are you? What house are you in?"

France sweeps into a bow, taking Charlotte's hand and kissing it. She jerks her hand back, but she blushes. "Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy. I have not yet been to Hogwarts, though I shall be going there this year as a fifth year student. Some... strange circumstances arose where I used to be taught."

"Very well, then," Charlotte replies awkwardly, blush lingering at her cheekbones. "I guess I-"

"Hey! Charlotte!" someone calls, cutting Charlotte off rudely. A brown-haired girl with flashing green eyes approaches them, eying France warily. "Who are you?" she asks haughtily, but turns to Charlotte before he can begin his usual flirtatious introduction. "Who's this mudblood? You know what? It doesn't matter. Come on, Charlotte, we need to get our books."

"But Sasha, he - I - you shouldn't ca-"

"Come ON, Charlotte. We're wasting time here." As the Sasha girl begins dragging her away, Charlotte looks back apologetically. France just nods and sympathetically smiles. He would see Charlotte soon enough.

The owners of elder wands are said to have strong affinities with those of rowan wands. Perhaps it is just the romantic in him, but France is inclined to agree.

Come on, people, say it with me. You know you want to: awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! And yes, France has an elder wand. Not THE Elder Wand, but an elder wand nonetheless. Those things are awesome.

But I digress. To anyone who hasn't voted on the poll yet, please please please do? *Puppy dog eyes* I'm getting to a point in my writing of this where I have to start picking nations to focus on for certain events, and their popularity may play a small part in those decisions. Also, please review? It makes me so happy when I get reviews, and I'm sort of falling behind my goal. Call me selfish, but this story has some of my best writing so far, and I want to know what everyone thinks of it. I don't care if it's positive, negative, whatever. Review?

Thank you! See you later!

Translations:
adieu - farewell, French
mon cher - my dear, French
non - no, French
je m'appelle - my name is, French