Good Heavens and earth, I understand the confusion of Arthur and England. This story is in third person and therefore I am addressing you not Harry or Hermione. Sorry!
During the time in which all the trouble from the previous chapter went on, Hermione found herself thinking in such nonsensical ways. She found herself reciting poems she didn't know and wondering why some things happened the way they did. These globs of nonsense often burst. In fact, when she was in Potions class, working on a memory potion of sorts, she started the most curious conversation with Neville. The poor, fretful boy (already weighed down with the incident of passwords) was in no need of this.
"I do believe our memories work backwards," Hermione had said 'And yours doesn't seem to work at all,' she thought, as it would be most rude to say aloud. When Neville gave her a frightened look and when he didn't respond Hermione continued, "Why do we remember things that happened before? Isn't that silly! We should remember things that will happen, and memory is so curious. Why should we keep it all locked up inside? I mean, I guess it is quite useful… Oh how I'd love to be a bird or rabbit, they don't have to worry about anything! Except they have the worry of surviving winters… And they can't read! How dreadful a life without reading…" she continued to ramble on, confusing the boy further and further. The poor helpless wizard gave her a dead look and tried his hardest to work.
This conversation (or rather Hermione's rant, seeing as Neville didn't speak a word, save for the small sounds he made), went on the day after Arthur's visit. His absence, though, drew away such complete nonsense from Hermione. It took roughly three days that nonsense dripped away from Hermione. It felt like a hangover, afterwards, she could very dully recall anything from the moment England shared the queer riddles to when her common sense returned. Not exactly knowing what it was she did, she still terribly regretted it. Then, a finally intelligent thought, came to her. Was it due to Arthur's absence? Well, ever since he left I've feeling better. Ever since he arrived I felt bad, and he is quite old and powerful… Hermione thought. She thought no more of it, when the whole Sirius business was over, it was already time to go home.
It was in Privet Drive sometime at night. The air was warm and the crickets played their music. Harry, unable to sleep, sat by his window and stared down. He was waiting for the Weasleys to come, and could not sleep that night due to his eagerness. If you've ever been excited for something, and I'm sure you have, you know this bristling feeling. It feels a bit like suffocation.
Harry, fantasizing about all the brilliant adventures he will have with the family, saw something out of the corner of his eye. He saw a man, dressed in a lovely deep greens suit, with messy blonde hair and a brisk walk. Harry recognized the man as Arthur and slid open the window, pausing for a moment to listen to Uncle Vernon's snore. For a horrible moment it did not come and Harry froze. The time seemed to flitter by, though the clock read the same. Then it came, a scarping sound like a drill. The sharp intake of breath relieved Harry greatly and he slid the window open more. He found Arthur look around and vanish suddenly, with a sharp cracking sound. Harry pulled back and shut the window, sliding into bed.
The event lingered in Harry's mind, even when he arrived at the Weasley's.
Meanwhile, Arthur was visiting France. He walked around Paris aimlessly for a few minutes, before spotting the blonde haired nation, wearing a fashionable scarf, violet shirt, beige trousers, and sunglasses. He looked calm, drinking coffee and watching the people pass by. The blue shapes that very thinly remained visible under the tinted glasses came to rest on Arthur. Arthur walked over and pulled up a chair. France, surprised, took off his glasses and studied Arthur's appearance. "You look dreadful, England," the French man commented, finishing his coffee and calling a waitress over, "would you like something?"
England adjusted his tie, which was muddy and falling off. The rest of his body was in no better shape. His hair was even more a mess than normal, his eyes had bags under them, and in short he looked like Remus. "That's not a way to greet someone… A 'how d'you do' would have been fair, No, I don't want anything. Can we please go to your place?" England pleaded hastily, looking at France and avoiding any form of contact with the waitress or anyone besides France, for that matter. France shrugged, paid the waitress and stood up.
"Alright, it's only a minute walk," France replied, still not quite sure what to make of England's haggard appearance. They walked in silence, England head hanging down as if he were asleep. When he stumbled nearly off the sidewalk, France grabbed his arm and realized this was no laughing matter. He shook England gently awake. England, voice groggy, mumbled some nonsense and his head slumped back down. "This is far worse than I thought, though he seemed awake enough only a moment ago…" France said to no one in particular. The rest of the short walk was spent with England leaning uncomfortably on France's shoulder and the poor man dragging him about. He reached his home and gently tossed England onto the couch. England was sleeping deeply, his eyes fluttering side to side beneath his lids. He spoke some soft words, of which consisted of "phoenix","mistake","can't give up," and "death". France picked up those words, as most of the other language consisted of utter nonsense ("twiddleyfink", "Gryffindor", and "twaddle" would be some) and some Gaelic. France tried his best to dismiss it and cooked up something light for England to eat. By the dusty looks of it, the man had about as much food as sleep in the past few days.
It took roughly a minute for England to wake up. He did so in the most frightful manor. His feet shot up straight forward, pushing the rest of him forward and his wide eyes scanned the surroundings. He gasped and groped at his surroundings, as if looking for something he'd missed place and was trapped in the dark. France watched, feeling queer in such a state of mind. Why, he had just been having coffee and was ready to go for a walk when England's troubled face showed up. He wasn't complaining, of course, but worried. The Triwizard Tournament was coming up, and he vaguely wondered if that was causing such a disruption.
England stopped moving and breathing. After some moments, which dragged on, he let out a quivering breath and seemed to gegain his posture. "Dearest me," he turned to France who was holding a plate and cup of tea. "I'm awfully sorry for that. Why, that was most rude…." France handed him the small meal and smiled gently.
"Eat up, and then explain things," he said, twice as kindly as his smile.
England looked grateful, thanked France, and indulged himself in the food. He ate eagerly. When done, he sipped the tea and looked at France who remained with that same pitiful expression."Still, I'm very sorry for all the trouble that caused you," he said.
France laughed, much to England's surprise. "That's new, you apologizing to me!"
England laughed as well, a coughing and dry sound. It had some form of happiness buried in there, but it was enclosed in a gloomy bitterness. "Yes… It's quite a long tale, how I got this way. But first things first, are you going with Beauxbatons the upcoming school year?" he asked.
"I considered it, let's leave it at that," France said, and then added quickly, "you do realize how dangerous it is?"
"It's only been ten years, surely that's hardly enough time to adjust!"
"Ten years is more than enough, and you know it. I know you love the wizarding world, Angalterre," France leaned over and touched England's hands. England gave the warm hands a sour look, as if they were the ones talking to him. He pulled himself away and stared at the window. It was a grey day in Paris, ready to rain, but still adequately warm. When he didn't respond, France continued, "But you simply cannot! You know what trouble it causes humans, even magical ones, if we are around them. Especially children, they have an especially difficult time. Anyway, don't go… Unless… You've already been?"
England tartly nodded, looking at France expecting a look of horror. He did not see it, instead France looked gentle. He always did when a nation was hurt; he was a loving man after all."Well, yes,"
"Did you talk to them?"
"I avoided…"
"How many?"
"Just one, the one I tried my hardest to avoid. Anyhow, the one I recited 'Against Mischief and Idleness' to was incredibly intelligent. At any rate—"
"You know those are the kinds of people who are hurt the most!" France was not, though, kind to those he hurt. His look of sympathy turned to white anger.
"She's fine already! She was only a little affected,"
"Well, as long as it was only one poem…"
"I also told her 'You Are Old, Father William', she's fine now!"
France's mouth twisted into a terribly enraged face that caused even the stubborn England to shy away. "YOU DID WHAT?" he cried, standing up with his hands spread. "Fine, I guess talking to one is alright, and all, but telling her those two! Why, by the nerve, you know what that mix makes!"
"Very right I do,"
"You…" France spat the word and paced in front of England, who remained sitting. "What are you planning to do?"
"No harm done! I don't wish to hurt anyone, she already found the spell I wanted her to find, at any rate," England protested, finishing his tea and crossing his legs, lacing his fingers and placing the latter on top of his knee. He closed his eyes as if with defiance.
"No harm! How is pouting nonsense going to help her?"
"At any rate," England began again, opening his eyes to regard France, "it's gone now. My plans will be evident soon,"
"This isn't a plan to get your darling blade back!" France said and waited for England to reply, but the man was lost in thought. He expected at least an "at any rate". When one did not come, France grew even more outraged. "Is that your plan? IS IT? Why send an innocent girl down there to fetch your fuc—"
"What?" England looked surprised, and touched his breast, looking playful, much like a child kissing up to a teacher or parent. "I would never do that!"
France was maddened into silence. He crossed his arms and took several deep breaths. "Alright, explain the state of your clothing, then,"
"Oh, you see, I got lost," England's face lost its playfulness and he touched his nose. "I noticed the mistake I made, Hermione was not the girl to perform that on, and I disappeared. As my presence would only deepen the magic. As I said, she is fine now. Not a worry, for several days, yes, she remained in that dazzled state, but she's alright now! I say her just now,"
France made a disgusted grunt, "Isn't that a tad bit creepy, spying on her like that?"
"Perhaps," England replied, "at any rate, it was not my plan at all to do such a thing. I planned to go down and get the blade myself. Something frightful took me over, I say it was greed, and I tried it out. I regret it now, as everyone I spoke to for over a minute changed quite abruptly. That's why I avoided Harry, any more speech and he would then be corrupted." France, of course, had not the slightest idea as to what England was rambling about with Hermione this and Harry that. Yet, the man could care less.
They did not speak and the only sounds were those of the children outside and the clock ticking. France was thinking something over and England, in his own way, was feeling terribly guilty.
"I will go," France said suddenly, "I'll go to the Triwizard Tournament."
England smiled, "thank you," he meant it, too.
Now, you are possible most animated to hear of what went on with the Weasleys. I would be most happy to enlighten you.
Harry woke to a sound of an angry Scotsman shrieking his head off. His accent was very heavy, in his cries, which seemed to have erupted from a particularly heavy object falling on his foot. "OF ALL THE BLUBBERING HEAVING BLOODY THINGS—"he called and on closer inspection, Harry found the man not too far from the Weasleys. He was looking at the lopsided house with furrowed eyebrows and a face that looked oddly familiar to Harry. Though it was really such a far distance Harry could have been mistaken. Harry now knew the man had stubbed his toe on a rock trying to pass the house. He mused to himself, what was a muggle doing her of all places?
Harry soon wondered if this man was not a muggle at all. To his surprise and Ron's (who was looking over his shoulder) the man charged forward, like a raging goat, and smacked straight into the barrier again. "WHY YOU BLASTED!" he yelled and made a fist to smack it. Harry and Ron ran down the stairs, and found Mr. Weasley already out the door.
"Quinn! Why I'll be the Queen if it weren't you!" he called and the man, apparently named Quinn, stopped raging and smiled. It was a flickering sort of smile, as if he didn't like doing it.
"Aye, it's me," he said and waited as Mr. Weasley let him in. When he was inside the house, he pulled a cigar and lit it. He smiled at Mrs. Weasley and tipped his hat, "and it's very nice to see you. I can't stay very long now," he yawned and took a drag of his cigar. "I am rather famished, though," he spotted the kitchen.
Hermione, who was standing by Ginny on the stair case, shook her head. "What a rude man…" Ginny laughed in response.
"It's just his way of going about things," she told Hermione, looking at the man dreamily, "he sure is handsome, isn't he?"
Hermione studied him for a while, the sleek red hair, the single piercing, the cigar, the sharp eyes, and the suit. She shrugged, blushing slightly, "I suppose."
Mrs. Weasley whipped up some potatoes and poured him soup, "here you go dear," she said kindly, not commenting the least about his rudeness, as some woman do. Mr. Weasley turned to the four lingering children and urged them to go back upstairs. Hermione and Ginny sighed wistfully.
Ginny begged, "oh, please let us stay!"
Quinn looked at her and put out the cigar, starting in on his meal. Mrs. Weasley gave her a wink and told her, "go on now! You have a big day to-morrow, lest you forget," she shooed them upstairs.
She turned to Quinn and sat down at the table besides Mr. Weasely. Ron and Harry started to go back to their room, when Harry spotted Fred. Fred was waving his hand and calling them over. They had a string that went through the floorboards and presumably into the kitchen. "Let's listen," Harry and Ron eagerly took the opportunity and sat by Fred and George.
"Whatever brings you here, Quinn?" It was Mr. Weasley's voice. There was a clatter of a fork.
"Just thought I'd drop by," Quinn said with another rustling sound. He seemed to have finished his meal and lit his cigar again. "Haven't seen you in a while, is all."
"We missed you, and still are rather grateful. It was so nice of you to send us that dress for Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said happily. At this, Fred and George looked at each other wildly.
"Why would he send Ginny a dress?" Fred whispered. George shrugged.
"I bet he's one of those weird blokes," Ron said.
George shook his head, "No. Mum trusts him,"
And as if to answer their questions, Quinn replied, "Aye, saw it while shopping and thought of sending it to you, Mrs. Weasley, but it was too small. I looked for one in your size but I couldn't find it,"
Mrs. Weasley giggled and thanked him, "but you didn't have to," Mr. Weasley added on, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
"You know I'm still grateful to your family," Quinn said, noticing that small hint. "Oh come on! Don't think I'm stealing your wife or anything. I don't want a lass, aye no, too much, I've got other business,"
Mrs. Weasely giggled again, apparently quite smitten. "Either way, we'll return the favor when we can,"
Quinn laughed, and it was a very nice sound, "don't have to miss! It's my way of returning a favor to you!" he sounded cheerful, and then there was silence. "Are your twin boys still up to no good?"
"Why… they do pull pranks—" Mr. Weasley began to say and there was a sound of a chair being scooted back. Then, the clack-click-clack of hard shoes on a wooden floor. Fred and George looked like characters in a horror film.
"YOU BLOKES THINK IT'S FUNNY TO LISTEN TO OTHER PEOPLE'S CONVERSATIONS?!" came Quinn's voice and Fred and George shrieked.
They dropped the string and hurried downstairs before Mrs. Weasley could call them. Ron and Harry looked uneasy and ran to their room.
Harry lay on the bed in silence for a while, unable to sleep.
Ron yawned. "Quite a nasty temper he's got!" and they laughed, turned out the lights and fell to sleep.
There's that mega chapter I was telling you about! Expect to see more characters soon. Review! Review!
