A/N: Look, the chapters are getting longer! This chapter's dedicated to SpiderOnTheWall, who gave me the inspiration to write another part so soon! This one is another two-parter, simply because I don't want to just bombard everyone with horribly long chapters. My writing will be getting longer though, now that the story is moving along rather nicely. Hopefully, this won't deter anyone from reading it!

Enjoy!

The Great Hall was filled with laughing students and smiling teachers, lit by floating jack-o-lanturns and black candles that would never melt. The House Tables had been pushed to one side of the room, an assortment of halloween themed food spread out on it in place of the typical dinner. One corner of the room had several tables and plush chairs set up in it, and the rest of the floor was cleared for dancing and mingling.

Due to all of the stress that was being put on the students, what with everyone being aware of Voldemort's rise to power being placed ontop of the stress their sixth year exams would already have brought, Dumbledore had decided that a Halloween party would cheer everyone up. For the most part, it had. All of the students had dressed up, though no one was allowed to wear any form of a mask, and even a few of the teachers had donned more festive apparal.

Mathew thought it was a stupid idea.

Parties had never been his thing, though. That was his brothers forte. They were too crowded with people that he didn't know and never would, and the idea of getting drunk in public was one that Mathew did not fancy. Not that he was a big drinker. Alchohal was not the Northern Nations vice; that was saved for a more enjoyable past-time that, after this party, he was certaintly going to partake in.

Still, he'd gone along with it and dressed up like the rest of his schoolmates.

Draco had gotten his father to send both himself and Blaize some spectacular old-fashioned vampire robes, along with the name of a spell to give them temporary fangs.

Ron, who Mathew had been paired with several times in Potions class, was dressed up as some sort of make-shift zombie.

That blond girl, Luna, had turned herself into a spectacular alien; though she claimed it was a Zorfler, instead.

It was amazing that, despite how many kids there were, no one seemed to be wearing the costume.

Of course, it might just have been so amazing to Mathew because the only costume parties he had ever been to were the ones that Arthur had held when he was younger. The European nation would hold grand gala's and invite all of his high-class citizens, who would then come wearing gowns of silk and suits of satin with small feathered masks hiding their identeties from their fellow party go-ers. It was a far cry from the upbeat party that Dumbledore had organized.

Mathew's outfit didn't seem to fit either type of party though.

It wasn't highclass, not a single piece of expensive cloth or fancy embroderie in sight, but it wasn't really fun either. In looks or in memories.

He shouldn't have felt pride for it, he knew. The heavy cotton fabric he held shouldn't have made him happy; and it didn't, because it meant his people would be going to war and loosing their lives. There was just an air of importance about having the uniform, one so different from either of his fathers or his brothers. It made him feel like a nation.

It worked though.

"Do I even want to know what you're supposed to be?" Draco asked, words spoken with a slight lisp thanks to the two fangs he now sported. They stuck out over his bottom teeth and lip in a fashion similar to the vampires that Mathew had seen skulking in Arthur's forests.

Blaize had wandered over to the snack table too and was giving Mathew a similar look as his blond friend. One eyebrow raised, fangs hanging over his bottom lip, and eyes shining with amusement. Halloween was the dark-haired Slytherin's favorite holiday, and the party had put him in a good mood.

Mathew sat his cup of Blood Punch, which tasted like strawberries and apples, down on the black tablecloth. He gave his two housemates a soft smile and ran one hand down the worn tan fabric of his uniform. "I'm a Canadian soldier from World War Two."

They would be fighting alongside of France and England, and other nations that used to visit Mathew when he lived at Arthur's large house, and he would be at the frontline with his soldiers. Even though, tired and sore as he was, he didn't feel like doing anything much less fight a war. But Mathew wasn't about to ask his people to go out and fight without him; and maybe it would even help, make him better and not so see-through to everyone.

"It looks like you've been rolling in the mud with it on." Draco commented as he got himself a plastic cup of punch.

Blaize rolled his eyes, tapping the blond boy on the arm. "I think it's supposed to look like that. A muggle thing, right Mathew?"

It was rather dirty, Mathew supposed. Faint rust-colored stains were scattered across the tan fabric, larger splotches of the reddish-brown stained his left pants leg and his upper right torso. Old streaks of mud had been permenantly ingrained ingrained into the heavy fabric, on the knees and the elbows and his shoulders.

It also fit just as well as it had the last time he went to war wearing it.

The shoulders were baggy, the sleeves far too loose, and if it wasn't for the black belt around his waist, he was sure that his pants would be down around his knees. Mathew had lost weight since then too, which hadn't been helpful seeing as it had always been big on him, so even the parts of his tattered jacket and beat-up shirt that had fit him before hung off his thin frame now. The bottoms of his pants legs were frayed and torn, as were spots of his sleeve and the hem of his shirt. There were holes from bullets and slashes from bayonets scattering the fabric; leaving behind a story that he knew by heart.

It was pathetic looking, but he knew what wars and battles it had been worn to and what accomplishments had been achieved while he was wearing it.

It made him proud.

Bombs went off and fires raged and people screamed; and Mathew suddenly realized that Arthur still had full control over his people. They had gone to help him and Francis voluntarily in the beginning but now, now his father wouldn't let his people leave and was forcing more and more to come across sea and fight. Ripping them from their lives and their families just as he had done to Mathew so many years ago. And his people were winning more and more everyday and it made him so proud, so alive, to know that they were all a part of him and that they were willing to fight in the mud and the trenches and the skies for him.

"Yes," The Canadian nodded. "it's a muggle thing."