First I must warn you that this is only the beginning of this new section on Napoleonic wars. Congrats 2662Sophya on getting that teaser correct. This was written a while back, but I'm afraid the other half I may need to edit. Plus I'm going to learn about the Napoleonic wars soon, so I'll gain even more information…
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Harry Potter
A few weeks after the events of chapter 1 & 2

"Obrigado Alemanha," Portugal said as she passed him a cup of coffee.
"Why did you invite me over?" Germany asked, taking a sip. "I'm not giving you any more money," he reminded her.
"I need help cleaning out my old storage room," she answered, tapping her wallet underneath the table.
"Since when do you need my help doing that?" Germany raised an eyebrow.
"I happen to own a few cannons that I was planning on selling to a museum," she said bluntly. "Since I'm dead broke at the moment I can't pay you, but if you see an artifact you want and isn't of my personal value, you can keep it." Then she started self-consciously rubbing her eye scar. Germany idly wondered where she got it. "There's one other reason. You're much younger than I am. There is a lot of stuff in there that you are not going to know what it is, or the history behind it. The choice was between you or America, and since you live closer, you were my best bet," there's something underlining that last comment, but the German waved it off.
She walked over to her painting of an old wooden ship. Slipping her fingers into grooves in the frame, the painting swung open. "Well, come on," they walked down a set of stairs, light bulbs providing a weak light.
"Are you a hoarder?" Germany asked as he glanced around.
Portugal snorted. "Hardly, as one way or another all of this is valuable," now the taller blond man could see what she was talking about. One half towered huge bookcases, the other various artifacts. The walls held old maps, some crudely drawn like a kindergartener drew them, some astonishingly accurate despite their age. Another wall hung rows of paintings, of what seemed to be ever single king that ruled Portugal. The third wall was oil paintings of nations. Germany saw a younger Japan wearing kimono robe, Netherlands glaring from a ship (this one seemed to have a tear in the canvas). England and Portugal smirked from another, both wearing pirate-style jackets and their eyes glimmered with power. An around thirteen year's old Brazil smiled mischievously in front of the amazon forest.
The final wall held glass cases of outfits from each era. The first of several held a suit of armor. It looked slightly rusty and the white and blue fabric had a suspicious red stain on it, but it was still in mint condition.
Germany walked to the first painting of kings, a charismatic youngster. He had brown hair and a beard, and a massive sword and shield. "Afonso Henriques," Portugal said a small smile on her face. "My first king. Also one of the longest reigning, as he was young when he started. My northern borders were originally set by him," Portugal's eyes were the color of her beloved sea as she talked. "He declared himself king in 1143, 870 years ago."
He went back to looking at the old articles of clothing. One held a beat-up blue jacket, worn black boots, and a hat with a limp feather. The outfit looked as if it had been used until the end. As Portugal passed it, she chuckled. "Ah, my old sailing uniform. I wore this for ages during the era of exploration."
"Is that my uniform?" in another case a grey and blue WWI army garb hung. "Yes," she gave him a look. "Don't go thinking I'm a pervert like France. I only took it so I could sneak out. I believe America may have borrowed it for an espionage mission, but it's still in good shape," Portugal took it out of the case and handed it to him.
Germany glared at her. "You're only returning this now!"
Sensing the mood, the Portuguese woman held up her hands. "I forgot okay! I had bigger problems at the time! Ack!" Portugal was rubbing her scar profusely. She dropped to her knees and started breathing heavily. Germany put his hand on her shoulder, but she swatted it away. "I'm fine, just a bad memory." Portugal's arm was now gingerly over a part of her arm, exactly in line of her heart. Some sort of assassination attempt? No, America had a scar on his neck, supposedly from the Lincoln assassination. Whatever had happened had killed one of her political leaders, and from the trigger, it must have been around WWI. In 1908, my king and his heir were assassinated. Even though she didn't always act like it, this woman is immensely older than he is. She had to carry the burden of centuries of hardship.
She hurried back up the stairs, her hand still over her arm. The painting swung behind her. "Dammit!" Germany cursed. He ran up, then attempted to kick the canvas loose. "Pow!" What is that painting made of, Kevlar? Another set of swear words echoed in the corridors. Underneath his boots he felt that several of his toes had broken. They would heal in a few minutes of course, but now, Germany walked considerably slower.
There had to be something in this room that could help him. Didn't Portugal say she had cannons? He limped over to what seemed to be the most dangerous display case. Several swords shone in the velvet, some rusty, others that looked like they were forged yesterday. In the case, a Katana laid in an elaborate sheath. Why would Portugal own a Japanese sword? There were also rifles, or Arquebuses. They all had a worn look to them, as if they had seen better days. Many of the weapons had little tags tied to them, explaining their use.
Underneath the table were three cannons, completely empty. Germany realized at the same time he didn't even have the knowledge to use them, as he was technically founded in 1944, making cannons immensely outdated. "I'm being outwitted by a 2,200 year old woman," he muttered, annoyed.
He ran his fingers over the wall. Maybe there are more grooves to free him? With his luck, he found a set next to the portrait of Alfonso Henrique. The painting swung open, but to his despair only revealed a bowl carved into a pedestal. A silvery liquid swirled inside the basin. Germany knew it is of course. A magical pensieve, this bowl holds the memories of a former empire. He thought Portugal didn't have magic. Probably just a gift from England he decided. Ducking his head on the opening, he walked into the small offshoot.
Without thinking of the consequences, Germany touched the silvery liquid, hurling him into the memories. Groaning, he peeled himself off of the stone floor, and then blushed when he saw where he was. A slightly younger Portugal was pacing around in her bedchambers, her blue jacket flying behind her. It was exactly the same one in the case, but it was actually in good shape. A fireplace crackled behind her, lamps and candles also providing light. But the real fire was in Portugal's eyes.
"Damn France, damn Spain, damn this stupid system! I mean really, does he actually think he is going to get away with this! Well maybe, this Napoleon character has an ego as large as his country's," she muttered, still pacing. In the corner, a black rooster watched with interest, his colorful designs slightly distinguishable from the firelight. "Ugh, I'm being about as productive as a drunkard. I need to prepare, get help, train for battle, and make sure I'm not signing my own will." When Germany concentrated, he couldn't understand the words, but if he wasn't, he clearly understood it.
Napoleon… Holy sausage. This is time when Germany was born. Prussia always seemed bitter when they talked about these years, because of how easily France beat him in the beginning.
She walked out in a brisk pace, navigating the low light of the castle. "My King!" she called, banging on the door. Disgruntled, a portly young man walked into the light.
"Portugal, it is midnight. What is it that you want?" the king asked, still yawning.
"Believe me; I do not want this João. My idota of a cousin France is coming over and he's bringing a goddamn army. I'm sending you to Brazil before something bad happens to your family."
A queen walked up, her hair a bedhead mess. "Why is France invading?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
"The continental system. France wants Europe end trade with England. I refused to do so, because of our long-standing alliance," Portugal replies, clenching a letter in her hands.
"What about Spain? Will your brother allow France to move his troops through?" The Queen asked, her eyes widening.
Portugal let out a bitter laugh. "At least at the moment, Spain is the least of his worries. My brat of a brother is probably helping Napoleon's forces. I'm sending the fleet to Brazil as well, if I get conquered I'll still have an empire overseas and France can't have it."
"You're preparing for the worst," the king summed up.
"Pretty much. Go back to sleep. You will leave in the morning," she said turning around, back to her quarters.
Portugal walked to her desk, with letters scattered. Germany got behind her, looking down to read them.
Bonjour, Mon Ami!
I was wondering if you could join the continental system. Just cut yourself off from England. If not you will be invaded and I will do my best to take over your empire. Do I make myself clear?
Au revoir,
France and Napoleon
Portugal looked down apprehensively at the first, her hands on her head in frustration. Picking up a feather, she dipped it into the inkpot and wrote back in a swishy handwriting.
Ola France,
Leave me out of this. I'm not going to betray my best friend. I don't care how powerful you are, I will defend myself.
Obrigado,
Portugal
Germany squinted, the two letters shifting into Latin. Portugal wrapped the letter in a small piece of twine and set it aside, before picking up the second.
Hi Portugal,
Stay away from France. I'll send in reinforcements if I have to. Do I make myself clear?
Thank you,
England
Portugal rolled her eyes. she took another paper.
Ola meu amigo,
Send reinforcements as soon as possible, and yes, you have made yourself clear. I'm guessing France is invading as soon as possible.
adeus,
Portugal
P.S. You two need to work out how to end letters. you do the same thing.

The scenery twisted underneath him until he found himself in some sort of fort. Dark-haired men clutched muskets nervously, glancing outside. "Men!" Portugal bellowed. "Positions!" the scrambled, some dropping the guns. Portugal readied her own. In the grassy field, Germany could clearly see what looked like an army advancing. Portugal's gaze hardened at the sight of them. Gritting her teeth, she ducked as a bullet whizzed past her.
"Bang! Bang!" The musket cracked, bullets taking out two men of the French army. Cannons blasted into the huge wall of French militants. A few bodies aside Portugal fell, and she closed her eyes. "Bang, Bang! Bang!" Bullets battered both sides.
"Hold your ground my citizens," Portugal muttered. Scowling, she took a shot at a familiar blonde. France. The nation was clad in a rather ridiculous uniform, an over-the-top bicorn hat resting on his head. Self-consciously Portugal pushed up her own hat, a small blue shako-hat with a small feather in the front. Her hair seemed to be in a bun inside it, giving her the appearance of a man.
The bullet took out an officer behind France, but he still had a proud smirk on his face.
"Bonjour Portugal! Is this how you treat your guests? Well I have a small gift for you!" France cocked his own musket, and it popped. A shot flew Portugal, missing her but hitting a crate of gunpowder. It exploded, blasting the woman into the wall, where she crumbled, unconscious.

So far this has got to be one of my favorite things to write, as it is admittedly decent when it comes to my writing. Good news, since I went shopping earlier I can write out the next chapter to this tomorrow. Bad News: I am posting this at late hours. Ah well, at least I avoided the pepper spray.