"I can't believe" Canada whispered, shaking his head. "That you actually went and sent England a howler. He is going to kill you. He is going to pound you with the blunt end of an axe, slice you up, tear out your organs -"

"- We've been through this, Mattie" America cut him off. "He can't do any of that stuff if Russia does it to him first."

"Russia's not going to do that to him!" snapped Canada. He paused, rethinking his words. "Okay, he might" he backtracked. "But if he does, I highly doubt it'd be because of World War III...at least at this moment."

"...Yeah it doesn't make sense does it" America said, shaking his head. "Why would he use the blunt end of an axe, when he has his pole?"

"AMERICA!"

America stared at his brother. "...Did you say something, Mattie?"

Canada sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Please, at least tell me this...did you try to be subtle?"

"Oh course!" America leapt up, beaming widely. "I'm the king of subtle! Subtle would totally be my middle name if I wasn't already stuck with that annoying 'F.' Besides, I know there's going to be tones of teachers around...trust me, I was real good about it. Subtle yet smooth. England will understand completely.

...

"Ron!"

Ron didn't turn around; with a glum scowl on his face, he continued to walk forward.

"Ron!"

Harry eventually managed to catch up to his friend, panting heavily. Ron glanced at him and his expression didn't change,

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Ron, look, we need to talk" Harry said, reaching out to stop his friend from walking forward. Ron stared at him for a moment and then rolled his eyes.

"Let me guess" he said. "Is it about Professor Kirkland?"

"No" Harry sighed. "Ron -"

"Wow" Ron laughed. "That's shocking because lately, the blokes all you seem to talk about!"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but then shut it, frowning. "...That sounds like something you'd say to Hermione."

Ron's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I know."

There was an awkward pause. Harry sighed.

"I...have been pretty bad, haven't I?" Harry said, apologetically. "It's just...I'm so used to teacher's being the bad guys. Quirrel, Lockhart, Moody...I just expected Professor Kirkland to be the same."

"The guy hasn't really done anything to seem suspicious" Ron pointed out.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

Ron stared at the floor for a moment. "Though if you want to obsess over him, I guess its not really my place to butt in."

"No, no" Harry shook his head. "You were right. I went to far. And also...I'm sorry about yesterday. Ron, your my best mate and that Quiddich thing was a big deal to you. I shouldn't have forgotten."

Ron went pink. "It's alright" he said, hurriedly. "I made a big deal of it, it was nothing -"

"It was something" Harry said firmly. "And I'm really proud of you, mate."

Ron, still looking embarrassed, smiled slightly.

"I promise I'll stop talking about Professor Kirkland" Harry said. "From now on, the only time I'll even mention him is if I have to address him personally."

"You don't have to do that" Ron said, shaking his head.

"Trust me, mate" Harry walked forward and slung an arm around Ron's shoulder. "For my sanity, I do."

...

England stumbled back to Hogwarts, curses flying out of his mouth.

He'd woken up about half an hour ago with a pounding head, a sore chest and the urge to start screaming filth at the nearest person in sight.

Since then he'd staggered away from where he'd been lying on a patch of cold, damp, muddy earth and still hadn't reached his destination.

Really, the headache and slight pain wasn't too much of a bother for him. The damaged clothes were a bit annoying but even so, he didn't mind too much. He was more upset over the fact that he hadn't been given the chance to show that useless excuse for a Dark Lord how amazing he really was.

He'd had it all planned really - ever since Dumbledore had told him about it the previous day. He'd decided on a few quirky quips and he'd imagined up a variety of scenarios in which Voldemort shot dangerous spells at him, and he just stood there, laughing -

Of course none of these scenarios had involved the killing curse.

It wasn't like it could actually kill him (that was evident) but it had left him...not quite alive...for a while. He was just thankful that Voldemort hadn't taken the time to bury him.

That would have really put him in a bad mood.

...

All day, Snape had been avoiding Dumbledore.

He hadn't originally planned to. When Voldemort had dismissed him and he'd apparated back to Hogwarts, he'd fully intended to tell Dumbledore that Kirkland was dead. But then he hadn't been able to find the Headmaster and, after a while, he had lost his nerve.

So now, he was making his way to the Great Hall for dinner with a guilty conciseness and that annoying feeling that people always referred to as "butterfly's in your stomach."

Snape shouldn't have been feeling guilty. Voldemort had killed Kirkland and Dumbledore had told Snape to take Kirkland to Voldemort in the first place. Really, Snape had only been the messenger. He hadn't done anything wrong, other than walk a man to his death.

...He was going to stop thinking now.

Snape reached the Great Hall and, with a deep breath, entered through the doors. He half expected to be accosted as soon as he walked in by an angry Headmaster; this was ridiculous as he knew that, even if Dumbledore was furious, he would probably still be sitting in his seat, his eyes twinkling merrily.

Snape kept his eyes down as he walked to the table, trying to ignore the feeling that everyone was watching him. Of course, no one was. It was just more of Snape's guilty consciousness playing games to make him insane.

Snape reached the table and sat down. He didn't greet anyone and no one greeted him; this was not unusual.

Then someone greeted him.

"Hello Severus."

Snape glanced up, feeling his chest seize with horror. No...there was no way...

Kirkland sat in his chair, smiling pleasantly at him.

Snape felt like all the air had been punched out of him. His mouth opened and closed like a fish; he felt his eyes grow wider and wider as seconds went by.

"Are you alright?" Kirkland asked, raising one of his inhumanly large eyebrows. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Snape leapt from his chair, breathing hard.

"It's impossible..." he snarled. "It's impossible!"

"Severus?" McGonagall frowned. "What in Merlin's name is the matter with you?"

"HOW ARE YOU HERE?!" Snape screamed. "WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD? HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE HERE?!"

And then - naturally with horrible timing - an owl flew in and dropped a red envelop in front of Kirkland.

A howler.

The smile faded of the Professor's face and his eyes widened in alarm. Hesitantly, he opened it up, a look of dread on his face.

"ENGLAND!" screamed an American accent. "BEWARE OF RUSSIA! WORLD WAR III IS COMING!"

Snape, unable to take it anymore, screamed one last time and ran from the hall.

...

England had been fully prepared to enjoy a feeling of superiority as he watched Snape's reaction.

Now all he could do was stare at the smoking piece of paper in front of him, breathing heavily, as the rest of the hall looked on in confusion.

America was going to regret ever being born.