CHAPTER 11: NEXT THING YOU KNOW IT'LL BE FLYING PIGS
For perhaps the first time since the invention of television, America was lying in bed reading a book. Any shocked onlookers would have been mollified by the fact that it was a book called The Mechanics of the Flying Broomstick. Restoring old cars had been a hobby of his since the first cars sold to the general public had started to break down, and flying broomsticks were pretty much the wizard equivalent of cars, so it was a natural transition. There were still quite a few words he didn't understand, though. He'd have to ask Canada or Hermione to translate for him in the morning.
Harry and Ron still hadn't returned from their detentions. Both of them had been very gloomy about their punishments and wished they had the others. Ron was cleaning the entire Trophy Room while being supervised by Filch, who had many times been the guard to America and co.'s Solid Snake. Ever since Harry had received an invisibility cloak for Christmas last year, they'd avoided a lot more exclamation points over his head. Harry, meanwhile, would be helping Glinda the Sparkly Wizard answer fanmail. He wasn't very happy with this arrangement. If America were in his shoes, Glinda probably wouldn't survive the night. Harry had more self-restraint, unfortunately, so he'd most likely not snap after one too many pieces of useless advice and stab Glinda in the eye with a quill.
America was just turning a page when Harry trudged into the dormitory, looking much more shaken than he'd been expecting. America looked over his robes for any eye-blood, but, sadly, there didn't seem to be any. Great. Nine more months of having to deal with Glinda the Sparkly Wizard. Still, for whatever reason, Harry was looking as if he'd just seen a ghost. Well, actually, he'd seen ghosts many times, but he was usually pretty cool with it, much calmer than America, anyway. He looked like what he probably would have looked like if he'd seen a ghost without becoming so desensitized to them.
America said quietly (for him, anyway), not wanting to wake the others, "Hey, dude! How did your evening with Glinda go?"
Harry went over to his trunk, pulling out his pajamas. "I'd rather wait until Ron gets back, thanks. I don't want to have to say it twice. Hold on a minute, are you reading?" He'd frozen, staring at the book in America's hand as if it were a baby he'd just claimed to have given birth to.
"Uh, yeah?" Wait, am I not sure? More confidently, America said, "Yeah. It's on brooms. I wanted to figure out how they actually worked. You wouldn't happen to know what the incantation for a Cushioning Charm is, would you?"
Harry shook his head. "No. Ask Hermione, she probably knows."
America nodded, turning his attention back to the book. "Yeah, that's the plan, dude. She and Matt are totally gonna need to translate this for me. The bits I can understand are pretty cool, though. I fix up cars a lot, and this is pretty similar, so it's only when they start talking about magic that it feels like I'm reading an alien language."
"Huh." Harry still seemed a bit unnerved by the thought 'Alfred is reading a book on his own time that is not required for homework'. "Was there anything in particular that inspired this curiosity?"
"It's a kinda long explanation, dude. You sure you want to hear it?" Harry gave an affirmative answer, so America continued. "Okay. So, when we were practising baseball today, I started thinking about how in baseball, you aren't allowed to use certain kinds of bats because they'd give you an unfair advantage, right? So then I started thinking about Quidditch, cuz for some stupid reason they don't have any sort of similar rules about brooms. The Slytherin team's chances of winning the cup this year skyrocketed just cuz they've got better brooms. It's not anything to do with skill, it's just because one guy had a lot of money." America stopped to start taking deep breaths. The thought of Draco Malfoy really pissed him off. He must be spending too long here. He was starting to turn into England.
"So why don't you ask Professor McGonagall to make a rule or something?" asked Harry.
America made a growling noise deep in his throat. "Because, dude, if I do that, Snape's gonna say we're just jealous that his team was able to get better brooms, and I'm sure the bat-dude will find a way to stop whatever regulations might be put in place." He held up the book. "So, since I highly doubt Iggy's gonna buy new broomsticks for all of you just cuz I asked, I'm going to see whether I can just upgrade your team's broomsticks."
"Upgrade?" Harry sounded skeptical. "I'm not sure you can upgrade brooms, Alfred."
"Why not? I do it all the time with cars. I just need to figure out the broomstick version of putting in a sweet new engine, and you guys'll be zipping around like the best of 'em."
It was just then that Ron came stumbling into the dormitory, smelling like polish and massaging his right arm. "My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to shift the slime… Wait, Alfred, are you reading?!"
America said jokingly, "Yeah, dude, and a pig is totally gonna fly past that window any second now." He looked over at Harry, who at some point during their conversation had gotten changed into his pajamas. "Okay, Ron's here now, let's hear what happened."
Harry's expression, which had brightened up considerably during their talk about brooms, suddenly went back to the almost fearful look he'd had when he first came into the room. In a whisper just loud enough for them to hear (he was probably worried about waking up Neville, Dean and Seamus), he said, "It started out pretty normal. I had to address the envelopes while Lockhart went on about being a celebrity or something. I'm not sure, I blocked most of it out. Then, right at the end, I heard a voice." He shuddered. "It was… this is going to sound strange, but it sounded like… cold venom? I didn't know a voice could sound like that, but it did. And it was talking about… killing someone. Then it went away, and Lockhart said he didn't hear anything. It made him realize the time, at least, so he let me go and I came back here."
"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" asked Ron, frowning. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it – even someone invisible would've had to open the door."
Somehow, America was reminded of something… Great, skeletal-looking horses with leathery wings that no one else seemed able to see, even though they were right friggin there! "Maybe there's something about you that means you could hear it, but he couldn't?" America theorized out loud.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously, if Lockhart was telling the truth."
"Dude, that's not what I meant! I meant, like, something magical! Like with whatchamacallits! Those things pulling the carriages!" Both Harry and Ron gave him blank stares. America sighed, throwing his book towards the end of the bed. "Oh, never mind, it's too late for this kind of thinking. I'm going to sleep! Later, dudes!" He lay back down on his pillow and closed his eyes. Apparently Harry and Ron had the same thought as he did, because he didn't hear them talk any more.
America's brain was too busy working through what Harry had said to really relax. When he finally did fall asleep, he had a dream where he'd discovered that the best way to make brooms go faster was to soak them in cold poison. He warned the Gryffindor team to always wear gloves and not touch them with their bare skin, but they all laughed at him and said, "Didn't you know, Alfred? Flying naked is the most streamlined way of flying!" Then they all took off their robes (they all had the anatomy of Barbie and Ken, so he didn't feel embarrassed about it) and sat on their brooms. They all screamed and fell to the ground, dead, while their souls went into the brooms and started chasing him around chanting, "It's all your fault! It's all your fault!"
When the Weasley twin brooms caught up to him, he jerked awake and screamed, "IT'S NOT MY FAULT! YOU'RE THE ONES WHO SAT NAKED ON POISONOUS BROOMS!"
Sunlight was streaming into the room, and all the other boys were already awake. They all stared at him in silence for a few moments before Ron said, "What the hell kind of dream were you having?"
A/N: Aaaand another chapter with barely any plot advancement. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ LOOK ALOVINGGIRL I'M USING YOUR IDEA YAY! And this should actually be a short Author's Notes, since there weren't really any questions in the last batch of reviews. Ah, well! So you guys are okay with Patrick, Alistair, Dylan and Erin as names? Good to know! Also, another quick request regarding names: I'm going to give Ireland a different last name, because she's left the United Kingdom and I don't think she'd want to keep the same last name. Anyone got any suggestions? It should probably be O'something, because Hetalia is nothing without stereotypes. Thank you all once again for all your positive reviews! NEXT CHAPTER: America has a rather odd request for Northern Ireland. See you all next time!