CHAPTER 12: STRATEGIC RETREATS
October arrived at Hogwarts, bringing with it cold, rain, and a spate of colds. As it turned out, wizards had found the cure for the common cold, yet many still couldn't work a telephone. But, more importantly, America continued researching brooms. Canada and Hermione were happy to help with any concepts he had a hard time understanding. It was getting to the point that every time he closed his eyes he saw diagrams of different kinds of brooms.
On one stormy Saturday a few days before Halloween, while Harry was at Quidditch practice, America closed the latest book he'd gotten from the library and threw it onto the table. "Okay, dudes, that's it. I've totally officially reached the point where I can't do any more reading."
He, Ron and Hermione were all sitting in the Gryffindor common room in some chairs near the fire. Hermione was helping Ron with the pile of homework he'd left unfinished during the week. She'd left America alone because she didn't want to risk him losing his sudden interest in books, which was a wonderful thing from her perspective. The two of them looked up at America.
"Well, we knew it was going to happen eventually," said Ron.
"It's a shame," sighed Hermione. "But I suppose some part of me knew it wouldn't last."
"What? Hey, it's not like I got bored of it!" America defended himself. "It's just that I've gotten to the point where I've learned just about all I can from books. If I want to figure this out, I'm gonna need to start looking at actual brooms."
"Harry'll probably let you take a look at his," suggested Ron.
Hermione had an entirely different idea. "Why don't you keep looking for books? I'm sure if you found the right one, you'd be able to learn all you have to." Clearly she was uncomfortable with the notions of books not providing enough knowledge for something.
America shook his head. "No, Hermione, I'm pretty sure I've read every book on brooms in the library. And, Ron, just holding brooms and looking at the outside isn't enough. When you're doing a check-up on a car, you don't just look at the outside. You have to pop open the hood and take a look at the engine. I doubt Harry would let me cut open his Nimbus to see the insides."
Ron's eyes widened. "What?! You're going to cut up a broomstick?!"
America gave a thumbs up. "Yup! D'you know anyone who'll let me use theirs?"
"No!" Ron was staring at him as if he'd just suggested cutting up a baby. "Nobody will – you can't – no!"
"Ron is being biased, but he's right," said Hermione. "Nobody's going to let you dissect their broomsticks. And no," she added, seeing America open his mouth to say something. "You can't use one of the school brooms. So unless you know someone who has old brooms just lying around-"
"OF COURSE! I'LL ASK IGGY!" Ron and Hermione flinched. What's up with that? Are they scared of Iggy? Am I being too loud? Nah, that can't be it. I can yell way louder than this. Then America actually thought about what he'd just said. "Oh, wait. There's no way he's gonna send me a broomstick and a chainsaw…"
Hermione's eyes bulged. "A chainsaw?!"
America ignored her. "Hmm… maybe one of his brothers? Who would send me something wildly inappropriate for someone my age…" A memory came to him, one of fermenting whiskey (with the e, remember, to distinguish it from the Scottish garbage). "OF COURSE! I'LL ASK PATRICK!" Yeah, Northern Ireland would help him! They'd been pretty close since America had taken in a lot Irish immigrants during that whole famine thing. Sure, the guy had been getting pretty scary lately, but that just made him even more likely to agree to send a chainsaw!
America borrowed some parchment and a quill from Hermione and began writing a letter.
Dear Patrick,
How've you been? You and Iggy getting along any better? I realize that he's been a huge jerk to you (he's a huge jerk to pretty much everyone), but some of the stuff you've been up to is kind of scaring the crap out of everyone. Could you tone it down a bit at least? Iggy's trying his best, even if a troll could probably do better.
But I'm not writing to you about that. This is gonna sound weird, but do you have any spare flying broomsticks you have no intention of using ever again? If yes, then I'm also gonna need a chainsaw that can operate inside Hogwarts. You heard that Mattie and I were going to school there, right? If not, then SURPRISE! I guess. School's pretty fun, but Dumbledore keeps hiring idiots to teach hero class. Last year's teacher turned out to have Lord Moldyshorts sticking out the back of his head and was trying to return him to power and kill my friend Harry, and this year's teacher is Gilderoy Lockhart. You've heard of him, right? If you've read his books, then believe it or not he's even more annoying in person.
Write back soon! And tell Erin I said hi.
Love, Alfred.
"Yo, Hermione, mind checking my spelling?" America asked when he was finished.
"Oh, all right," sighed Hermione.
"Thanks, dude!" America passed it over and waited while she read it over.
When she finished, she looked at him critically, "Your spelling was correct for the most part. I changed your 'gonna's to 'going to's, and you wrote Moldyshorts instead of… You-Know-Who."
America rolled his eyes. "Dudes, what is up with you? It's Moldyshorts! It's not that hard to say! Come on, I'm sure you can do it! Mol-dy-shorts! What are you guys laughing about?" They were both sniggering. Ron looked to be caught between amusement and utter terror.
"N-nothing," he stuttered. He looked over at the letter Hermione was still holding. "What kind of stuff has this Patrick bloke been up to that's so scary?"
America thought over what he would say. He could hardly tell them the truth. "Uh… I'd rather not say. You'd probably get the wrong idea. He's an okay dude, he's just… going through a rough time right now, and he isn't dealing with it so well." If you can call being torn apart by constant warfare between your own people 'going through a rough time' and blowing your brother's stuff up 'not dealing with it so well'. America took back the letter. "Anyways, thanks for the spell-check, Hermione! I'll just go to the Owlery to send this real quick! Laters!" He got up and nearly ran out of the common room.
He was planning on running all the way to the Owlery, but about three-quarters of the way there he stopped dead in his tracks. A ghost wearing a ruff around his neck was floating towards him. America's brain barely had enough time to recognize the ghost as Nearly Headless Nick before it short-circuited from fear. "AAAAAAAHHHHH GHOOOOOOOOOOST! STRATEGIC RETREAT! STRATEGIC RETREAT!" The hero valiantly began advancing with all the speed he could muster away from the enemy.
He'd barely gone more than twenty feet when he turned a corner and crashed into someone with a loud squelch! The person he'd crashed into seemed to be very muddy. America looked down at the muddy person and recognized him. "Ack! Sorry, Harry, dude! I was… uh… utilizing a strategic retreat from a ghost!" He got up and helped Harry to his feet.
"It's okay, Alfred," said Harry, rubbing his side where America had crashed into him with a pained look. "Say, I don't suppose you'd want to come along to a Deathday Party on Halloween?"
America felt his face contort into an image of confusion. "Huh? Deathday Party? What's that?"
"It's a party where a ghost celebrates the day of their death," explained Harry. "It's Nearly Headless Nick's, apparently he's invited ghosts from-"
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH STRATEGIC RETREEEEEEAAAAT!" America ran back the way he'd come. It wasn't until he heard hooting that he remembered why he'd gone out of the common room in the first place. He followed the hooting to the Owlery, where dozens of birds resided.
America tried to catch the attention of one of the school owls. A handsome tawny noticed him and flapped down onto his arm from its perch. America held out his letter. "Yo, I want you to take this to Patrick Kirkland. Can you do that, dude?" The owl nodded, took the letter in its beak, and flew away. "Wha- WAIT! I didn't even tell you where he was!" Ah, well. I just hope that little dude makes it out okay and doesn't get shot or something.
America headed back to the common room, on the lookout for any surprise ghost attacks. He managed to make it back to Gryffindor tower safely, though he wasn't entirely sure how. Perhaps his heroic aura had scared away any nasty spectres! Yeah, that was it!
A freshly clean Harry was talking with Ron and Hermione. Hermione waved at America. "Hello, Alfred! Harry was just telling us how he was invited to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday-"
"AAAAAAAAHHHH STRATEGIC RETREAT!"
A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ STRATEGIC RETREEEEEAAAAAAT! At this point in history the Troubles were still in full swing for Northern Ireland, so he's not a happy camper. Regarding the whiskey thing, here's a fun fact: American distillers in the 19th century were mostly Scots-Irish, i.e. Ulster (old term for the region that is mostly modern-day Northern Ireland) Scots, and to this day American bourbon and Irish whiskey are surprisingly similar. So I'm translating that to Northern Ireland being America's teacher regarding alcoholic beverages. Canada has a similar thing going on with Scotland and whisky without the e. On another note, soon my idea involving America, Malfoy and a chainsaw will come to fruition... soon... SOOON MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay, time for questions. To Natekleh: It's okay, I'm just curious where you found those names. I haven't seen much 'official' information on England's siblings, other than that picture of Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland and a few comments. To the guest who got story-lost: I'm glad you found this story again! I find it almost impossible to write anything without adding a few jokes, ESPECIALLY when the subject matter is dark. Don't worry, I'm doing fine. I guess I'm a fast writer, because these chapters usually take me about three hours at most to write. Regarding America's Dream: I don't know. I really don't know. It just struck me as the kind of thing that would happen in a dream. My mind is a strange place. To Cat. I'm a cat: That's kind of random, but I'll give it a shot. Italy: "If... if it brings Holy Rome back... I'll do it! I'll eat all the food Britain can throw at me! Big brother, hold my hand!" Romano: "FRATELLO, YOU IDIOTA, DON'T DO IT!" There, have a free Romano. I'm sorry, that was probably really bad and not what you were hoping for. To Berlin: Hmm... I dunno... English? It's the only language I'm fluent in. Sorry, that's probably also not what you were hoping for. I'M SORRY GUYS GAAAAH! Okay, back to normal now. Thank you all for the ideas regarding Ireland's surname! The ones I'm seeing with several suggestions are O'Brien and O'Malley, but feel free to keep adding more! Nothing's set in stone! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada goes to the Deathday Party. See you all next time!