Thank you, everyone, for such wonderful and kind feedback. I really treasure all your amazing words. :) Sorry again for the lateness of this update-- finals are kicking my ass. Here we have part six, in which the Magic Club reels from their losses and Melinda has more sneaky plans. I hope you enjoy! --
Norway didn’t know how long he stood there after Melinda had left, still bound stiff by her spell, but to him it seemed an eternity—especially after he realized that his breathing was the only sound in the room. Finally, from behind him, there came a loud whoosh, as though something had just caught flame and footsteps sounded in the living room.
“Bloody Ministry, choosing now of all time to restrict the bloody Floo network, demanding I prove my credentials… never needed to prove my credentials before. Had to talk to bloody Shacklebolt to work it all out and… Bloody hell, Lukas, what happened in here!?”
Footsteps pounded over the broken tiles and England swam into Norway’s vision, covered in soot and looking shaken. He lifted two fingers in front of his face, closing his eyes, and spoke a single word. The spell binding Norway’s limbs shattered audibly. No longer bound, Norway’s limbs turned instantly to jelly and he wobbled forward into England, letting the British Isle catch him and hold him upright. Norway pressed his face into England’s chest, feeling dangerously close to hysterical.
“Lukas, what—?”
But England was interrupted as suddenly, through the open gap in the wall, a large black bat fluttered into the room, settling on the ruined counter. There was a whirl of golden sparks and Romania jumped off the counter, looking horrified around at the damage in the room.
“Holy…” he whispered, running his fingers through his pale hair.
Having regained what semblance of composure he had left, Norway ignored them both, shoving England away and stumbling forward, dropping to his knees next to Denmark’s body. Hesitantly, he touched Denmark’s shoulder and snapped his hand away, clutching it to his chest. Denmark’s skin was ice cold.
“Arthur.” Romania’s voice was quiet from near the fridge.
Norway squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what was coming, as behind him, he felt England go completely still. “Alfred.” He whispered, and England’s quick footsteps crossed the kitchen. Norway opened his eyes and, steeling himself, rolled Denmark over onto his back. With a jolt, he stared down at Mathias’ face, feeling his blood run cold.
“Mathias...” He breathed just as England let out a strangled noise.
“Lukas, what happened?”
As quickly as he could, Norway told Romania and England the entire story—America’s visit, Melinda’s attack, the binding, the Barbie, the kissing, and her final cryptic words to him. His voice only quavered once and Norway bitterly allowed himself the small victory. His entire body felt hollow, empty except for the sick guilt that was closing his throat, making it difficult to breathe.
“And now…” He swallowed and stared down into Denmark’s face. The Dane’s skin was pale, his lips partly open and bloodless. His chest was still, no breath causing it to rise and fall. Norway brushed his fingers up to feel for a pulse, feeling bile rise into his mouth when no steady beat answered his fingers.
He leaned forward and gently lifted Denmark’s left eyelid to peer at his pupils and let out a strangled squeak, falling backwards onto his backside as he scrambled away.
Romania and England looked up from where they were kneeling near the fridge, England cradling America’s head in his lap protectively and looking shaken. “What?” Romania asked, taking in his friend’s wide-eyed expression.
Norway didn’t say a word; instead, he crawled across the kitchen, barely wincing when he put his hand down on a piece of glass and a Barbie arm and knelt next to America. He reached for America’s face and England’s grip tightened slightly. Norway froze and looked up into England’s face—the British Isle was glaring at him fiercely.
“I just have to check his eyes.” Norway said quietly. England suddenly realized his expression and relaxed slightly in embarrassment, allowing Norway to trail his fingers up America’s cheek—just as ice cold as Denmark’s had been—and gently lift his eyelid.
The Consequences of Treading Toes [Part 6A]
--
Norway didn’t know how long he stood there after Melinda had left, still bound stiff by her spell, but to him it seemed an eternity—especially after he realized that his breathing was the only sound in the room. Finally, from behind him, there came a loud whoosh, as though something had just caught flame and footsteps sounded in the living room.
“Bloody Ministry, choosing now of all time to restrict the bloody Floo network, demanding I prove my credentials… never needed to prove my credentials before. Had to talk to bloody Shacklebolt to work it all out and… Bloody hell, Lukas, what happened in here!?”
Footsteps pounded over the broken tiles and England swam into Norway’s vision, covered in soot and looking shaken. He lifted two fingers in front of his face, closing his eyes, and spoke a single word. The spell binding Norway’s limbs shattered audibly. No longer bound, Norway’s limbs turned instantly to jelly and he wobbled forward into England, letting the British Isle catch him and hold him upright. Norway pressed his face into England’s chest, feeling dangerously close to hysterical.
“Lukas, what—?”
But England was interrupted as suddenly, through the open gap in the wall, a large black bat fluttered into the room, settling on the ruined counter. There was a whirl of golden sparks and Romania jumped off the counter, looking horrified around at the damage in the room.
“Holy…” he whispered, running his fingers through his pale hair.
Having regained what semblance of composure he had left, Norway ignored them both, shoving England away and stumbling forward, dropping to his knees next to Denmark’s body. Hesitantly, he touched Denmark’s shoulder and snapped his hand away, clutching it to his chest. Denmark’s skin was ice cold.
“Arthur.” Romania’s voice was quiet from near the fridge.
Norway squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what was coming, as behind him, he felt England go completely still. “Alfred.” He whispered, and England’s quick footsteps crossed the kitchen. Norway opened his eyes and, steeling himself, rolled Denmark over onto his back. With a jolt, he stared down at Mathias’ face, feeling his blood run cold.
“Mathias...” He breathed just as England let out a strangled noise.
“Lukas, what happened?”
As quickly as he could, Norway told Romania and England the entire story—America’s visit, Melinda’s attack, the binding, the Barbie, the kissing, and her final cryptic words to him. His voice only quavered once and Norway bitterly allowed himself the small victory. His entire body felt hollow, empty except for the sick guilt that was closing his throat, making it difficult to breathe.
“And now…” He swallowed and stared down into Denmark’s face. The Dane’s skin was pale, his lips partly open and bloodless. His chest was still, no breath causing it to rise and fall. Norway brushed his fingers up to feel for a pulse, feeling bile rise into his mouth when no steady beat answered his fingers.
He leaned forward and gently lifted Denmark’s left eyelid to peer at his pupils and let out a strangled squeak, falling backwards onto his backside as he scrambled away.
Romania and England looked up from where they were kneeling near the fridge, England cradling America’s head in his lap protectively and looking shaken. “What?” Romania asked, taking in his friend’s wide-eyed expression.
Norway didn’t say a word; instead, he crawled across the kitchen, barely wincing when he put his hand down on a piece of glass and a Barbie arm and knelt next to America. He reached for America’s face and England’s grip tightened slightly. Norway froze and looked up into England’s face—the British Isle was glaring at him fiercely.
“I just have to check his eyes.” Norway said quietly. England suddenly realized his expression and relaxed slightly in embarrassment, allowing Norway to trail his fingers up America’s cheek—just as ice cold as Denmark’s had been—and gently lift his eyelid.