Author's Note

I would like to state that in researching how to start this story, I did some light research on diplomatic relations with Iceland (cough wikipedia cough), since I didn't think I could do the standard talk with England or something since I imagine he would still be pissed off about the Cod Wars. If you don't like how I did this, deal with it because I gave up at some point since foreign relations between countries is not necessarily top-notch entertainment. If you want to know why Iceland in this story is closer to Denmark than he is Norway, it's because according to Hetalia cannon (that I could find, I don't own the manga or the anime, and none of my local libraries have any Hetalia stuff so most of my Hetalia knowledge is from the internet anyways), Denmark raised Iceland, which I think would make him a sort of father figure or big brother to Iceland. My second reason for this is because in looking at the diplomatic relations between Iceland and other Nordic nations, it seems (from what I could find) that Iceland has better diplomatic ties with Denmark than with Norway. I couldn't find much information for Sweden or Finland, as they were the ones I originally planned to send Iceland to Hogwarts in this story, but whatever. Plus I kind of like the idea of Iceland being BFF's with Denmark. Just imagine what they could do together.

Also, for any foreign language spoken/written in this story, I pass the phrase(s) through google translate or something several times to make sure it's as accurate as possible. If anybody who speaks Icelandic or Danish or anything finds anything wrong with my Google Translate writing, let me know and I will fix it :)

WARNING: Language, really bad writing, inaccurate Icelandic and Danish, and what is probably really inaccurate information of Icelandic culture/cuisine.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Harry Potter.

Iceland had no idea how the fuck he got into this situation.

He was sitting in front of an old wooden desk in an old wooden chair in an old castle that looks like it's from ye olde Scotland. Oh yes, don't forget the old man in an old wooden chair (it looked more like a throne), and the old books and old trinkets lined the walls. Basically everything in the room was old. The youngest looking thing in the room (besides himself) was Denmark (who was probably older than anything else in the room), who was seated next to him, his arms crossed over his chest and a heavy glare was set upon the old man. It was almost uncomfortable to see Denmark acting so serious, since it was such a huge contradiction to the Dane's normal cheery, oblivious and humorous personality (even though Iceland knew Denmark purposefully ignored the atmosphere).

"I need you to swear that you will not tell Norway about this," Denmark said lowly, staring at Dumbledore, not blinking or breaking eye contact. Iceland had been watching the exchange in fascination, since because of his isolation from the rest of the world for the majority of his decently long life (for a nation, that is), nothing really interesting happened at his place.

Like, unless you think having the Black Plague in the very early fifteenth century (leaving him writhing in agony at night. He would take care of the other Nordics, since their outbreaks were much worse than his was, plus he already had it, so what the hell) and at the end of the fifteenth century when literally nobody else had it (the other Nordics only came in to give him food in order to avoid catching it [but they didn't know at the time it was spread by weird flies]. He could understand why, he wold put his citizens first as well) and a volcano erupting and killing a fifth of your population and making the rest of Europe hate you in 1783 counts. But Iceland prefers to digress, all the situations were painful as hell for him.

"I swear," Dumbledore responded, nodding solemnly. Denmark sighed a breath of relief before his carefree smile returned to his face. If seeing the Dane serious was uncomfortable to Iceland, it was even more disturbing to see how easily he could go from being serious as hell to not giving a single shit about anything.

"Good, because Norway would kill me if he found out I was sending Icey here to a school in Great Britain," Denmark gave a bright grin as he ruffled Iceland's hair. Iceland whacked his hand away, only for his head to become Denmark's elbow rest. He hated being short. "So I drop him off at that Grim-someting Place in a week or so?"

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place, yes." Dumbledore spared a glance out the window, seeing the red summer sun settling down for the night, casting beautiful shades of red, orange, yellow and pink that danced across the grounds of Hogwarts. "Since it seems to be getting dark outside, how would you two like to stay for the night and go home in the morning?"

"Sure!" Denmark exclaimed enthusiastically. "Whatt'ya say Icey?" Iceland's eye twitched. Don't get him wrong, he loved Denmark, he was kind of his main parental/brotherly figure throughout most of his life, but sometimes, Denmark was just an idiot. Plus he didn't have lines separating the bike lane from the sidewalk, which was stupid and dangerous, no matter how many times Denmark tried to convince him it was normal. It was not normal.

"My name is Iceland, not Icey. And you already accepted before you asked my opinion," Iceland snapped, whacking Denmark's arm off of his head, glaring at said nation, who just gave him a shit-eating grin. Yeah. He loves Denmark, but Iceland just can't help but hate him sometimes (but the hate isn't really genuine). He returned his gaze to Dumbledore, "If we are going to stay the night, would you mind if we could also attend the final task of your Triwizard Tournament tomorrow?" Denmark instantly jumped on the idea.

"PLEASE LET US STAY! IKEA IS HAVING A SALE TOMORROW AND IF SWEDEN CAN'T FIND US HE CAN'T MAKE US GO WIH HIM!" Dumbledore chuckled at the Dane's desperation. Iceland internally cursed Denmark for causing a scene (even if no one was around to see or hear the ruckus [except for the weird moving portraits on the wall]), and thanked him for giving them an actual excuse to watch the Triwizard Tournament (besides saying 'because it sounds cool').

"Of course. If you would like to accompany me to dinner?"

Maybe it might have been a better idea to go shopping at IKEA with Sweden.

Iceland watched in horror as one of the Hogwarts champions (Parry Farter or something) came back with the other Hogwarts champion. This would all be fine and dandy if said other champion wasn't dead. Normally Iceland didn't really give a shit about seeing dead bodies (his country had the black plague twice and multiple volcanic eruptions that decimated his population, how could he not be used to dead bodies?), but there was something about seeing a fourteen year old kid screaming and crying over the dead body of someone who had apparently just been killed by some evil British overlord who had killed the first kid's parents ('You don't say' Iceland thought to himself cynically). That was some serious mind shit people.

And now the second kid's (Cedric something or another) father had come rushing onto the field to see his dead son. Definately different from the bodies Iceland had seen in his time. Generally whenever he saw a dead body in the past, either the parents were already dead or it was a time where people were generally expected to die pretty quickly anyways (Black Plague and volcanoes. Litlu tíkur.). Sometimes the parents or friends just weren't around. This... This was just heartbreaking. His heart clenched as the parents of the Cedric kid shook the body, searching for any sign that Cedric was still alive, even though their efforts were clearly futile and in vain. Denmark let out a puff of air before standing up and resting his hand on Iceland's head.

"I think it's about time that we take our leave, Emil," he said, avoiding looking at the scene in front of them. Iceland half-heartedly pushed Denmark's hand off of his head and nodded mutely, following closely behind the Dane as they left. Iceland spared a glance back at the sobbing family. His heart lurched again. no matter how many times he looked at that scene, he would always be at the verge of starting to cry hysterically himself. But he was a Nation, showing weakness around those you didn't trust was not an option. A single thought ran through his head as he turned back and ran to catch up with Denmark.

You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.

"You ready Icey?" Denmark asked, picking up Iceland's only suitcase like it was nothing (disadvantages of not having an army 101).

"Iceland. Not Icey. And yes, I'm ready," Iceland replied tiredly. It wasn't that he had to get up early for a time zone difference o anything (Reykjavík and London were in the same time zone), he had just been tossing and turning all night with the realization that he would be living off of British food for the next year (with small two or three week breaks in between). It was truly a nightmare to behold.

"Then allons-y!" Denmark exclaimed. Iceland wasn't sure when Denmark had started watching Doctor Who (since he was fairly sure that Denmark had never really enjoyed anything that England made). Denmark held out his hand for Iceland to take, which he did with an exasperated expression on is face. It was quickly switched out for a shocked (and slightly pained) one as Denmark grabbed his hand tight and turned on his feet, resulting a loud Crack!

Iceland felt as if he was being forced and stretched through a long metal tube lined with needles and knives, and that his stomach was lying on the floor back in Reykjavík (which he would find out, much to his disgust, that that could have actually happened). The world seemed to warp around him, blurring field of view into an indistinguishable canvas of shapes and colors (probably painted with water color though, that stuff will always mingle when you paint with it) When his feet returned to the ground (stomach still missing, unfortunately), he collapsed to his knees and took heavy gulps of air, ignoring the large, creepy, dark house around him.

"Þakka þér herra að láta mig lifandi, ó þakka Guði!" He kissed the floor in appreciation. He had perfectly fine sea legs (his diet does contain a shitload of fish, and he has to get the fish from somewhere), but that excruciating experience he just went through was almost enough for him to swear off ever leaving the ground again. Key word is almost there, he ain't giving up seafood! (plus he has to get to world meetings somehow) "Guð minn almáttugur, ég trúi varla að ég sé enn á lífi!" Iceland looked around at the old house, and glared at Denmark. "Hvað í alvöru fjáranum Danmörk? Þú hefði getað drepið mig!" Denmark just laughed heartily at him as a girl with bushy brown hair and a tall boy with bright red hair came rushing (more like stomping though, their footsteps were loud) down the stairs, and a plump women who was probably the boy's mother came rushing into the front room form what seemed to be the kitchen.

"Du vil være fint Island. Det hedder Genfærd, det er enform for magisk rejse," Denmark glanced at the three who had entered the room and gave them a dazzling smile and a wave before returning his attention to Iceland, who was still gagging for breath, collapsed on the floor (he would later claim that he was just hugging the floor which... is actually a fairly reasonable excuse considering what had just happened). "Nu får op og introucere dig selv."

"Hálviti" Iceland growled under his breath as he stood up and brushed himself off. Iceland didn't know it was possible for anything to be this dusty. A thick layer of said substance clung to his jacket, pants and white boots (which now looked a dark shade of gray). Iceland looked at the ground to see what was quite possibly a centimeter or two of dust and cobwebs (he would tell the depth by glancing at the area he had just been laying in). Iceland's lungs decided this would be a delightful time to start hacking up all the dust he had in inhaled, a dark plume of it escaping from his mouth. 'Oh great, if there was boiling blood in there too, it would be a volcanic eruption. Yippee,' Iceland thought to himself.

"Jeg høtre, at lillebror," Denmark said in a sing-song voice as he thumped Iceland's back, which was very close to doing more harm than good (what could he say, he was kind of weak [disadvantages of not having an army 201]). The way he said it annoyed the hell out of Iceland, who kicked his shin. Denmark didn't even twitch (disadvantages of not having an army 301).

"Æ, þeigiðu!" Iceland hissed before straightening his ribbon tie (also carefully dusting it off to avoid making his coughing worse) and facing the three who had been watching the scene in interest and confusion (probably confusion, I mean, two strangers they don't even know in weird clothing had 'Apparated' into their front room and were talking in Danish and in Icelandic [a language thats was like two steps away from being old norse]). "Halló, My name is Emil Steilsson and this is my older half-brother Mathias Køhler," Denmark gasped and dropped Iceland's suitcase to swoop the owner up in a hug.

"Árans!" Iceland exclaimed, only having just recovered from his lungs almost being freakishly large dust bunnies themselves (at least it wasn't a Russia hug. Now those hurt like hell).

"Emmy! You finally called me big brother!" Denmark crooned, rubbing his cheek against Iceland's. Iceland wriggled around, kicking his legs trying to get out of the Dane's bone-crushing hug. He could have sworn he heard his ribs crack (he checked them later, and they were all fine).

(Surprisingly).

"My name is Emil! Not Emmy! And I did not call you big brother, I simply stated our familial relation!" Iceland screeched trying to kick Denmark into letting him go, but to no avail (disadvantages to not having an army 401). Iceland was never sure if Denmark gave him those nicknames in affection (and was completely oblivious to how they annoy the crap out of him), or if he knew how much they annoyed him and called him 'Emmy' or 'Icey' just to annoy him.

"CLOSE ENOUGH!" Denmark cheered not letting go. Iceland struggled for a little longer before giving up. 'Think Iceland, think. He's not going to let go anytime soon if I struggle, but Denmark probably won't listen to anything I say unless I shout 'IKEA SALE' which would just cause him to turn the house into a barricade, which would be even worse.' Iceland sighed before his eyes light up like a light bulb. The three watching the scene couldn't help but be wary of what was going to happen.

"Hey Mathias," Iceland said innocently. He was surprised when Denmark responded without being suspicious of how he went from being pissed as hell to calm so quickly.

"Yes Emmy?" Iceland managed to ignore the nickname enough to give his response. This was a genius (cough cruel cough) idea, and he was not going to ruin it by reacting to some stupid nickname.

"Skinne lyse som en Island," Denmark gasped in horror, letting Iceland drop to the ground. Not only had Iceland taken his catchphrase made it his own, but he had also said it in the Dane's native language, adding insult to injury (actually, in Denmark's eyes, it was more like rubbing salt and vinegar into the gaping hole in his heart that Iceland himself had made). He hugged his knees in the corner as a cloud of gloom surrounded him.

"Skinne lyse liegsom en Danmark. Skinne lyse liegsom en Danmark. Jeg er shiney ret?" Denmark muttered to himself over and over. Iceland chuckled (but deep down he couldn't help but feel slightly bad. He knew how much that would insult the Dane) and looked back at the three humans who looked shocked at how five words could put that Dane in such a mood.

"Sorry about that. I believe a Professor Albus Dumbledore told us to be here?" Iceland said, trying to be as polite as possible. The fire haired woman seemed confused for a second before her face lit up in realization.

"Oh, yes. You must be the transfer student correct?" She asked, instantly starting to fuss over him, sweeping the dust off his clothes and out of his hair. Iceland flushed, not used to much physical contact (disadvantages of living on a volcanic island in he middle of the Atlantic close to nobody 101).

"Yes, I am," Iceland said.

"Well, Emil was it?" Iceland nodded, trying to get rid of the blush on his face (he was a little touch starved, so what? [deep down Iceland is crying]) "My name is Molly Weasley," the Mrs. Weasley said, shaking his hand, "And those two over there are Hermione Granger and my son, Ronald," she gestured to the two who waved politely in turn.

"Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ron," Iceland said, giving a small smile as looked at each person as their name came out of his mouth.

"Ronald and Hermione can show you to your room," Iceland nodded before looking at his suitcase. It was heavy (a majority of the contents were books). He looked at Denmark before sighing.

"Mathias." Denmark looked back at him sadly, still depressed. "Skíndu bjart eins og Danmörk." Denmark instantly shot up and grabbed Iceland's suitcase and leaned on the owners shoulder.

"I know, I am the shiniest, amiright?" Denmark said arrogantly. Iceland rolled his eyes before gesturing for Hermione and Ronald to lead the way.

Why did Mrs. Weasley think it was a good idea to invite Denmark to stay for dinner? Okay, okay. She probably didn't know Denmark could be ridiculously obnoxious. Probably. Maybe. Was it just out of politeness? Yes, that had to be it! While there were quiet conversations around the table (Iceland and Denmark had been introduced to everybody else earlier), Denmark was repeatedly poking Iceland's cheek chanting 'Skinne lyse liegsom en Danmark,' over and over again. Iceland desperately looked around the table for some kind of salvation from Denmark's torture. He caught George's (or was it Fred?) eye and mouthed 'Help me.' He quirked an eyebrow and hid a smile as he noticed the situation Iceland was in, but gave a subtle nod anyways.

"So Emil, Mathias, where are you two from?" the twins simultaneously asked, Iceland letting out a mental sigh of relief (and a small shudder at how creepily in sync those two were) as Denmark stopped poking his cheek with a 'Hm?'

"I'm from Reykjavík," Iceland answered casually, mentally thanking the twins for saving him from Denmark and praying that these people knew where Reykjavík was (literally nobody he ever talked to outside of Iceland knew that Reykjavík was, much less that it was his capital).

"I'm from Copenhagen!" Denmark proclaimed proudly, puffing out his chest. Iceland rolled his eyes. Hermione, who had started listening to the conversation, nodded.

"I know where Copenhagen is, but where exactly is Reykjavík?" she asked. It was an innocent enough question, but Iceland groaned and slammed his head on the table while Denmark cackled like a hyena. A dying hyena, mind you.

"It's the capital of Iceland," Iceland murmured, lifting his head up from the table. By some miracle, his face had avoided any food and or utensils. His forehead was a bright red, for obvious reasons. Denmark started to calm down, and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Sorry, can you repeat that louder?" he asked, the smirk obvious in his voice. Iceland whacked him over the head. Denmark knew how much it frustrated him when people didn't know his capital.

"It's the capital of Iceland!" said nation growled, barely keeping his voice at an acceptable level. "You know this, Þú helvítis hálfiti!" Denmark wore a look of mock offense.

"I though I taught you to never swear Emmy!" he exclaimed. Iceland gave him a deadpan look.

"Well, you really weren't exactly the best influence, Þú varst víkingur, manstu?" Denmark stood up excitedly as a look of nostalgia crossed his face.

"Du har ret! Og jeg var den bedste viking! SKINNE LYSE LIEGSOM EN DANMARK!" he cheered as he did a weird dance. Iceland sighed and massaged his forehead

"'Ég var besti víkingurinn' segir hann. 'Skíndu bjart eins og Danmörk' hann segir," Iceland muttered. He looked at the rest table. "I am so sorry about him."

"No, it's perfectly alright," Hermione assures him, though Iceland could tell she was slightly confused by Denmark's behavior. The twins were howling in laughter and copying Denmark's dance moves from their seats.

"He's... eccentric."

"Ah," Iceland glanced at Denmark. Time to pull out the ultimate weapon

"Mathias," the Dane turned to look at him, a confused look on his face.

"Ja?"

"Sestu niður og haldu helvítis kjafti núna, eða ég sver til guðs að ég mun segja þeim frá jólakalkúninum," Iceland threated. Denmark turned white and instantly sat in his seat with a thump and quietly continued to eat his dinner. Everybody around the table gaped at the sudden change in the Dane's behavior.

"Mate, what did you do?" Ron ("DON'T CALL ME RONALD") asked in disbelief. Iceland barely contained an evil smirk.

"Oh nothing, really, I just threatened to tell you about the time he got sent to the ER beca-" Denmark's hand slapped over his mouth, the Dane's eyes wide.

"DON'T TELL THEM! WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE TO YOU I'VE BEEN NOTHING BUT A GOOD BIG BROTHER TO YOU PLEASE LET ME KEEP MY DIGNITY!" Denmark begged, capturing Iceland in a hug (Iceland still briefly wonder if his ribs were going to break).

"You call running me over with your bike being a good big brother?" Denmark let go and pointed at him accusingly.

"You were standing in the middle of the bike lane!"

"I thought it was the sidewalk!"

"There's a line separating the sidewalk from the bike lane!"

"Where!?"

"It's an unspoken line that you Icelandic weirdos should already know about!"

"It's not my fault your whole country is obsessed with bikes!"

"It's not my fault you don't know how to ride a bike!"

"Guð minn góður." Iceland proclaimed exaspertedly. Denmark focused his attention onto damage control.

"Nothing happened, nothing at all, that's all you need to know!" the Dane exclaimed to disbelieving looks around the table.

"As I was saying," Iceland continued, ignoring Denmark's loud 'NO DON'T DO THIS TO ME', "A couple years back he got sent to the ER because he had a turkey stuck on his head."

"GODDAMN IT EMIL I TRUSTED YOU!"

"How do you get a turkey stuck on your head?" Hermione asked in bewilderment. Iceland let out snicker, before it turned into full on laughter.

"IT WAS NOTHING I JUST HAD SOME VERY SERIOUS CHRISTMAS TURKEY PROBLEMS AND I ENDED UP IN EMERGENCY ROOM!" Iceland laughed even harder.

"LUKAS TOLD ME YOU SHOVED YOUR HEAD IN THE TURKEYS ASS!" the Weasley siblings and Sirius were greatly enjoying the show (and the story).

"NO DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF I STUFFED THE DAMN THING ENOUGH!"

"WELL I GUESS IT WASN'T ENOUGH BECAUSE YOU SHOVED YOUR HEAD UP ITS ASS!"

"ÅH MIN GUD IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! AND CAN WE MAKE IT CLEAR THAT IT WAS A DEAD, SKINNED, SEASONED TURKEY! I LIFTED IT UP OVER MY HEAD TO SEE IF IT WAS STUFFED AND IT SLIPPED AND FELL ON MY HEAD! I COULDN'T SEE AND THEN I BUMPED INTO A LOT OF THINGS AND GOT A LOT OF BRUISES AND LUKAS FOUND ME AND SENT ME TO THE ER! DO YOU PEOPLE THINK I DO THIS ON PURPOSE!?"

"Yes."

"Don't talk to me I'm not happy right now."

"And you call me a weirdo."

"You are."

"At least I didn't have doctor surgically operate on my turkey head and then saw the light as they removed it as if I was being born again."

"Shut up."

"You're so pathetic, Sve almost laughed. Plus I have your turkey dance on tape."

"NO BURN IT THAT WASN'T A DANCE I WAS DISORIENTATED!" Iceland started laughing again.

"I don't have it on me right now, nor any reason to," Denmark grabbed Iceland's coat in desperation.

"Tell me where it is and I will give you my tape of Berwald getting stuck in a poorly assembled IKEA chair."

"Behind the Brennivín in the cellar," Iceland answered quickly. Blackmail on Denmark was effective, but it was nowhere near the price of dirt on Sweden in the Nordic family. It was the holy grail of blackmail in the eye of Denmark and Iceland (he felt as if the Dane was rather stupid for giving up something so valuable in return for the location of a tape of an event everybody in the nordics knew about). Everybody at the table was staring at them. "What?"

"Blimey, mate, what the hell happens in your family?" Ron asked, wearing the same flabbergasted expression as everybody else at the table. Denmark and Iceland looked at each other, barely containing their laugher.

"Mathias is weird. He uses the most hair gel and tried to teach me how to ride a bike by running me down the sidewalk on one while yelling 'CHILD DEVELOPMENT'. He ran me into a wall. He's my half-brother," Iceland stated, ignoring Denmark's freakish mix of an indignant cry and laughter.

"Lukas is my biological older brother. He has the most common sense out of any of us but if you give him enough alcohol he starts crying over how Mathias pays more attention to his hair than him."

"None of us are related to Tino, but he's basically the mom. He's a mother hen. He's ridiculously nice unless you anger him enough or hurt somebody he cares about. Then you run for the woods. He also doesn't know how to swim and one time when he went to pool party we put in two oversized floaties even though Berwald offered to be Tino's surfboard."

"We're not related to Berwald either, but he is definitely in love with IKEA and it's furniture. He's basically the dad."

"Emil is the pain-in-the-ass teenager."

"Farðu til helvítis."

"And Peter is the kid that Tino and Berwald adopted. He freaked Tino out by describing the IKEA magazines he found underneath his and Berwald's bed." The table was silent. Well, unless you count the twins who were laughing like hyenas and Ginny, who was giggling behind her hand. Denmark leaned over to Iceland and whispered, "Preussen kalder det en Norgy."

Iceland's attempt to not burst out laughing finally failed, because if you knew the context behind the reference, it was hilarious. Only to Prussia and the Nordics (not including Peter) though, Austria and Hungary didn't find it anywhere near as amusing as they did. All in all, it was a good dinner. Maybe this year won't be so bad after all.

Bad chapter is bad. Bad writing is bad.

Litlu tíkur = Littler bitches

Þakka þér herra að láta mig lifandi, ó þakka Guði! = Thank you lord for letting me live, oh thank God!

Guð minn almáttugur, ég trúi varla að ég sé enn á lífi! = My God almighty, I can hardly believe I'm still alive!

Hvað í alvöru fjáranum Danmörk? Þú hefði getað drepið mig

Du vil være fint Island. Det hedder genfærd, det er enform for magisk rejse, = You'll be fine Iceland. It's called Apparition, it is a form of magical travel

Nu får op og introucere dig selv = Now get up and introduce yourself

Hálviti = asshole

Jeg høtre, at lillebror = I heard that, little brother

Æ, þeigiðu = Oh, shut up

Halló - Hello

Árans = Holy shit

Skinne lyse som en Island = Shine bright like an Iceland

Skinne lyse liegsom en Danmark. Skinne lyse liegsom en Danmark. Jeg er shiney ret? = Shine bright like a Denmark. Shine bright like a Denamrk. I'm shiney right?

Skíndu bjart eins og Danmörk = Shine bright like a Denmark

Þú helvítis hálfiti! = you goddamn asshole!

Þú varst víkingur, manstu? = you were a viking, remember?

Du har ret! Og jeg var den bedste viking! SKINNE LYSE LIEGSOM EN DANMARK! = You're right! I was the best viking! SHINE BRIGHT LIKE A DENMARK!

'Ég var besti víkingurinn' segir hann. 'Skíndu bjart eins og Danmörk' hann segir = 'I was the best viking,' he says. 'Shine bright like a Denmark,' he says

Ja? = Yes?

Sestu niður og haldu helvítis kjafti núna, eða ég sver til guðs að ég mun segja þeim frá jólakalkúninum = Sit down and shut the fuck up right now, or I swear to god I will tell them about the Christmas turkey

Guð minn góður = Oh my god

ÅH MIN GUD = OH MY GOD

Farðu til helvítis = Go to hell

Kudos to you if caught the many aphtextsfromnordics references.