Quirinus Quirrell fell to his knees in agony.
"P-please," he gasped. "N-no more! I d-don't understand w-what y-you w-want with m-me!
The tall man in front of him simply shrugged and smiled. "I think you know, Mister Quirrell. You have something I want, and you and your... master can help me get it, da?"
Quirrell knew then that this man, who seemed to be a Muggle (most wizards would have resorted to the Cruciartus Curse instead of simply beating him with a lead pipe), was completely serious. And he also knew that he was powerful.
Quirrell, not to mention his master, respected power. The British wizard instantly dropped the stutter in his voice and assumed a more authoritative tone.
"Well, Mister, uh..."
"Ivan."
"Mister Ivan. You can't expect me to cooperate after the beating you gave me. Might I ask, what interest does a Muggle have in our affairs?"
Ivan, more often known as Russia, stepped into the light. He let out a low sound from his throat that sounded like "Kolkolkolkolkol..."
Quirrel shrank back a bit, terrified by the sound. Ivan kept on smiling, his amethyst eyes boring into Quirrel's own.
"I think it is not the best idea to antagonize your host, da?" he asked. His childlike voice now had a much more sinister edge to it. "Know this, Mister Quirrel. While you are here in Russia, you have no way out. You can either cooperate, or I will end you. Very painfully."
As if to prove his point, he lifted the bloodstained pipe he was holding and swung it straight into the wall. The concrete shattered, spewing dust all over Quirrell.
Quirrell put up his hands in surrender. "All right, what do you want?"
Russia lowered the pipe. "I wish to speak to your master."
Quirrell frowned. "I'm afraid that I can't-"
In an instant, Russia lifted the wizard off the floor by his shirtfront, holding him aloft. "I said, I want to speak with your master."
Quirrel tried desperately to explain, but a hissing, snakelike voice interrupted him.
"It issss fine, Quirrell..."
"Master! You're not-"
"Sssssshow him, Quirrell. Do not disssssobey me."
Quirrel nodded. "If you'd let me down...?"
Russia dropped him like a sack of bricks. "Oof!" Quirrel glared in irritation. Russia simply smiled and waved his hand in a "go on" gesture.
Quirrel gave him one more glare of annoyance before unwrapping his turban.
;;;;;;;;;;;;
After the fall of the Wall, Germany and Italy focused on raising Alfonse/Harry to be an intelligent, good person.
By the age of eleven, he had inherited his adoptive father's carefree attitude, great social skills, and love of pasta, and his adoptive mother's intelligence, orderly nature, and bravery. (This was put to the test during one of Germany's terrifying bedtime stories about the boy whose mother cut his thumbs off.)
And, true to England's word, strange things had happening in the Vargas-Beilschmidt household. When Italy bought the wrong kind of cake on his son's third birthday, Alfonse somehow made it explode all over the living room. When Germany had tried to cut his hair for a class picture when he was five and made a mistake, the ugly bald patch she made on his head somehow grew back overnight. And that's not even counting the whole beer debacle when he was eight...
The point being, Germany and Italy were beginning to believe England's cryptic remarks from eight years ago. And now that his tenth birthday was here, England's deadline was just around the corner. But Germany and Italy were worrying about other things.
"Why did we adopt a human baby, Luise?" Italy whispered sadly.
"I... guess it seemed like a good idea at the time." Germany watched her son play with Seychelles, Sealand, a newly liberated Latvia, and Liechtenstein (Switzerland was watching the two boys like a hawk in case they tried anything with his sister).
"Humans... get injured... so easily. And they live such short lives," Germany said. "And losing Alfonse..." She trailed off, but Italy knew what she was talking about.
He hugged her and said, "We'll find a way to make it work. For now though, let's enjoy Alfonse's party."
But Germany still worried. As she watched Feliciano corral Alfonse and co. for cake, she went back into her office to think about what to do.
I think you all know what Russia's after.
I'll try to get the next one up tomorrow.
And thank you all for the reviews!