> My Little Hetalia: Marauders are LEPrecon
>  by SP00KY NINJA-PON3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Artemis took slow, deep breaths, trying to keep every muscle relaxed so as not to quiver as he poured the highly delicate concoction from one flask to another. His eyes, though permanently set in their effortless, slightly condescending manner, were wider and more attentive than was the norm. Such careful measures were necessary when he was engaged in this potentially disastrous practice.
"Artie?" Holly tried to gauge her voice into being as least abrasive as possible, not wanting to startle her comrade.
He paused tersely, giving her a critical look of disapproval. "No. Just… no. Try again."
The elf let out an exasperated sigh. "Artie Fowl the Second," she tried again with a saccharine sweetness.
This time, the teenage genius stopped entirely, setting down his tools to glare at her. "I will arrange a highly unfortunate and bizarre accident to affect all those you love, though yourself most gravely." He deadpanned.
Knowing Artemis's history, Holly decided it would be prudent to take this threat at face value. Better safe than sorry.
"Artemis, what exactly are you doing?" She asked as he busied himself once again with his unfathomable work.
He smirked slightly, as though he had been waiting for her to ask. "I'm manufacturing an artificial substitute to equestrian or bovine keratin."
"But you hate horses and cows," Holly pointed out, puzzled, after realizing he was talking about hooves.
"I do. And that is a tribute to how painfully bored I am. Isn't there any sort of crisis in Haven? Anything? Even some juvenile sprite running amok would satisfy at this point."
Holly shook her head bitterly. "Not even that. We've done our job too well, I'm afraid."
It was at that moment that Butler burst into the room, breathing hard, with a look of unparalleled fury on his face. "Artemis! You are supposed to be going through your exercises in the hangar!" He bellowed.
Artemis flinched as violently as if a bomb had detonated. Incidentally, one may as well have, for he was so startled his hand jerked the contents of his flask into a large flagon of questionable content. There was a sound roughly reminiscent of a cage of mice dying in childbirth, and a thick blue smoke engulfed the room.
--------------
England smiled uncharacteristically as he placed his scones into the oven to bake and removed his lovingly-embroidered 'Kiss the Cook' apron to greet his guests. 
"Ciao, England!" Italy exclaimed brightly, skipping over to hug the ample-eyebrowed nation. "Ah, hullo, Italy." He replied, trying (and failing) to ignore the caustic look he was getting from Romano. 
"Yo, Artie!" England visibly flinched as his former colony came bounding over, hurling himself into his arms while laughing a few decibels higher than the typical tornado alarm. "Bugger off, bloody Yank!" England erupted, pushing him away and smoothing his military uniform back to its usual perfection.
"Guten tag, England." Germany said stiffly as he entered the room, exchanging a stoic handshake with the man. The pleasantly normal greeting, which England savored, was promptly interrupted by France, who swept in to take the Brit's hand and press it to his lips with a wink. "Ah, Angleterre!" He breezed. "You are looking as tense as usual; if you only allowed me to-"
"Gerroff, frog!" England exclaimed in disgust, ripping his hand away and scowling. After rubbing it frantically with the corner of his jacket to purge any lingering Frenchie-germs, he smiled up at his guests a bit dazedly and invited them into the dining room.
Immediately, the room tensed. "Er… sorry, Iggy, I just realized-" "Something's just come up, I'm afraid-" "As much as I'd love-" Every nation stammered some frantic excuse and gathered their things, backing hopefully towards the door.
"Oh, no need to be so bashful! Come right on in!" He beamed, shepherding them into the dreaded room. Their faces were twisted in anxiety. "I'll just get the scones, don't move an inch!" 
England frowned slightly as he entered the kitchen; there was a disconcerting burning smell, but he was sure the damage wasn't too bad. Even as he opened the oven door and large clouds of angry black smoke billowed out, he merely coughed, waved his arm around to clear it, and took out his masterpieces with a smile.
When he came back to the dining room, prized scones in hand, all conversation immediately ceased. Germany, Italy, and America were all looking resolutely away, but France stared unyieldingly at him.
"Angleterre, sit down." When he didn't move, France added, "We're having an intervention."
England set down the scones and slowly settled into a chair, so surprised by the frivolous nation's sobriety he forgot to disregard his every word.
"I say this in the kindest way possible, but you are an atroce cook, mon amour."
In his eternal denial, England stammered, "I… I don't speak frog. Say it in the Queen's English."
"He said your cooking is craptastic, dude." America explained simply.
England looked crestfallen. "You… you all think so?" He turned hopefully to Germany and Italy.
"Si!" Italy exclaimed, making a face. "It's bland and disgusting and always burnt and-"
Luckily, Germany interrupted his monologue by saying simply, "Yes."
For a moment, England looked simply heartbroken, like he just didn't know what to do with himself. Then the legendary British temper kicked in.
"Wankers!" He cried, leaping up. "You're all just bloody prats that wouldn't know a delicious meal if jumped out of a plane with James Bond in front of you!"
"Calm down, Igs!" America said, alarmed.
"No, I know just what to do!" He smirked wickedly. "I bet a bit of Black Magic would set you all straight!"
"NO!" The room cried collectively, familiar with his magical skills (which rivaled his cooking in their rudiment).
Their protests ignored, England whipped out his wand from some hidden pocket and cried, "Hasta la vista keysta meista, jiggery pokery liveny smokeny, mane and flank or shame in blank…"
With a noise like a starting pistol and a smell like a thousand burning scones, a vivid cerulean light flashed through the room.
--------------
Sirius sniggered uncontrollably as James swaggered nonchalantly to the potions cabinet, giving his best friend a subtle wink. After rummaging innocently around in it for a bit, he emerged with an unassuming bottle of some innocuous sky-blue powder, giving his Potions partner a thumbs-up sign. Remus merely rolled his eyes and continued measuring his bubotuber puss.
Snape was, as always, completely consumed by his work at the cauldron just behind the Marauders. At first they had been appalled by his proximity, but as the year went on, they had learned to appreciate the innumerable opportunities it presented.
Lily frowned almost imperceptibly from her seat next to Remus, already honing in on their plot. Though the prospect didn't exactly make her want to burst into guffaws, she was no longer Severus's friend and so didn't particularly care what they did to him anymore. Plus, she was getting tired of Snape's showing-off and sneers towards her newfound friends in the Marauders. She was looking forward to them teaching him a lesson.
Perhaps James was overdoing it, Sirius though briefly as his best mate whistled loudly with his hands clasped behind his back, looking around the room and making his way past Snivellus's cauldron. He quickly shook off the notion.
Suddenly, the hand holding the mysterious ingredient just slipped over the cauldron. "Oh no!" He cried exaggeratedly. "The powdered pegasi wi-"
His words were interrupted by a spectacular explosion which splattered he, Snape, Sirius, Remus and Lily with a biting substance which let off caustic chartuese mist, shrouding them from their classmates.

This story written in part by a coauthor, who does not have an account on FIMfiction but can be found on fanfiction.net where she is known as TheAwesomenessThatIsDumbledore and has published numerous delightful stories, the majority of which are about Harry Potter. Please visit her and shower her with well-deserved praise. Shameless self-pluggin over.
> Chapter Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

England groaned, eyes still closed. Every part of him hurt, including parts of him he didn't even know he had.
There was a light rustling noise, and he turned away, grumbling. "Five more minutes, Flying Mint Bunny. The meeting's not for an hour." He mumbled incomprehensibly, but the noise did not let up.
Finally, with something nigh to a vindictive roar, he whipped his eyes upon and attempted to leap up in order to face his assailant, only to tumble awkwardly back to the… ground?
Eyes blurred with sleep, he tried again to stand, only to topple over again. For some reason his spine just refused to straighten. After a few more fruitless tries, he relented and stood on all fours, alarmed by how natural it felt, and by the hard dirt beneath him which most certainly was not his comfortable bed.
As his mind cleared, he found more and more things wrong with the situation. He felt ungainly and clumsy (which, okay, wasn't that different from normal, but it was worse than usual), and seemed to be in the middle of a forest. He cast his mind back, but he was 99.9% positive he hadn't gotten drunk recently. In fact, the last thing he remembered was being blindingly furious with someone. Or maybe lots of someones.
England sat down with his back against a tree trunk and put his chin on his hoof to think. Wait… his hoof?
He leapt up again and looked down at himself. Instead of his usual lean, pale form, he saw the glossy green coat of a small horse, complete with hooves and mane. He ran one of his hooves over his face and felt what he assumed was a muzzle. It was bizarre.
Just when he was about to wonder if this was some weird dream brought on by too many scones, he heard a loud, echoing wail form nearby. It was screechingly heartbreaking, encompassing every feeling of horror and misery he had ever felt. Being the gentleman that he was, he immediately ran (trotted? Galloped?) towards the sound.
There, in equestrian form, was the frog. Instead of green, like Arthur's, his coat was cerulean, and he had a flowing blonde mane reminiscent of his human hair. He was curled into the fetal position next to a small puddle where he had presumedly seen his reflection, sobbing uncontrollably.
Just as England was about to make his presence known, he heard a loud, awkward thumping. "Have no fear, the HERO is here!" America's voice boomed, stumbling into the clearing and bumping into tree after tree before falling splayed onto the grass.
"Just a moment, damsel in distress… my glasses broke a while ago…"
"I most certainly am not a damsel, stupide fou! Anything more than the barest glance will tell you that! I am le pinnacle de idyllic masculinité! Je n'aime pas ce que l'Angleterre dit! Vous êtes ignorants, et je suis un dieu belle!"* The Frenchman exclaimed, his woes forgotten in light of this new insult. He suddenly appeared to deflate. "Or… at least I used to be… oh, malheur! For my old, magnificent body!" With that, he collapsed back into a quivering lump on the ground, heaving with sobs.
Both England and America were at a loss for how to respond to this, so they stayed in their respective corners. All was silent but for the occasional mournful moan from France, until a lot of things happened at once.
First, a herd of ponies burst into the clearing, all of a myriad of colors. Two red ones, one with a long, silky black mane and the other with a short, messy one and glasses, were guffawing hysterically; an emerald green one with a greasy, stringy black mane was bellowing insults at them; a worn-looking, scarred tan pony with a neat brown mane tried to reason with him, and a cream pony with a vivid scarlet mane and startlingly green eyes was trailing after, looking bewildered. 
Just as England was about to approach them and ask what was going on, they galloped at full speed away, pursued by two other ponies. One was an astronomical, intimidating, grey, heavily muscled stallion with what seemed to be the equine version of a buzz cut. Trotting swiftly next to him was a petite mare, with a light minty green coat and a short, spiky auburn mane. They were in rapid pursuit of the other group of ponies, shouting things like "Tell us everything you know!" and 'Why and how did you do this to us?' and "I'll blast you to smithereens without so much as a second thought!"
Just when England thought it couldn't possibly get any weirder, a lean steely blue pony trotted leisurely in, looking utterly bored and levitating a book in front of him with his horn.
"Veeeeeeeeh~" Someone veh~ed in the distance. England would know that veh anywhere. Sure enough, a pale yellow pony with a red and white mane and a green and white tail who had to be Italy skipped joyously into the clearing, followed by a sternly disapproving Germany with a dark green coat and blonde mane.
"Oh look, Germania! Are you other ponies?" Italy exclaimed happily.
"No, we're cave trolls." The minty mare replied, her voice dripping caustically with sarcasm. Italy seemed not to notice.
"You look like other ponies." He replied confusedly.
"She was being sarcastic, dummkopf!" Germany snapped, looking frustrated and confused. Italy's upper lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears.
"Don't yell at him, look how upset he is!" Replied the scarred tan pony. 
"Vell, he vas being stupid!" Germany shouted.
"Just because he's innocent doesn't mean you should pick on him!" Argued the red pony with a messy black mane, looking scandalized.
"EVERYPONY JUST SHUT UP!" Bellowed the ivory redhead. Then she paused, looking bewildered. "…everypony?" She shook her head and continued. "You're all being very immature and I really want to know what the hay is going on!" She stopped, looking confused again.
"She's right, you know." The steely blue unicorn said idly form his place at the edge of the clearing without looking up from his book. "You need to calm down before someone gets trampled."
Germany closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then sat down. The others followed his example.
"I am Lily. Lily Evans. What are all your names?" The mare who had told all of them to shut up said calmly and clearly with a bright smile, looking around at them all. 
The red one who had accused Germany of picking on Italy was first to step forward. "I'm James Potter."
"Sirius Black." Said the silky-dark-maned pony next to him grandly, bowing with a flourish and winking at the minty mare, who started in disgust.
"Remus Lupin!" Exclaimed the worn tan one hurriedly before she could kick Sirius in the face. It seemed Remus was used to having to do that.
The emerald one glowered at them all darkly from his estranged corner, before snapping, "Snape."
"I'm Captain Holly Short of LEPrecon." The minty mare stated tersely, still glaring at Sirius.
"You're a leprechaun?!" Exclaimed Italy, unable to stop himself. Holly chose not to dignify that with a response.
"I'm Butler, and can I just say that I will not stop until I find whoever did this to myself and my Principal and I will-" The mildly terrifying muscular stallion next to her grunted threateningly before Lily cried, "Save it, git!" with such a dangerous glint in her eye he was silenced.
There was a pause before the steely blue pony reading realized it was his turn. "Artemis Fowl the Second." He finally said silkily.
"I'm America, and I'm the he-" America cried, striking a pose before England cried frantically, "He means Alfred! His name is Alfred Jones." America looked confused, but England just gave him a significant look.
"My name is Arthur Kirkland." England said.
"Luwig Beilschmidt." Germany grunted, looking appraisingly at Butler, who was doing the same.
"I'm Italy!" Italy exclaimed, beaming. "And, and those are England and America and Germa-"
"HE MEANS ARTHUR AND ALFRED AND LUDWIG!" England shouted frantically over the puzzled-looking nation.
France, who had left his weeping fetal position when Lily had arrived, trotted gracefully over to her before taking her hoof and pressing it delicately to his lips. "Bonjour, mon amour. Je suis Francis Bonnefoy. And might I say you are simply rayonnante?" He winked at her and stepped back, clearly waiting for her to swoon. Instead, she scurried backwards in revulsion and James looked murderous, leaning forward to give France the most threatening glare he had ever experienced.
Still looking a bit horrified, Lily said composedly, "Now, you all seem to be in groups who know each other. Would you mind telling me what happened to all of you before you found yourselves here?"
Germany stepped forward, furious. "I'll tell you vhat happened. Arthur, that arschloch, was so angry that his cooking is atrocious he cursed us all here!"
"Oi, the spell just would've given you bad luck for the day if you bloody lot hadn't all infuriated me so much I lost my cool!" England replied heatedly.
"Can't lose what you never had, mon ami!" France taunted cruelly.
"Oh, that's rich coming from you, frog! Still letting sixteen-year-old girls fight all your battles?" England retorted.
At this, France lost control and went spiraling into an enraged French monologue. "Vous ignorants britannique, vous n'êtes pas digne même de mentionner Jeanne! Elle était une princesse au milieu des brigands! Vouse avez le corps d'un chien et le Ql d'une durée de cinq ans!"**
"Merlin, calm down! I get the picture!" Lily snapped, effectively shutting them up. "You there--the one with the book and the pretentious name--you seemed to know what's going on."
Artemis looked up unconcernedly. "Ah, yes. I was working on a very delicate experiment in my private office, and Holly was effectively irritating me. Butler, my bodyguard, then took it upon himself to inform me of my neglected responsibilities in another area, which startled me into unintentionally combining two highly reactive substances, which reacted in what I must say was the worst manner possible."
"And how are you doing the floaty thing, Einstein?" Demanded Sirius. Artemis raised an eyebrow condescendingly.
"The 'floaty thing' is the basic power of levitation possessed by all unicorns. Perhaps if you had two brain cells to come together, you would have realized that you, too, have a horn, and with minimal effort could induce controlled motion of inanimate objects."
Sirius's eyes narrowed. "I don't like that one, Prongs." He murmured to his friend.
"Say, James." Lily began, eyes glinting dangerously. "How about you tell them how you got us here?"
James blushed even redder than he already was. "Um, er…" he stammered nervously, and for the first time England noticed the round glasses perched on his nose. "Well, I was making a potion, and I, ah, tripped, and spilled an ingredient into ol' Snivelly's cauldron here, and, it um, exploded."
Lily was glaring fiercely at him. "You poured the powdered pegasi wing into Snape's cauldron because you are a petty, immature prat."
James seemed to try and run his hooves through his mane before he remembered he was a horse. "Uh, yeah. That too." Lily rolled her eyes.
"Hey, uh, guys?" America said awkwardly. "I kind of broke my glasses running into trees earlier and I can't see a thing. Could we maybe… do something about that?"
"Imbecile." England said, rolling his eyes. "But the Yank may have a point. We should try and see if there's a way out of the woods."
"Ve're just on the outskirts of the Everfree Forest." Germany said without thinking, and then looked surprised. "I… don't know how I know that."
Remus raised an eyebrow. "Well, lead the way, then." He said, gesturing Ludwig forward. After a moment, he took a few halting steps forward before gaining more confidence and trotting to the west. Shrugging, the others filed in behind him.


*I don't care what England says! You are ignorant, and I am a beautiful god! … oh, woe!

**You ignorant Briton, you aren't worthy to even mention Joan! She was a princess among thieves! You have the body of a dog and the IQ of a five year old!