England was worried. And things that worried him must be dealt with. But how?

The emerald-eyed nation paced his study, unable to sit still with this dilemma at hand. He could feel it, deep in his bones that something big was about to happen within his country. At nights, he had even been having dreams about the future. Well, they were nightmares more like, since they held great tragedy. He would wake up in the middle of the night, his face wet with tears he hadn't realized he had shed.

And the worst part was that he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the warnings his dreams allotted him. And yet, he knew if he did not do something about them, he would be hurt.

The first time he had these kinds of dreams was a month before the American Revolution.

He blanched at the thought, feeling sick. He needed to keep his focus on the matter at hand; there was no use fretting about the past.

His dreams. He couldn't remember them in detail, but he knew the gist of them. Something dark was growing within him, within the magical side of him. And it was going to infect all of him, like a virus with no cure. He had an inkling he knew what was going to happen, but he sincerely hoped it was just his mind jumping to the worst conclusions. Even so, he had to do something.

He vaguely remembered one detail about the dreams. A castle. He knew this castle. He loved this castle, for it was the beacon that honed all the magic within the UK; A school that taught the youth of his country the way of the magical arts. London may be the heart of England, but Hogwarts was just as dear, precious, and vital. The magical world was perhaps his favourite, though he hadn't been in touch with the place for centuries.

But even so, if something bad was coming to the castle, he wanted to do something to protect it. But what could he do?

His first option would have been to go down there himself, perhaps take up a teaching post, watch over the school and give it the best possible protection he could; the power of a nation. But he couldn't just leave his Muggle duties. He couldn't just skip out on world meetings, even if they were rarely productive. The others would know he was missing, and ask questions, and intrude on his personal matters.

The second option was to send someone else down there to be his eyes and ears. But who could he ask? Sure, he had a few witch and wizard friends, but they didn't know he 'knew' they were witches or wizards. To them, he was just a friendly, cunning Muggle boy. He grimaced as he shot a glare at a nearby mirror. Sure, he was very young looking considering he was as old as the nation of England itself (himself, since he and the nation were one and the same), but he didn't look like a mere child. At least, he didn't believe so. Early twenties, maybe, but surely not young enough to be called a boy.

His thoughts ran away again. Back on task. He couldn't just ask a random Hogwarts student to perform the task either. Kids at that age...not all of them could handle such a huge responsibility.

England sighed, running a hand through his scruffy blond hair in thought. He was at a loss. He couldn't go himself, and he couldn't think of anyone to ask to go in his stead. Who could he trust to even go in his place anyway? Who could handle such a delicate manner without blowing their cover? And also, who on Earth could manage vanishing for half the year without anyone noticing their disappearance?

England slapped the hand that had just been ruffling his hair to his face. How could he have been so stupid? The answer had been so obvious. No one would know he was missing. All of them overlooked him. Even he overlooked him most days, forgetting that he was indeed his own country now. No one would notice his absence at the world meetings either. He could do magic too, though perhaps he was unaware of it. And to top it off, England knew he could trust the lad with such a delicate task without his worries being made a mockery.

Elated, a newfound source of hope flooding his chest, he raced around to his desk, plopping in the chair and reaching for the desk phone in one fluid motion. He even remembered the correct phone number as he dialed. After a few rings, a soft voice on the other side answered with a timid, "Hello?"

"Hello, this is England. I was wondering if I could ask a favour."

"O-oh. I'm sorry England, you must have gotten the wrong number, I'm not Amer-"

But England cut him off, a sad smile on his lips.

"No Canada, I have the right number."

AN: This story started out as a drabble, written because I hit a writer's block with an original story I've been working on. As such, I'm still not completely sure where I am going with it, so the title is prone to change. I intend to work on this story along side my other one, alternating between the two depending on the inspiration spurts.

A special thanks to my bestest friend in the whole world, Nihon, for being my editor and spell check lady. ~Maple.