Full summary: In a dark, post-apocalyptic world where the Boy-Who-Lived has become the Boy-Who-Died and the Dark Lord Voldemort has taken over, three people sit in a deserted pub discussing the situation. Their opinions of what happened and who is at fault are varied yet they come to a decision; to go back in time and make sure this doesn't happen.
Year one, post-HetaOni, and Magic Trio centric. Includes Dumbles-bashing and evil!Dumbledore. A darker take on the Harry Potter series.
Parings: Since this is Magic Trio centric expect a lot of FrUK, RoBul and DenNor (especially the last since it's my OTP) but there will be other more minor pairings happening sort off "off-screen" unless it's important to the plot. These other pairings include but are not limited to Spamano, RusAme, HongIce, SuFin, AusHun, GerIta, and PruCan.
Rating: Currently T but if anyone is acting stupid I may bump it up to M. Remember this is a dark story and I will not change it just because someone is too stupid to head my warnings. Any flames will be ignored or mocked. Don't like, don't read; simple as that.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia but the story is mine.
Dark. He didn't like the way his wizarding community had become, constantly slinking through the shadows as if afraid to walk in the light with hurried steps and downcast eyes. Silent. There were no children crying or salesmen calling out prices in an attempt to draw customers and even the wind seemed to cease to blow. Still. Cold. Dead. He shook the thoughts from his mind while pushing open the creaking door of the pub that served as a gateway between worlds. Or at least it had been before anyone non-magical had been killed off like diseased livestock. The inside was empty except for his two friends, who he had called here himself, sitting at a back table and chatting in hushed voices. There were no cheerful hellos as he took the third seat, just hollow eyes staring back at him. Of course, what did he expect? Harry Potter, this world's last hope, had fallen and the black taint of Voldemort had already slipped into other countries.
"I don't like this," England started without preamble, his voice as hushed as theirs had been and his bushy eyebrows drawn into a tense line, "I don't like this at all. Where the hell did we go wrong?" Everything had seemed to be working perfectly only to fall apart at the last moment and he could've kicked himself for being drawn into a false sense of security.
"You put too much trust on Dumbledore," Romania spat bitterly from the seat to his left though whether the words were the other's true opinion or just the mug of Firewhisky clenched in his hand talking was to be debated. England didn't blame his friend for turning to alcohol; at a time like this, everyone seemed to need a good drink, "We should've realized by the Tri-Wizard tournament that things were not safe there. The boy shouldn't have been left at Hogwarts with that incompetent old man!" Norway, who sat on England's other side, shot the most likely drunk Romanian a glare since his voice had risen with the growing anger.
"Dumbledore is not the problem," The Norwegian replied in a smooth tone like velvet; a man of few words and even fewer emotions, he preferred to get right to the heart of matters rather than go beating around the bush. It was simply too much effort wasted. "You're too focused on old grudges that you refuse to let go." He eyed the alcohol warily, he never seemed to take very well to the substance and after the last time had left him both horridly drunk and incessantly lewd he tended to stay away from all varieties.
"Dumbledore failed to protect him-!" A drunken flush had spread across the irate Romanian's cheeks in a matter of seconds. Just how much had he drank so far to progressing through the stages of intoxication so quickly? . . . Or maybe that wasn't Firewhisky at all. England shook his head, this wasn't the time to be debating such things.
"Dumbledore is dead," Came the blunt reply from Norway as England brought his attention back to the conversation, "How could he protect Potter when he's dead?"
"Why are you on Iggy's side? Both of you singing that bastard's reeking praises, he was a manipulator and a liar. I fail to see anything to like about him!" The other retorted angrily, slamming his now-empty mug down on the table. "Your beloved hero is nothing more than a fraud, as all heroes turn out to be. Why don't you go back to not caring like you usually do and stay the hell out of this, eh Norge?"
"Now you're just being childish. Why do you even hate him anyway?" Although Norway went through the effort of rolling his eyes it was obvious the argument would dissolve into a magical duel if it continued.
"Both of you two stop it!" England snapped before either could reach for wands (not that they really needed them), "This is no time to be fighting like bloody children! Don't make me silence both of you!"
"You're no better than us," Romania spat in reply as he turned to the Englishman obvious annoyance. "I would've expected you lot to learn the error of your ways, like me, when faced with this calamity but it seems like I was mistaken. Dumbledore is a failure and it's all your fault things have gotten like this!" He stressed the words as if talking to an infant.
"Oh, so it's all my fault now, huh?!"
"Your Dark Lord, your prophecy, your Boy-Who-Lived-Only-To-Tragically-Die-Later, your fault, oh mighty United Kingdom of Great Brittan and Northern Fucking Ireland. This meeting is getting us nowhere so if you don't mind I'll be leaving." The venom dripping from Romania's words was practically visible as he unsteadily rose from his seat.
"Vladimir Popescul sit your ass down before I nail it down!" Iggy snapped forcing the other back into his seat not that he really needed to considering Vlad would've just fallen right back down anyway, "Whether or not Dumbledore is a failure is of no concern, what is is figuring out what we can do about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Don't say it's all my fault, even if it is.
"Nothing can be done-!"
"-Yes there bloody can!" For a moment the two were locked in a deadly staring contest.
"Oh really? Then please do tell," Vlad retorted in a condescending tone.
"The three of us will go back in time to make sure this mess never happens," Iggy hissed back with exaggerated patience.
"Are you sure?" Was the reply of the ever-calm Norwegian who seemed not at all concerned by the argument going on in front of him, "That will take a lot of magic."
"Which is why we're going to bloody do it together."
"You just want to save your dear, manipulative bastard of a headmaster," The Romanian continued to sneer only to end up being completely ignored.
"How far back do you plan to go?" Norge questioned.
"Yes, please do tell us how long we have to deal with you," Vlad added dryly but was again ignored.
"We'll go back to the first year and enroll alongside Harry and protect him ourselves if need be."
"What so you're going to drag us to the bloody school with you?!" Vlad continued to make his opinion known even if it was consistently ignored, "No bloody way am I going anywhere near that man!"
"Yes that's what the word 'together' implies," Iggy responded in the same dry tone the drunken Romanian had used, "And you have no choice, you don't want the world to turn into, well, this do you?" He waved his hand in the air as an illustration of what he meant, "This dark, post-apocalyptic feel? It's like-!"
"Like when you were in the mansion, yes, yes, we've heard it a thousand times already," Vlad answered dismissively.
"Wha—You act like you don't bloody believe me!"
"Oh I believe you; however, after the hundredth time it kind of gets old."
"Now who's arguing?" Norge cut in over top of the Englishman's retort, "Are we going to do this or are we just going to sit around fighting like Russia and America when they're forced to be in the same room together?" There was no response. "Now that I've got your attention I suggest we take care of this as quickly as possible. Get your things and we'll meet at Arthur's place in no more than an hour to cast the spell, since, after all, it was both his idea and his fault." England repressed a wince as, without waiting for a reply, the Norwegian Apparated away. The remaining duo glared at each other for a moment more but soon realized they really had no choice. Leaving behind some money for the barkeep, England stood and muttered something about getting ready before also vanishing yet Romania lingered in the empty bar staring at the table but not really seeing it. He sighed and with that one simple action all fight seemed to drain out of him.
"And so it begins again," he murmured, "I'm sorry I have to keep lying; it's not really your fault Iggy, it's mine. . . . It always is."