Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Hetalia belong to me

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Chapter 1

A warm breeze rustled through the leaves on the summer night of June 1995, tousling the choppy blonde locks atop a certain English man's head. Tired green eyes situated beneath prominent brows, fixed upon the front door of a large London home as the owner of said eyes wearily made his way up the front path. England heaved a sigh as he fished his keys out of his pockets, actions slow and sluggish after a long day of running around London. His Government had caused a minor catastrophe which England of course had to fix himself.

Hopeless the lot of them England grumbled internally. The sun had long gone down and the island nation was eagerly anticipating slipping into bed with a good book and forgetting about the world for a few hours.

First, though, a nice cup of tea is in order England thought to himself as he unlocked the door to his home and kicked off his shoes. Making his way into the kitchen England set the kettle to boil and gathered the ingredients for tea. Humming a gentle song to himself, the nation grabbed some milk out the fridge when pain suddenly lanced through his skull.

His body spasmed at the unforeseen onslaught of pain and his fingers, unable to maintain their grip, released the hold they had on the carton of milk. The carton split open upon contact with the hard tiles and the white liquid spread across the kitchen floor.

The pain in his head was unbearable. It felt like a hot poker was being shoved into each of his eyeballs and setting every nerve in his brain on fire. England let out a pained groan as he clutched at his head, pulling at clumps of hair. Where the hell was this coming from? England had been victim to some particularly nasty headaches over his many years but all of them paled in comparison to what he was currently experiencing.

His skull throbbed in time to his heartbeat, seeming to increase in volume until the only thing he could hear was the rush of blood through his ears and all logical thoughts were eradicated – swallowed up in his agony. Eyes clenched tightly, as if attempting to fuse themselves shut, the pained nation could do nothing but focus on his breathing in a vain attempt to alleviate the awful throbbing.

He could get through this, after all he was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Island; conqueror of half the world and king of the oceans, a mere headache could never hope to defeat him! These thoughts were quickly dashed, however, as his stomach convulsed violently in tandem to the sharp increase of pain in his skull. Attempting to rush to the sink before his last meal made an appearance, England's foot slipped on the spilt milk surrounding him and he plunged to the floor, cracking his head on the tiles.

His head now pounding internally as well as externally, the nation struggled to his feet once more, only to make it two steps before the contents of his stomach emptied themselves on the floor, creating a vile concoction of vomit and milk. England felt as though his skull were about to explode, the torment building in an ever increasing crescendo of pain. His knees gave out and he sank to the floor once more.

Make it end England mentally pleaded as he writhed on the floor. Please stop this. Terrible, anguished cries made their way past his lips; the torture lancing through his skull showing no indications of alleviating. England was aware of one last surge of pain before blackness swept over his vision and he was oblivious to the world.

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England awoke the next day to find himself laying in his own vomit and a puddle of milk. The pain in his head was mostly gone but he still felt weary and his stomach writhed threateningly at the stench surrounding him. His clothes were sodden from laying in the cold milk all night, the cool liquid causing goose bumps to rise along his chilled flesh.

Teeth chattering, England slowly pushed himself onto his feet and made his way to the bathroom, leaving wet footprints in his wake as milk squelched between the toes of his drenched socks. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was something to behold. Dried, flaking vomit smeared up the side of his face and matted into his hair. His favourite green sweater vest was in a sorry state and he feared he would never get the smell of old puke out of it. Turning to his shower he put the hot tap to full and stepped under the spray, not bothering to remove his clothes. He let the water wash away all the grime and hummed contently as the hot water pattered pleasantly against his icy skin. All the residual pain fell away along with the mess on his body and clothes, disappearing down the drain to hopefully never be seen again.

Thinking of the episode that occurred last night made a cold weight settle in England's stomach. That was no normal headache. That degree of pain only occurs when something dire happens to his country. Something truly awful must have happened last night. Realising this England finished cleaning up in a hurry. After dressing in a fresh set of clothing, he ran to the telephone and immediately began dialling his bosses number. As soon as his boss picked up the phone England began barraging him with questions about the welfare of his country.

"England. England! England stop! What on earth are you blathering on about? Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred last night" the voice of prime minister John Major interrupted the nation.

"What? Are you positive?" England pressed

"Yes" came the exasperated reply, "Don't you think I'd know if some kind of catastrophe had befallen our country. Trust me, you're overreacting. I'm sure it was just a migraine"

England growled into the receiver. He knew it was not a migraine. He could only assume that whatever horrendous events had occurred on his lands had yet to be discovered.

"Just keep me updated" he snapped before slamming the phone back on the receiver.

Bloody useless government!

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Two week passed and then three and life continued as it always had for the citizens of England. The island nation had kept his eyes peeled and ears perked but there hadn't been even the faintest whispers of anything that could have triggered his episode. The intensity of the pain England felt was akin to some of his biggest disasters in history, there's no way whatever happened could have gone unnoticed for this length of time.

Unless …

Unless England had been looking in the wrong areas.

Grabbing his coat, England rushed out the door and into the London streets.

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England stood in the middle of the street, staring apprehensively at the door in front of him. The faded sign, creaking in the slight breeze, informed him that this was the pub known as The Leaky Cauldron. It had been 14 years since he had last stepped foot inside the world of his magical community and he was a bit nervous about doing so now.

His last dealings with the wizarding world had been during the first wizarding war. After that ended he had slowly started to neglect that side of his community, trusting their care to the Minister of Magic. His magical community was very small in comparison to his muggle side after all and with world meetings and political negotiations to be made he simply started to forget about his witches and wizards. Nothing to be done for it really.

Stop lying to yourself! England berated. He was loath to admit it but England was afraid. After the war had ended, the island nation had put as much distance between himself and magic as possible; hoping and praying that he could forget about it all. It was a vain hope. No amount of time or distance could make him forget the terrible sins his own citizen inflicted on his country – on himself. The war had left him terribly injured, he had thought it would be the end of him, but then his unexpected saviour came in the form of a babe no older than 12 months.

The nation thought back on the small child who had unintentionally saved them all. He hadn't heard anything about the boy in 14 years.

England snapped out of his reminiscing when he noticed the strange looks his citizens were shooting at him. He must look rather odd to them, stood staring at what they perceived as an abandoned building with a faraway look in his eyes.

Gathering his courage, England stepped into the pub. It was rather dim and dingy inside with not a lot of breathing space. Despite this, it was a very welcoming establishment that was quite popular among the wizarding world. The evidence of this being the packed interior. All manner of witches and wizards were loitering around the cramped space with a pint or two in their hands. A few of the patrons gazed at England with open curiosity as he entered but he paid them no mind. Striding past the bar, he offered a curt nod to the bartender, Tom, before ducking through back where he knew the entrance to Diagon Alley lay.

Diagon Alley was a hub of activity as always, though the atmosphere seemed more bleak than England remembered.

I'm probably just imagining things England thought to himself, though he could not ignore the whispers and wary glances shot in his direction.

Ignoring the curious stares he was receiving, the nation set out in search for a news stand. Spotting one nearby England hurried over and snatched a copy of the Daily Prophet from the counter and began reading; much to the chagrin of the young boy manning the stall.

England froze.

"Hey mister, are you going to pay for that?" the boy asked, overcoming his surprise at England's sudden appearance, "Hey mister?"

England couldn't hear him. He doubted he would have responded any differently even if he had. The young wizard snatched the paper out of his numb fingers, muttering about idiot freeloaders. Not that it mattered. England could still clearly see the words, as if they had been branded onto his retinas.

June 24th, the night of the last Triwizard tournament challenge, Harry Potter, accompanied by the dead body of Cedric Diggory, had returned to Hogwarts declaring the return of He Who Must Not Be Named.

It all made sense to him now. The 24th – the same night he had experienced pain like no other…

Voldemort was reborn.

..

..

..

He's back…

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A.N. Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of my story I hope you enjoyed it. This is my first ever fanfiction so I'm sorry if it's not very good. I don't currently have the HP books on me so everything I write is from memory so there will most likely be some errors but if you notice them please point them out to me and I will do my best to fix it.