Chapter 1

Her sight was full of darkness. She could feel the wind against her flesh, brushing against the fine almost golden hairs. The young girl could only understand that she was lost. She had no idea where she was. Her emerald eyes tried in vain to stare at the light. Suddenly, there was a scream.

Alice Kirkland was transported to the day she had almost lost her life. The two months that had passed vanished in an instant, and the girl who had grown a couple of inches over the summer felt afraid. Emyr… Alice ran, her breath suddenly gone from her throat as she remembered. Arya Emyr, fifth year of Slytherin House, had died battling a Death Eater along with Ron Weasely, another fifth year in Gryffindor. Alice had been held captive with England at that time, and had almost been strangled by a possessed Harry Potter.

When she had heard the news that two of her friends were dead, Alice almost collapsed. Emyr had been one of the first people she had met in Hogwarts, and Ron, although somewhat exasperating at times, had been a dear friend to Alice and had made her laugh. She had heard whispers that Harry had killed a Death Eater and that he had a row with Ginny, Ron's younger sister. The first year had known that the Gryffindor fifth year hadn't killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Mum had. The English nation had explained to her that a nation's identity was a secret not to be told by many humans. The less his citizens knew the better, he had said.

Alice had gone to Emyr's funeral during the first week of July. It had been a very hot day but without humidity. It was very small, with only somber witches and wizards standing by the small grave as it was dug. The blond-haired girl had seen Emyr's parents, and could see their hands intertwined and their faces gaunt. She had tried to apologize to them, again, but they had told her that she had nothing to be sorry for and that they were proud of how their eldest daughter had died. Alice had seen her friend Evangeline weeping with her knees to her chest, almost looking like a very small child as she wept beside her sister's grave. Alice knew that she should leave her friend alone, so she simply watched her friend before the Emyr family walked away. She could see England behind a tree, waiting for her, and together the nation and child had walked away.

Alice had also tried to go to Ron's funeral as well, but she had been turned away. The once plump and kind witch Harry had described Mrs. Weasely to be was now thin and bitter as she rasped that Alice had no right to be here at her son's funeral. Ginny had said the same beside her mother, her brown eyes red and her once bright hair dull and disheveled. "You killed my brother," she snapped at Alice's stunned expression. The young girl had felt dazed, and she found her mother England by the river a couple of miles from the Burrow, and he had allowed her to collapse in his arms and sob as she shook. Alice thought of Harry then, hours later as she lied in her bed watching the clouds float in the sky. She had tried to write to him, but he had not replied. Mum had stated that sometimes humans like to be alone in their grief, and the wounds often healed at their own pace depending on their bearer. Although Mum had stated the word humans as if Alice didn't belong, the emerald-eyed girl didn't feel any different from a human.

She didn't feel like a nation.

Alice continued to run, stopping at once as the light appeared in her eyes. She gasped at the sight, seeing her dead human mother with her hazel eyes boring into her own. Screams filled her ears, drowning out her thoughts and her surroundings until Alice could only see the body of her dead human mother. Suddenly, the body stood, and Alice backed away trembling as a slim and pale finger was pointed at her chest.

"It's your fault…" she hissed.

Cold sweat beaded across Alice's forehead as she breathed unevenly. The dream felt so real. She continued to hear Emyr's screams and her human mother's voice. Although it had been more than half a year since Alice had left that house to live with the nations of England and France, the blond haired emerald eyed girl thought of her human parents more than she should in her dreams. Sighing, the girl sat up from her bed and moved her legs over to the bed. She stood. I wonder if breakfast is ready… Alice wondered absentmindedly as she stretched.

With a hint of humor, she remembered her father's horrified reaction when she had been puzzled over the fact that scones were good, and she offered to make some as the taller blond haired nation stood helplessly as the shorter one laughed. It had been during the first day during her summer holiday, and Alice had heard her parent's whispers and turned away with a blush as she noted them kissing. It soon became known that despite the stereotype, Alice was very good at cooking. Scones were now a required commodity during breakfast, and the blond haired girl often found herself arguing with her father over who should cook for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Papa is cooking this morning, Alice thought with a slight smile at the thought of her father's hair tied back in a ribbon that he insisted had been given to him by "mon amour Angleterre" when they were children. Alice had laughed when she saw Mum pout and try to say that it wasn't his fault that France had long hair even back then. "Your hair tasted disgusting in whatever dish you cooked," he had muttered with a faint blush on his cheeks. Alice had remembered of how Papa had then embarrassed Mum even further when he told her about the time when England had tried to grow out his hair and ended up looking like a golden caterpillar. "I thought it had eaten him, and was about to rescue him too when I heard his adorable voice." Alice had attempted to imagine England with long hair but failed, and laughed along with her father as her mother lowered his head in self-consciousness.

"Bonjour, mon cher." The wafting scent of crepes and bread tickling her nose as Alice sat across from Mum, who was reading the Daily Prophet and sipping his tea.

"Bonjour, Papa." She noted of how France beamed and a slight smile on England's face as she said those words. After hearing Canada call the French nation "Papa," Alice had broached the question with him and asked him if it was okay if she called him by that as well. She had been surprised when she found the nation's arms tightly around her own, murmuring then-incomprehensible French to her as the other nations in the room smiled, including America. Alice remembered too of how America had tried to make her call him Uncle Al. "C'mon, Alice. I'll be your favorite uncle from now on!" The young superpower had said with a wide smile as Canada stood across from him uncomfortably. Alice could never truly see America and Canada as her uncles. Although they were older than her, America's rambunctious attitude and Canada's near-invisibility made it hard for Alice to see them as nations as wise as her parents or India and Japan.

Papa was now teaching her French, his horror almost comical as he realized that is daughter knew very little French. "No daughter of mine cannot speak the beautiful language of love!" And so since then, Alice had been taught French little by little. I wonder what vocabulary we will learn today, she thought absently when suddenly Mum pulled away from the table in shock.

The tea he had been drinking spilled, soaking the pages as the blond haired nation stared at the newspaper in shock. Papa was immediately by his side.

"Mon amour?" England was still, his emerald eyes echoing across the paper. Alice stared too, her blond hair slightly moving across her forehead as she looked across at the moving picture. She stilled. A black and white photo showed of a young man being rushed into an ambulance, his shirt torn and stained with blood as a large blond haired young man with small eyes rushed beside him. Emerald eyes. Dark hair. Glasses.

"Harry…?" Alice breathed. She hardly dared to believe in what she was seeing. She had given the small work of embroidery for a reason; to remind him he was not alone. And yet…

"Harry Potter…" Mum said as his face became chalk white. He licked his lips before an uneven breath escaped from him. "They say he tried to commit suicide."