1.

On My Doorstep

Arthur Kirkland wanted nothing more than to remain at home and nurse the burn on his left arm. It was finally a day of rest. There were no meetings to attend, no wars to deal with, and the wizarding world had finally risen victorious over the Death Eaters. Arthur wanted little to do with it from the start. However, every time a firework cackled in the air or an owl swooped past his window, he barely restrained a grin of content.

His kettle whistled, its piercing cry cutting his thoughts in two. He frowned and walked over to it, restoring his left arm into a sling and checking to see if the bandages remained in their place. He approached the kettle and poured himself a cup of tea, doubting if even more heat is what he needed.

The frail white blinds of his kitchen poured in light, but didn't allow his nosy neighbor to look inside. The neighbor, a Petunia Dursley, squinted outside, trying to see what sort of mistake the neighbors had made. As far as she was concerned, Arthur was a perfectly ordinary, uptight English citizen who had a job good enough to afford himself a comely house in a suburban neighborhood. Arthur preferred to keep it that way.

He set the kettle down and leaned against the counter. He picked up the fine china cup a friend had gifted him and took a delicate sip. An owl flashed by his window, hooting merrily. Voldemort was irretrievably lost to this world for the time being. Good for them, Arthur thought.

Once he dined on several dry biscuits and a slice of cheese, he proceeded to renew his bandages. He unfurled the old ones and gazed at the blisters lining his arm, like soldiers on war-torn, scorched earth. He tried not to scratch as his skin, knowing full well the pain that would follow. His doctor advised soaking his bandages in medication and this he did. While he waited, the phone began to chime. Arthur wondered who would call, and with such a desperate ring. With his good hand he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"What is it, Alfred?"

"I was wondering, I just saw the news and apparently there are a lot of owls going about your country. I'm going to make a wild guess and say that it isn't normal."

"Look, I'm doing something right now. I don't think you should waste your phone bill on this call."

"I would assume as nations we would have some sort of special privileges for phone bills." Alfred sounded bored and ornery, like a teenager.

Arthur sighed deeply, his voice muffled by static. "Yes, you do, but I decided to cut them out for some time while I… recover."

"Oh, I see." Alfred said. Arthur knew he had nodded into the phone. He heard something in the background akin to music, but stopping every few moments.

"What is that noise?"

"It's the neighbors. I'll call you back when you recover, then."

"Good-bye."

"Bye-bye."

The phone went silent. Arthur set it down gently and placed the bandages on his skin with the same amount of care. He had planned to take a week just to relax. Alfred's call wasn't completely unwelcome. In fact, Arthur liked to hear a youthful voice every once in a while. Arthur smiled to no one in particular and, once finished with the bandages, he put his hand in the sling and decided to take a walk.

He exited his home, locking the door behind him. He saw the neighbor, Vernon, pull out of the driveway and make his way to work. Arthur stepped into the street and began a walk. Petunia stuck her scrawny neck out of the door. Her eyes landed on Arthur and a glint of compassion for a normal human being sprung to life.

"Hello Mrs. Dursley." Arthur said with a calm wave.

"Hello." She said curtly. Once she had affirmed something Arthur couldn't possibly explain, she retreated back to her house, like a weasel into its den, and the door shut. Arthur turned back and continued his stroll down the sunbathed street.

On his way, he spotted a cat sitting patiently, as if it was a furry stone. Arthur slowed his walk and shot it a scrutinizing glare. It returned it.

"You know," he said, lowering his head, "I have a feeling I know you."

The cat, who he knew to be Minerva, chose not to respond. Arthur shrugged.

When he finally exited the neighborhood, he wondered how he should spend his day. He wanted to leave a human lifestyle, even for a short period of time, and so he decided, checking to see if his wallet was present, to dine at restaurants and to enjoy the city.

His adventures took him longer than he anticipated. When he stopped for dinner, after watching Much Ado About Nothing, he chose one of the noisiest diners in the city. He longed for excitement and a drink.

He entered the dimly lit area. The bells around the door signaled his arrival. Smiling politely at the waitress, he earned himself a seat by the window. His back faced another man who appeared to have had one too many to drink.

He turned in his seat and stared at Arthur, who felt a sudden discomfort. The waitress asked his order and Arthur told it, returning the man's stare evenly. After an interval, the man nodded at his arm.

"What 'appened?"

"I burned it."

"Doing what?"

"I was visiting a friend and her dress caught fire. I tried to stamp it out, you know, terrified, and it caught me." Arthur shrugged as if it was nothing.

The man nodded slowly, dragging his tongue across his dry lips. He turned his back on Arthur. The waitress returned with Arthur's order and set it down. She left, her skirts swaying to the beat of the music. Arthur tried to follow the words only to realize it was all nonsense. When you call my name, it's like a little prayer. I'm down on my knees. I wan-na take you there!

The meal vanished from Arthur's plate, along with several glasses of liquor, and the next thing he knew he was seated with the other drunken man and they were laughing about some joke. Arthur wiped the tears from his eyes and sobered up briefly.

Arthur's newfound friend seemed to do so as well. He was a handsomely average looking man with curled brown hair and watery bloodshot eyes. His hands were on the table, rolling a ring between them. It glinted in the sharp light. Along the inside a date was inscribed. The man dragged his tongue across his lips again, like an animal preparing to feast on a tasty piece of prey.

"You know, if anything, I just want a normal life for just a while… Then it can go straight to hell, I tell you. Or maybe something good can come from it for a little while and have it swept away." Arthur said to the table.

"Sounds like you're bargaining."

"I'm only trying to make it seem like a deal. I can't get a good thing for free, you know?"

"Ay, I know…" he nodded sagely.

Arthur laid his head down on the table, breathing heavily. He placed his wounded hand next to him, so he wouldn't crush it. Even intoxicated he knew better than to hurt it further.

"Wouldn't you get bored if you have too much peace?" The man countered suddenly. His eyes narrowed.

"Oh, no, heavens no." Arthur shook his head with great feeling. "I would write a novel! I've wanted to for so long… I would write and write. The misery it would cost me would be great, surely, but just a few years of rest. Now…" He nodded. "That would be pleasant."

He rubbed his eyes, already feeling the alcohol dwindling in his blood stream. The man seemed to have stopped paying attention. He was greatly enraptured with a group of young women across the diner. Arthur glanced out the window, surprised to find how deeply night had settled. He paid his bill and went to the restroom to dispose of the alcohol, at least a good sum of it, and then decided to make the walk home.

He tucked his hand deep in his pocket, making his way back to Little Whinging. If it had been his choice, he would have chosen someplace else to live. It wasn't a horrible place to live for a few years, until either war or some other disaster came, and he was content with it for the time being. The neighbors were a nuisance and the place could get extremely dull. Arthur lamented the choice, wishing he was in an apartment elsewhere.

Privet Drive came up too quickly before him.

The lights were out.

He frowned.

He blinked.

Still out.

He blinked again.

Ah, there they were. Arthur wondered if the drinks were still cultivating in his blood stream. He decided that must be so. Something still made his stop, as if a barrier had been erected before him and the lot. He caught a flash of black in the darkness, something shifted. Arthur wondered what it could be. Once more he attributed the strange sights to the alcohol and continued on his way.

Minerva was no longer there. The neighborhood was still. Arthur hesitated. A lone figure walking home was threatening, wasn't it? Then again, who would be awake at this hour to look? A child, perhaps, could be perched upon the windowsill, watching the world outside out of sleep deprivation. Arthur mused over this for a few more minutes, and then made his way to the house. A baby wailed somewhere.

He fumbled for his keys and, approaching his doorstep, heard the cry of an infant once more. He turned his eyes downwards and found a basket there. His heart thundered in his chest. Why would there be a child here? Was the child supposed to be Moses, sent to live with the pharaoh? Arthur kneeled before the basket and gently moved the cloth away from the infant's reddened face.

A child balled his fists and waved them. His eyes were screwed shut. Black hair began to bud, exposing a lightning-bolt shaped scar just along the forehead, above the brow. Arthur felt his shoulders sink. He wanted a normal lifestyle and now he had a child, the Boy Who Lived nonetheless, to take care of. A letter was attached to the child who had begun to fall asleep. He read it and tucked it in his pocket, taking the child home, calmly. Inside he set the infant on the couch, checking to see he wouldn't fall, and then he proceeded to panic.

I do not own Hetalia or Harry Potter.