Prologue: How To Mess Up an Entire World Meeting

World Meetings were boring. That was a fact well-known and accepted by all who had ever attended them. Oh sure, Germany would try and keep order and knew it was his duty to try his hardest to make sure it all ran smoothly. Yeah, England was a workaholic who piled himself with paperwork he didn't need in order to avoid facing his other problems. But the rest of the world knew that any important issues would be taken care of by their bosses and most of the time used the gatherings as just that; a time to socialise with nations they wouldn't normally talk with, to meet their friends and generally have fun. For some countries, it was an opportunity to piss off the people they would not normally be able to piss off.

Though as these countries were France and America, they usually found a way.

Their current target was England. In America's case, he was trying to have a decent conversation and failing because of his lack of social graces. In France's...he was bored.

"Would you two just shut up and go away? I am trying to finish something."

"Hey, England, what are you actually doing? Is it that boring paperwork again?"

England sighed; America's voice was really annoying.

"Yes," he said tersely. The paperwork in question was something to do with his wizarding community. Other than Romania and possibly Norway, England was the most in-touch with the magical side of himself; most of the world knew it was there and didn't really care, but others – like America – denied its existence completely.

"What kinda paperwork?"

"Approving or disapproving job applications for Hogwarts. They need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Dude, you need to stop with that whole magic stuff. You're just deluding yourself, really."

"Actually," England said while ticking a box – really, this Quirinus Quirrell had the most ridiculous name, but he was probably the best of the lot, "You're the one who's deluding yourself. You're cutting off a very important part of yourself by ignoring your magical community. Though if you ever do accept it, I'd recommend doing away with Quodpot. Stupid game, never understood the point of it. Not a patch on Quidditch."

"What? I don't have a magical community. And what the heck is a Quodpot?"

"You do have a magical community!"

"I don't, because magic doesn't exist!"

"Does too!"

"Does not!"

England growled, throwing aside his paperwork and rumbling around in his pocket for the piece of chalk he always kept on him. England had never had his siblings' ability for wandwork, and usually relied on archaic forms of Dark Magic that even he had never properly understood.

"Fine then," he sneered, "You don't believe magic exists. I'll show you. You'll have to believe me then!"

America eyed England warily, "Dude, are you okay?"

"Okay? Of course I'm okay! I'm peachy!"

England began scribbling on the floor, drawing pentagrams etched with complex symbols. This was a spell he'd only ever used once, and even then it hadn't turned out great. This time it would work, though. He knew it. And America had it coming anyway if it didn't.

As England worked, a ball of white light began to form above the pentagram, pulsing with an eerie rhythm. America laughed it off as tricks, but unease was clearly beginning to form on his face. At this England smirked; he was going to show that up-jumped arrogant Yank once and for all.

His concentration wavered when Romania hurried over muttering, "No no no, that's not how you do it."

The other nation licked his finger and smudged the chalk lines. England yelped as the ball shuddered, wobbling rather alarmingly. Then it exploded, flying across the room like an over-excited jelly. The light enveloped everybody present – the display had attracted a rather large amount of onlookers – throwing them against walls and ceilings alike.

Romania got to his feet, groaning, "What kind of spell did you use, England?"

England shook his head, wondering why he felt so much smaller, "A..." he stopped. His voice was weirdly high-pitched, "I was trying to curse America's hair."

"Oh! I thought you were trying a de-aging spell, that's why...why is my voice so high?"

England looked down at himself, "...Fuck!"

All around the conference centre, several countries – including the ones that had snuck in – were rising to their feet, muttering angrily.

"Oh my god, West! You look adorable!" Prussia yelled, before catching a glimpse of his own body and shrieking, "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME YOU BRITISH ASSHOLE? YOU CAN'T DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS TO THE AWESOME PRUSSIA!"

England sighed wearily, before looking at the room in general.

"Shit!" he yelled, "Romania! What the fuck did you do?"

"What? I didn't do anything, you were doing the spell wrong anyway! I knew it looked like a de-aging curse."

"It wasn't meant to be one!"

The door to the room opened and two of the people that were not top of England's 'who I want to see right now' list stepped in. Norway took one look at his brother and his normally expressionless face twisted into anger. Hungary spotted Austria looking strangely small and whipped out her frying pan.

"England!" Norway yelled, "What did you do?"

"I didn't mean to do anything!" England tried to make himself heard over the hubbub that had broken out when everybody in the room realised that they looked about eleven, "Romania messed up the pentagram!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Honestly," Norway sighed, "A spell like that is supposed to decrease your physical age, not your mental one. Really, England, how is it even possible to mess up this badly?"

"I didn't mess up!"

"You did," Hungary told him firmly, "Isn't there some kind of magic school at your place where kids learn all this stuff?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." England began.

"Magic school?" a familiarly annoying and American voice chirped, "That sounds so cool! I mean, if magic exists then I totally want to go to school and learn all about it."

"Yeah," Prussia chipped in, "Magic school sounds almost as awesome as me! Where can we sign up?"

And that was how a good portion of the world managed to enrol themselves in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ahhh, effing plot bunnies annoying me left, right and centre. I really wanted to write this one though, starting from the first book – this isn't meant to begin as anything except a light-hearted venture to teach England magic because the whole world except Dumbledore thinks Voldy's gone for good. And Dumbledore won't recognise England because he has no idea who England is – the only person who should is Fudge. Anyway, I'll stop rambling. This is just a short prologue to get this out there, the real story should start soon and Harry will make his appearance next chapter. Reviews, follows and favourites are all very much appreciated, but enjoy the story regardless.