It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon in London, England; the sun was shining, birds were twittering, and Arthur Kirkland was miserable.

As the personification and representative of Great Britain, he liked to think he knew what was going on everywhere all the time. He couldn't actually manage that without being informed, which was why even though he didn't maintain much contact with his magical government, he still had the Daily Prophet delivered every morning. So he knew exactly why he felt so down in the dumps.

The reason was the return of Voldemort—no matter how adamant the Prophet was that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were liars. There was nothing else he could think of at this time that could be causing him to feel so dreadful.

Fortunately no one had died yet—he was sure because he felt almost perfectly fine, except the headache and that one time on June 24, when he had experienced a small sharp pain in his chest. It had been the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, and Cedric Diggory was reported dead. England theorized that Voldemort was lying low, trying to weaken and discredit Dumbledore before he struck. And it was working too—just a couple days ago Dumbledore had lost his position on the Wizengamot.

He set aside the paper and sighed, rubbing his temples. The perpetual ache had settled there ever since the Dark Lord's return, due, he assumed, to the divided opinions of the magical population over whether Voldemort was back or not. The main cause of this issue was Cornelius Fudge, who was controlling the papers and was most unfortunately his Minister of Magic.

England wasn't sure if Cornelius was in denial, clinging to safety, or if he didn't believe that Voldemort was back—but either way he needed someone to change his mind. And if Dumbledore couldn't do it, maybe he would listen to his Nation.

'-'

Arthur flooed into Ministry of Magic with much aplomb and little drama, as well as the last of his floo powder. He'd changed into his robes, and few wizards spared him so much as a glance before going on their way.

This was to be expected. The existence of Nations, while not a secret, wasn't widely known, having been forgotten to the sands of time. This was nice, since everyone knowing who he was would lead to a lot of unwanted staring and paparazzi. On the other hand, he had on more than one occasion approached a government official to talk about something important only to find that they didn't have a clue who he was. Most of them would kick him out of their offices when he tried to tell them.

Shaking those thoughts away, he dusted the ash off his robes, took a deep breath, and made his way to the lifts. On the way to the Minister's office he was joined and left by several interesting and boring characters as well as a few paper airplanes. When at last he reached his floor, he was alone.

England stepped out of the lift and made his way briskly down the hall past every door to the desk outside the Minister's office, where a secretary was scratching something out with a quill. He cleared his throat.

The red-haired secretary looked up with a start and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. "Oh! My apologies, I didn't see you there. Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but the Minister will see me in any case."

The secretary frowned. "I'm afraid I can't let you in without an appointment."

"Tell him Britain's here to see him."

The secretary raised his eyebrows, oozing skepticism.

"Fine then, say Arthur Kirkland."

The young man stood up with an exasperated sigh, straightened his robes, and made his way over to the door. He knocked and opened it. "Minister, there is a man here to see you. He says his name is Arthur Kirkland."

The Minister's jovial yet nervous voice came through the crack in the door. "Then by all means, Weasley, let him in! Don't leave him standing there all day!"

The young man—Weasley, was it?—looked startled, but stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Minister Fudge will see you, Mister Kirkland," he said.

"Thank you." Arthur strode into the office and waited until the door was closed behind him to speak. "Minister."

"Britain!" Cornelius greeted him. "How good it is to see you! Do sit."

He sat, maintaining eye contact.

"Now, what is it you came here for? It's been a long time since you chose to grace the Ministry with your presence."

England took a deep breath. "It has come to my attention that the Dark Lord Voldemort has recently risen from the dead."

Cornelius' grin strained. "Well you can rest assured that that is a lie—Potter and Dumbledore are simply delusional. There is nothing to fear."

England raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Tell me, do you have evidence for your claims? Have you not heard of the death of Cedric Diggory?"

The Minister shook his head. "Cedric's death was tragic, yes, but it was an accident, and certainly not caused by a deceased dark lord. I would expect you of all people to be able to tell this sort of thing, Britain, honestly."

"Of course," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I can sense anything strange that's going on. And that's why I came here personally to inform you that Potter and Dumbledore are telling the truth. Voldemort has returned, and I know because I can feel it. You must stop feeding your lies and treachery to the Prophet and let the people know the truth. Rally your forces, Cornelius! Dark times are coming, and you're sitting here in your nice comfortable chair doing nothing about it!"

Cornelius' brow furrowed. "Britain, I can assure you that You-Know-Who is not back. I don't know what's come over you, you seem delusional—perhaps you need to go home and rest, you look tired."

He could be right—maybe he was just tired. He could just be getting sick, the odds of Voldemort returning from death were astronomical—but no, he would not fall into the mindset Fudge had adopted he would not… "Minister, see sense. I've come to you as your Nation, I know he's back—you must listen to me!"

"I must insist you go home and get some sleep!" Fudge snapped. "There is nothing wrong, You-Know-Who has not returned, I can't believe you've been deluded by Dumbledore's lies!"

Arthur jumped to his feet with a snarl. "You're a fool for not believing him, and they're hardly delusions! I think I will leave—and I hope you realize soon how wrong you are!" He stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him and ignoring the startled Weasley, and stalked down the hall. Only when he was alone in the lift did his anger begin to simmer down.

He groaned and slumped against the wall. What was he to do with such a corrupt magical leader?

'-'

England decided first to head home. As much as he wanted to resist any suggestions coming from the Minister right now, he thought it would be best to sit down somewhere and do some thinking.

So he sat in his living room with a cup of too-sweet high-caffeine tea and considered. What could he do next? He supposed Dumbledore was the best person to see, but he couldn't simply waltz up to Hogwarts and expect to be let in, even if he was capable bypassing the wards. He wasn't in possession of an owl either, and he'd used the last of his floo powder on the trip to the Ministry, so neither of those options were available for contacting the man… to Diagon Alley, then.

After downing the rest of his tea, he heaved himself to his feet, rubbing his temples in the hopes that his headache wouldn't flare up—it did—and Apparated to an alley near the Leaky Cauldron. He took a moment to regain his bearings and allow the throbbing of his head to lessen, then strode from the alley to stand in front of the pub.

It was quite hard to notice if you didn't know it was there, due to enchantments for the most part. Similar to the Fidelius charm, but not the same.

He frowned. Now that he thought of it, there was just one area in the city that he couldn't feel or locate at all. Someone was hiding… the Dark Lord?

Without a second though, he Disapparated.

'-'

CRASH!

There was a clanging of pots and pans and a shriek of startled astonishment.

Arthur found himself staring up at one of the most drab, gloomy ceilings he had ever seen, which was saying something as he had seen a lot of drab and gloomy ceilings.

God, his head hurt. His eyes screwed up against the dim light and he let out a soft moan.

There was silence for a moment, and then a great scraping of chairs and rustling of fabric, accompanied by rising voices.

And he was just lying on the floor.

He rolled over, trying to ignore the pounding of his head, and pushed himself to his hands and knees.

He was already surrounded, he could sense it, and the people around him were shouting something he couldn't quite hear over the ringing in his ears—of all the times, why did his impulsiveness have to get the better of him now?

He lurched to his feet, eyes snapping open to see the possible hostiles, but jerked back when he found a wand in his face and just avoided tripping over a frying pan. He flicked his eyes from the wand to the shouting man holding it, a grizzled fellow with an intensely focused electric blue eye staring straight at him—wait, he recognized this man…

His hearing at last chose to start working right at the moment when the man yelled, "Stupefy!" and he greeted darkness.

'-'

There was a deafening CRASH from downstairs, and Ron and Hermione jumped. They exchanged a glance, wide-eyed.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron breathed.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then shouting started.

"DON'T MOVE!"

"HOW DID HE GET IN?"

"WHY ISN'T DUMBLEDORE HERE YET?"

"IS THAT A DEATH EATER?"

"DON'T MOVE, I SAY!"

"STUPEFY!"

Anything else that might have been said was drowned out by the sound of Mrs. Black and the other portraits screaming.

Ron and Hermione stared at each other for a long moment. Without even having to say a word, they both leapt to their feet and rushed for the door, soon joined by Fred, George, and Ginny, and had made it halfway down the stairs when Mrs. Weasley rushed up to them, looking frazzled.

"Back to your rooms!" she commanded.

"But Mum—" Fred or George began—

"Back. To. Your. Rooms!" she snapped, and began herding them back the way they came. There was nothing they could do to stop her.

'-'

When England woke up, he found his headache lessened and himself tied to a chair in what may once have been a bedroom.

Not moving his head, he glanced at the door; two wizards stood in front of it, conversing in low tones he couldn't quite make out. HIs eyes flicked to the window on the right, then back to the wizards. He probably wouldn't be able to untie his ropes, reach the window, and unlock it before they noticed, and he was certain they'd taken his wand, seeing as it wasn't poking into his side like it usually was. The knife in his boot was also missing, though he doubted it would have helped since he couldn't move his arms that low.

There came a knock at the door, and the wizards ceased their conversation and opened it.

Through the doorway came Albus Dumbledore—thanks goodness, this meant he hadn't just been captured by Death Eaters, and this was someone he needed to see. Now to convince him he was on his side…

England lifted his head as the old man drew near, grimacing as his aching head and neck protested. "Professor, how good to see you."

Dumbledore stopped in front of him and gazed intently into his eyes. "I don't believe we've met… though you appear young enough to have been one of my students recently."

England smirked. "Well of course not. I rarely introduce myself to people I don't need to talk to, and it's been many years since I attended school." He sighed. "It seems, however, that you are someone to whom I do have to introduce myself. I am Arthur Kirkland, among other names you may not believe."

Dumbledore hummed. "Tell me, Arthur—how did you get in here?"

"I Apparated. Did you not hear what happened?"

"I did," Dumbledore said with and incline of his head. "But I can't help wondering how you managed to get past the wards."

England did his best to shrug in spite of the ropes. "I've always had a knack for doing that sort of thing—and not necessarily on purpose."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Interesting." He straightened up. "Whose side are you on, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur blinked at the abrupt change of topic. "Whichever side Voldemort isn't on."

The wizards by the door flinched.

Dumbledore looked interested. "I see…" He leaned closer, staring, before drawing away with a gasp. "I thought you looked familiar… Please, tell me of your more unbelievable names."

Arthur smirked. "I am called England, or Britain. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is a bit of a mouthful, you see."

The wizards by the door exchanged a confused glance, but Dumbledore had a knowing glint in his eye. "I apologize for the actions of my Order members, Mr. England." The ropes were cut with a flick of his wand. The wizards gaped. "I hope we can still become allies."

Arthur stretched arms above his head with a relieved sigh. "I wouldn't toss aside such a valuable alliance for something so petty. Tell me about your Order."

'-'

Ten minutes later found England seated at the table in the same room he'd arrived in. It was as dull and boring as he vaguely remembered from earlier, but this time he could at least see more than the ceiling. Around the table were several other witches and wizards who all seemed terribly uncomfortable with his presence—they kind of deserved it, in his opinion.

Maybe he was just bitter that they'd knocked him out and tied him to a chair.

England smugly sipped the tea that had been so graciously given to him by a guilty-looking red-haired woman. His knife and wand had been returned, though not without a couple incredulous comments about the star on top.

A moment later Dumbledore re-entered the room followed by a familiar gaunt, pale-skinned man with black hair. There was no need to announce his presence, seeing as no one was talking.

Dumbledore took his seat at the head of the table, and the pale man sat a few chairs over from England. He stared, brow furrowed, but for the life of him couldn't figure out who the man was. He was startled out of his thoughts by Dumbledore calling the meeting to order.

"Everyone, I know he arrived under rather suspicious circumstances, but rest assured that Mr. England here," he gestured to him, "is no threat to our cause."

Confused murmurs rippled through the group, and Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. "Mr. England, I believe you would have a better chance of explaining this."

England nodded. "Of course." He rose to his feet and swept everyone with his gaze. "I am, in essence, the personification of the United Kingdom. The stereotypes and history of Britain in human form. You may refer to me as England, Britain, or if you prefer, by my human name, Arthur Kirkland. I have been around for over a thousand years observing and interacting with my people and fighting in wars alongside them, and it has come to my attention that the Dark Lord Voldemort—"

Everyone flinched.

"—has just recently risen again. As this is something that heavily involves me due to my nature, I thought I ought to get involved." He sat back down again.

The voices of the Order members started up again, incredulous.

"How is that possible?"

"I don't believe it."

"I wasn't listening, what did he say?"

"Preposterous! Dumbledore, you don't really believe this?"

Dumbledore raised his hand again, and the voices died down. "You will find there is much evidence pointing to the truth of Mr. England's words. I myself did research on the subject many years ago—it was most enlightening." He left it at that, his eyes twinkling mysteriously. "Now if you would all introduce yourselves, I'm sure it would be much appreciated."

There was quiet for a moment; everyone looked at each other, wondering who would go first. Eventually a sallow-skinned man with greasy black hair started. "I am Severus Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master and head of Slytherin House."

The person next to Severus began with some hesitance. "Emmeline Vance."

They continued around the table uninterrupted with Arthur and Molly Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody among others until—

"Sirius Black."

England jolted—finally, he remembered who this man was! He stared. "Excuse me? How—why are you here?"

Black's face assumed an expression devoid of all emotion other than a small tinge of annoyance. "I was framed by Peter Pettigrew, who is a rat animagus and still alive. I'm getting tired of having to explain this."

"I… see." England nodded. "Continue."

They went on and soon finished with Sturgis Podmore, then at last the meeting officially began.

"Everyone, please begin your reports—starting with you, Severus."

Snape stood and began to drone his report. "The Dark Lord has yet to make any moves regarding the prophecy. He continues to bide his time."

"And what has he to say of the dementor attack?" Dumbledore inquired.

England's snapped to him; he'd heard nothing of a dementor attack.

"As far as I am aware," Severus continued, "he has no part in it. He seems quite curious as to who is responsible." He continued his report like this, and abruptly sat back down once he had finished.

The Order members continued in this fashion to give their reports on what they were assigned to; the guarding of a certain prophecy, the goings-on of the black market and criminal underground, the activities of the aurors and what they could find of the Minister's, recruitment, and last but not least, the status of Harry Potter.

England thought it a slight invasion of privacy to be following the boy around, but he understood the severity of the situation, perhaps more than anyone else in the room. It was a necessary precaution—though from what he'd heard so far of this dementor attack, it hadn't done much good in the end.

Wine was drunk now and then, and more and more scrolls filled the table as the meeting went on.

The meeting finished off with a discussion concerning who was guarding the prophecy. At the end of this, Dumbledore addressed the Nation in the room.

"I don't mean to be presumptuous, Mr. England," he began, "but could you spare a few nights to guard the Department of Mysteries?"

All eyes turned to him, several gazes as suspicious as they had been throughout the meeting, but England ignored them.

"I'll have to check my schedule—I'm very busy. However, I'm willing to offer my services in a related area."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Do go on."

England cleared his throat and went on. "As the embodiment of this country, I have high political standing and access to any and all government files. I can get close to the Minister quickly and with little to no suspicion, recording his movements and perhaps influencing his decisions."

Murmurs swept through the Order, eyes growing wide as England continued, though Dumbledore seemed unsurprised.

"That would be most helpful," he said, inclining his head. "If it's not too much trouble."

England waved a hand. "It's the least I can do. Helping your cause is helping myself, after all—the last wizarding war was more than a bit unpleasant, and I would like to do my part in aiding the light, or even preventing the war entirely."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hand together once. "Meeting adjourned. Meet here again Thursday at half past six. Good evening everyone."

'-'

The kitchen door swung open, and Fred and George ducked behind the stairwell; they had been attempting to glean information from the Order meeting from the second floor landing through the use of a newer invention of theirs, Extendable Ears. Due to their mother's interference, they had been late, and had come in when Mundungus was talking about the rumors circulating the black market. There hadn't been much of any note after that, and they had withdrawn once everyone started talking about the ever-mysterious guard duty, which was getting boring to hear about at this point.

After that they had waited around to see the Order members leaving, which was exactly what they were doing now. It was all the usual witches and wizards, Moody here, Professor Lupin there, Snape, unfortunately—wait, who was that blond fellow?

They exchanged a glance, having spotted him at the same time, and leaned out a bit to get a better look.

There he was, talking to Dumbledore. A new member? They hadn't heard about him through the Extendable Ears—then again, they had come in late…

The man had the most enormous eyebrows, listed a bit toward the short side, and now he was checking his watch. He said something to Dumbledore, who nodded wisely, then they shook hands and the man left.

Dumbledore looked up at them with a knowing smile, and they dashed for their room.

Hello, my fellows! Back at it again with another fic, and this one is PREWRITTEN. There are four chapters ranging from 3000 to 5000 words, and they will be posted every few days. Next update is Monday.

I actually came up with this idea a few years ago, but I didn't get very far with it. Initially this was just about England accidentally Apparating onto the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place and getting chased around by the Order until they figured out who he was. I changed it a lot once I decided to pick it up again.

Now before I go I gotta warn ya, while these chapters are in chronological order, there are a couple timeskips. The next chapter takes place right after this one, but the ones after that have gaps in between.

Seeya!

-Quiet Leaf