Hallo, folks! Long time no see! I am notorious for writing Harry Potter crossover fics that I never finish - let's hope I get something done in this story.
I've recently been absolutely obsessed with Hetalia. HetaOni to be exact, and Spain/UK to be pinpoint. I love the damn pairing.
Now, this story isn't a yaoi...or even a shounen ai, as tempted as I am. There may be hints and such that point to such a relationship, and especially hints pointing towards a past relationship of that sort, but nothing concrete.
And don't worry - though I started off with only Spain, the next chapter will quickly include England, and then soon the rest of the main Hetalia cast. I'm trying to give this Harry Potter/Hetalia thing a new twist.
The chapter titles will alternate between languages, depending on the character the chapter focuses largely on. The translation for each chapter title/obscure little historical references will be explained at the footnote of each chapter.
Happy reading!
Prologue: A enemigo que huye, puente de plata
The clearing swarmed with dark cloaked figures.
Lucius Malfoy eyed them all with distaste. Idiots, the lot of them. Some bickered in hushed voices, some cast fearful glances towards the middle of the clearing, and some stood rigidly still – unsure what to make of the situation. He wryly wondered what a joke this could make, were anyone not too afraid to mention it. Here they were, all the Death Eaters assembled, standing around a clearing in Spain while their lord – the Dark Lord Voldemort – leaned down and seemed to converse with the ground.
He wondered at the situation as well. But he was much too intelligent to behave as others did. Instead, he held his head high and tried to catch the words being spoken from pale lips moving barely an inch from the soil.
"...of course...suitable reward...ally...Harry Potter...Hogwarts...Slytherin...one of...Malfoy boy..."
Lucius swallowed. His son was involved – this couldn't bode well for him.
Then Voldemort's lips curled into a smile, and Lucius felt his chest constrict. He watched carefully, eyes weary as his lord (only in name, nowadays) straightened and smoothed out his robes – expression satisfied, as if something had gone well for him.
Perhaps something had gone well for him.
"...he may be striking a deal with the forest's nymphs...I hear they're a nasty bunch, they may be an asset..."
"...idiot, nymphs would..."
The elder Malfoy could hear all sorts of conversation going on behind him. Once again, he wondered if Voldemort heard. The man (was Voldemort a man, even?) didn't show any signs of it, simply standing stock still, as if waiting. His mouth was set into a thin curve upwards, shoulders relaxed and eyes looking to the outskirts of the clearing.
Lucius, too, looked.
And he blinked, confused.
A man was striding into the clearing – not just any man, but what looked like a muggle. Short brown hair, fair skin, casual clothes in colours of the earth – red, brown, white. He was not particularly tall, did not project any kind of aura.
The clearing hushed, all the Death Eaters giving the approaching man rapt attention. A few raised their wands, ready to attack if need be.
Yet Voldemort showed no sign of giving the attack signal, and the Death Eaters became confused.
The brown haired man came to a smooth stop in front of Voldemort, smiling pleasantly with hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were cheery and bright, not at all sinister or threatening.
His eyes.
Lucius froze, squinting at the man's eyes.
They were green.
Not just any kind of green – Lucius would recognize that shade of green anywhere.
Potter green.
But this was no Potter, no Harry and no Lily.
Then who?
Voldemort spoke the next words – loud, clear, and projected for all to hear.
"You will give us your help?"
The other man shrugged casually, as if he were not faced with a question that could mean life or death, depending on his answer. His response was in clear, crisp English. "My help, I will give, should you need it." His smile grew wider. "...you always were my favourite. Let's see how far you get with your little escapade, hm?"
Voldemort held out his hand. Lucius waited for the other man to kiss it, to bow over it. But the man did neither, opting to simply take the hand and shake it firmly. A collective gasp went up.
There seemed to be an agonizing second of waiting.
Then Voldemort shook back – warmly, almost. And the other man laughed.
"Welcome home, Tom."
Author's Note:
A enemigo que huye, puente de plata: To the enemy that flees, a silver bridge. (Basically means, if you want someone out of your life, help them get out of your life.)
I do hope that you understood this chapter - it was fairly effortless and quiet, but I swear that things will pick up. Till then, ciao ciao!