Just a quick foreword – I'll try and keep it brief ^^

So this is Howl's Moving Castle, Hetalia style. I've only ever seen the Studio Ghibli film and haven't read the book so it won't be entirely the correct plot. I want to keep this accurate, without it being a direct copy and so have hopefully come to a good enough compromise.

Yes, it is FrUK – if you don't like, don't read. I'm not on either side of the apparent USUK/FrUK war so no flames please.

Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

Howl's Moving Castle (c) Dianna Wynne Jones for the original story and Studio Ghibli

If I did indeed own either of them, my favourite pairings would be totally canon, and this would not be fanfiction – it would just be fiction and I would be earning vast amounts of money (hopefully) from it.

This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction – English has never been my forte and so reviews would be greatly appreciated. It would also be brilliant to know if you want me to carry on with this. Rating may go up at some point ;D

*salutes* Hope you enjoy!

Arthur sighed as he noticed everyone beginning to pack up their things. Green eyes glancing at the clock and back down to the embroidery he was working on, he came to the conclusion that once again he would be the last one to leave the shop. Whereas the majority of his colleagues left the small shop in which they worked as soon as possible at the end of the day, there was just something he hated about leaving in the middle of a piece.

"Come on Arthur," A voice from the door called. "We're heading out now. Why don't you come and join us?" He loved his job and his colleagues were perfectly alright, but he just felt he has enough of their gossip throughout the day and would prefer to sit at home with a cup of tea than be out socialising. As another matter, he still had his embroidery to finish and he was in a dilemma of whether to stay that extra bit longer or stitch just a little bit quicker in order to get it done.

"Don't worry," he replied with a small smile. "I'll be fine finishing up here, you go on ahead"

"Only if you're sure," Arthur gave a brief nod. "Alright then, we'll see you around tomorrow." She turned to leave, just as he heard a squeal of delight from one of the other women.

"Look! It's Francis!" "Wow, Francis' castle" His colleagues ran over to the window to get a better look at the legendary man. When one of them started discussing how "dreamy" he was and the stories began to start of all the woman – and men – he had seduced (it was common knowledge that Francis had no preference between men and women when it came to his romantic endeavours), Arthur knew it was time to silently pull the door to and return to his work. He quite honestly did not care for mindless gossip about some wizard he or they had never even met.

Shortly after he had heard the shop's front door click shut and the sound of the giggling fading away, Arthur's piece of embroidery was finished and he leant back to admire his finished work. Yes, his client was going to be pleased with this. Sliding off his stool and brushing a few loose threads from his green waistcoat, he headed towards the door.

He was greeted by the sound of the planes soaring overhead, cutting through the blue sky which had just begun to cloud up. Arthur reached down to fasten the buttons of his jacket. The war was fast approaching and the constant noise was beginning to grate on him as it disrupted the tranquillity of his small-town life. Crowds were beginning to form by the roadside as a strong procession of tanks and soldiers made their way through the town centre. The hordes of people were cheering on the many soldiers that had been gathering from a number of different regions in the vain hope of protecting this land from the oncoming invasion. It would take more than a few men with their toy guns to prevent the inevitable.

A tram stopped a few metres ahead of him and he quickened his step in order to make it – he really did not want to be waiting around for the next one to arrive; they were never as reliable as they were supposed to be. He paid his fare and folded his ticket neatly into his pocket, grabbing onto a handrail, in the nick of time, as the vehicle lurched away. It was busy, as expected on a day like today, but as his destination was only a couple of stops away, he would make do.

As it pulled into his stop, he pushed through the crowded tram with a couple of mumbled "'scuse me"s and jumped down onto the pavement. Holding onto his hat, the vehicle pulled away in a flurry of dust and he pulled out his small piece of paper with the address of his brother's shop on it. He hadn't seen him in so long and it was really about time he paid him a visit. Life always seemed to run away with him, especially with long hours at the shop. Being the eldest of the two, it was his duty to keep the business running after the death of their father. It was his father's joy and he knew that he had to keep it open, in honour of him.

The main streets were too crowded for him, even in this area of town, and so he made the decision to pull into one of the backstreets. He was quite certain he would be able to find his way and probably at a much quicker rate than the slow shuffling steps he had needed to take when travelling through the busy streets.

He much preferred the quieter alleys. There was something in Arthur that revelled in the tranquillity of being alone, and these small, cobbled streets provided such solitude. The tall, red brick, buildings rose up around him acting as a shelter from the wind, and the mayhem of the surrounding streets; standing in this part, you would never believe that they were merely a couple of minutes walk away from such a hectic and crowded area. After a while of walking, he decided to re-check the instructions he had on his small piece of paper – yes, he was headed in the right direction. He straightened out the paper and placed it back into his pocket just as he walked into the man who had stopped right in the middle of Arthur's path.

"Bloody hell!" He cursed as he began to stumble. A hand grabbed onto his arm, holding him up, but it seemed too firm for a mere helpful gesture. Arthur immediately began to feel uncomfortable. "Yes, well, if you would excuse m-" he began to mumble.

"Well look what we've got here, looks like a little rabbit's lost its way." The man in a soldier's uniform in front of him sneered, tightening his grip on Arthur's arm and pulling him closer. He could distinctly detect the smell of alcohol on his breath. Something told him this was not going to end well.

Another man joined the first soldier's side. Arthur tried to pull away but the soldier had him in a death grip – he was rendered utterly incapable of even moving his arms. He was trapped and there was nothing he could do to stop the second guard running the back of a rough finger down his cheek.

"Isn't he a cutie," he leered, checking Arthur up and down. "Something tells me we're going to have fun with this one."

"Except for those eyebrows, what's going on with them?" They had really taken it too far now. He was not cute, he was not vulnerable and there was certainly nothing worth commenting on regarding his eyebrows. He really began to struggle against the soldier's grip just as the second one pushed him sharply up against the wall of the adjacent building, knocking the protest he was about to make straight from his mouth.

"Lucky he was already down these alleys, eh? A lot less work for us." His hands were roughly pulled together by the other's calloused ones, and were slammed against the wall, firmly above his head. Just as he felt a knee slip between his legs, parting them, another hand ran up the inside of his shirt which had just been untucked.

It would have been too much of a blow to Arthur's pride to begin begging these monsters for mercy; and even so, the look of the small, sandy-blonde man, pushed up against the wall, crying and begging, may have just added to the thrill these men were currently getting from having the Arthur in their vile clutches and unable to find a way to escape. He doubted very much he would be able to reach some sort of reasonable consciousness within them which could allow them to sympathise with him and let him go without harm.

The second man's hand began to move lower and started toying with the waistline of Arthur's trousers and another hand moved to cover his mouth – now he was given no choice as to whether he would protest verbally against their actions. At this point he was honestly giving up hope – he was unable to move, unable to make a sound, and there appeared to be no one in the immediate vicinity who would come to his rescue. A tear formed in his eye, which just served to annoy him even more – this just wasn't him and it was purely unacceptable to be showing such a form of weakness.

Arthur gritted his teeth and swallowed, preparing for what he knew he was unable to stop, just as the men were suddenly pulled away from him. He sunk to the ground in relief, unable to think, and not realising this would have been a great opportunity to just run, without a second glance back.

"There you are mon cher, sorry I'm late, I've been searching for you." The man apologised, his French accent showing clearly. The man held out a ringed hand to the collapsed Arthur. Blinking, he gratefully took the hand, pulling himself up to stand and brushed himself off, all the while getting a better look at his rescuer.

The man was gorgeous – there was just no other word for it. Light gold, wavy locks fell around his shoulders, glinting in the small amount of sunlight that was searching its way through the alley. Part of it was pulled back, effortlessly, into a pink bow, matching the small pink ribbons tied around his calves. He had a knee-length coat on, the colour of the sky and made of the finest silk. It was trimmed with gold and lace, and pearls hung around his neck. Jewells glinted around the darker turquoise cuffs and at his collar. More lace clung to the turquoise sash hung around his waist, contrasting with the stark white of his breeches and shirt. He had exquisite taste, bordering on flamboyant, but something about it fitted him perfectly.

The most noticeable feature about the perfect specimen of man standing in front of him was his eyes. Those eyes. Light blue gems shining with a certain mischief and yet also full of concern for the smaller man standing in front of him. They seemed genuine – there was something in them that made Arthur trust him immediately and completely. Something in them that drew Arthur towards them, not allowing him to break the gaze and look away for fear that something this beautiful would only be a dream conjured by his brain as a coping mechanism for the atrocity those men were about to perform.

His attention was brought back from the man in front of him, when he heard an angered growl from the soldier who had just been pushed out of reach of Arthur upon the arrival of the blue-eyed man.

"If you don't mind, we were kind of in the middle of something here," one of them hissed, pushing at the man, trying to start a fight. The blonde didn't even flinch. Instead raised a finger and smiled.

"Don't you two have somewhere to be?" Arthur could hear the grin in his voice. "I'm pretty sure you two were about to leave, non?" With a flick of his finger, they saluted him sharply and marched off, leaving Arthur alone with this strange man. After exhibiting powers like that, Arthur was sure this man was a wizard. There was no other explanation for the display of magic that had just been shown to him.

Not relinquishing his hold on Arthur's hand, he brought one hand up to lightly caress his face. He placed one finger underneath the Englishman's chin and gently lifted it up, bringing Arthur's face closer to his own. A light blush spread across his pale cheeks.

"Th-thank you for saving me," Arthur whispered, as the taller man brought their lips almost within an inch of touching distance. Arthur's eyes flickered shut.

"That was not a problem," he whispered back. Arthur could feel his light breath tickling his lips, "mon petit lapin."

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he pulled back and took his hand away from the Frenchman's. "What did you just call me?"

"Ah, nothing, nothing," he replied, brushing off the Englishman's words with a wave of his hand. "So, mon ami, where are we headed?"