A/N: So…it's been quite a while, hasn't it? I haven't posted any actual content for months. I fear I've been infected with the Writer's Block virus for the last couple of months. So…I was reading HRE-related fics (mainly concerning the Theory) recently and wrote this. Please enjoy, and fave and follow, should you wish to.
WARNING: Blood, war, angst and perhaps death? Also, Harry Potter-universe elements (magic).
6 August 1806
He stared down at the prepubescent boy before him, lying on the ground, bleeding from several deep (possibly even fatal!) wounds, turning his head to cough up blood every other minute. He had been under orders to kill the preteen in front of him.
This child.
The Holy Roman Empire.
Stifling a sigh, he drew his sword. The radiant, argent blade, ancient, yet still sharp like his foe's – England's – tongue, hovered over the 'child' Nation's heart. He had a soft spot for youngsters, child Nations included, but War was a cruel and merciless mistress, and orders were orders…
The fading self-proclaimed 'Empire' turned, once again, blood violently trickling down his jaw, , and dull, glassy blue orbs pierced his own – of a darker shade of blue, though unseeing of the environment around him.
"I-I must not …" Cough! "…fail now, I have promised…" Cough!
"I must return…" Cough! "…to…" Cough! Cough! "…my Italia…she is waiting for m –"
The ramblings of a half-dead – wait…
Italy.
Italy Veneziano, the dying 'Empire's' beloved. All of a sudden, a wave of revulsion overcame him. What was he thinking? He was a Nation of l'amour! And little Italy was just a child…he wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak. He too had lost one so close to his heart centuries ago, so he of all Nations should know of the pain that was to befall on his 'little brother'. Vivid red-orange flames danced in front of his eyes, a memory long passed roughly tugging at his heart, to…
…No. He could not do this. As one who has promoted l'amour so avidly, he just…couldn't. A thud next to him sounded out his sword falling to the ground, in the small puddle of blood the preteen Nation had coughed up beside him.
"Don't worry," he heard himself saying. "You'll be back with your Italia soon." After an afterthought, he hastily added, "I-I hope, at least."
A few murmured spells later, the 'child's' wounds had been either sealed or wrapped in conjured bandages. It was the most that he could do, for after all, he was still the 'child's' foe.
Last but not least, he drew his yew-wood wand once more. "I'm very sorry about this, but…"
Yew, for death, yet also fierce protection.
"Obliviate."
"Your Majesty, the Holy Roman Empire is…no more."
Carefully chosen wordings.
"I am glad to hear that, France. You have done us proud."
Little did Napoleon know, his target lived on…in a 'young' German amnesiac…and the heart of a devoted Italian…
He must be rolling in his grave now.
Date of Writing: 3 March 2019
Date of Editing: 4, 9 March 2019
Date of Typing: 9 March 2019