This story is a half-sequel to Arthur Kirkland, United Kingdom, Pirate. NO, DON'T RUN AWAY ON ME, NON-ONE PIECE READERS! One event will cross over, and that will be it. And I will explain it!

I have never been to another country's airport, so forgive me for any mistakes. Well… the airport has a LOT of creative liberties. For one, the metal detectors… did they have them in airports in 1995? They were just there to make a point.

Disclaimer: I don't own either.

Chapter 1: The part where the audience gets an explanation and the characters get the short end of the stick

I was furious.

That's a good word. The best one that can pass the rating of a kid's movie.

What was I so frustrated about? Well, there are two things, technically. The cause and the effect. But it was the effect that got me royally (past tense of peeing/ very, very drunk/angry) off.

It all began, with me and West… No, wait. It began with England's angry magical curse involving pirates and… Although, it might have began with the day The Awesome Me was born, a little more than eight hundred years ago…

Yeah, yeah. We're personified nations here. Anthropomorphic personifications. That's good enough for that last one. I'm not going to go into the details.

The other two… well; I'll start with what happened with the pirates. Back at one of our World Meetings, England got mad at America (again) and tried to curse him.

It didn't work. By accident, England transported us all to an alternate dimension. To make a long story short, we came back. Unfortunately, a bunch of us were turned into kids by the time we came back. And that included the awesome me… West said that I looked around seventeen, maybe eighteen.

So there we were; me and West, back in Germany. We had just gotten back from Norway. Both of us had already settled into our house, and were halfway through our day job: training police.

And that was when all of my bottled up anger first flared.

As usual, West took the newest recruits through the drills and I hung back until he was ready for me. Heh… I already knew all of their names from the moment they stepped in. One of the perks of being East Germany. As long as I remember to ask them their names.

"Gilbert!" West barked. "Time for you to take over." He left, on his way to the bathroom.

"Ja, ja, got it," I said offhandedly. I swaggered my way to the recruits. "All right, listen up! My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, and I am here to teach you all about unarmed combat!"

I heard a snort from Wilhelm Fischer. "You? Aren't you a little young to be doing this?" he said. "What are you, in high school? Graduation isn't for another few months, kid!"

I glared at him. "Shut it, Wilhelm!" I snapped. How dare that unawesome loser call me a kid when I'm over eight hundred! It wasn't my fault that I'm in the body of a teenager now!

"Oh?" he said. He was unnerved by the fact that I knew his name, but he didn't show it. "What are you going to do to me? Kung Fu that you learned in a strip mall won't be much use in real-"

THWACK! I hit him on the back of his neck. "Rule number one; never talk back to instructor unless you have a good reason!" I said awesomely. Still, I was furious. That kind of anger I could bar for a while and keep a cool head with, but it didn't go away.

But Wilhelm was almost as angry as I was. "You-" he spat. "If you're so smart, dodge this!"

He tried to punch me, but I blocked with my left hand and punched him in the face with my right. "Rule number two; don't warn your victi- I mean opponent before attacking! Leave no openings! Oh, and by the way… I'm left handed," I turned around and said to Wilhelm, leaving him with all the implications.

Oh, mein gott, did he punch harder than me with his non-dominant hand? Wilhelm thought; along with so if he blocked with his left, then he could absorb the force with more control and if that was his right hand, what could he do with his left?

"…which leads me to rule number three. Train both of your hands equally! It doesn't matter if you're right or left handed!"

Wilhelm waited until my back was turned before he grabbed me into a Full Nelson. Using only my back muscles, I flung him forward and off of me.

But not before he gave me a solid kick in the Silesia.

Mein Gott, that hurt! The pain… the agony! I knew pain, suffering that was unimaginable to humans… Invasions, defeat, freezing cold and blazing heat, the millionfold suffering of my people, the Berlin Wall that kept me from seeing West for almost half a century… but nothing, NOTHING could compare to a solid hit to my Vital Regions. At least, that's what it felt like now…

Slowly, steadily, I rose from the asphalt. The other trainees huddled together unconsciously, preparing for the beating I was going to give Wilhelm. Wilhelm himself was not as intimidated, however. Granted, he was scared, but he stood up tall and absolutely refused to show any sign of weakness. His expression was clear, stating, 'Bring it on. I can take anything you dish out. I'm not afraid of you'.

I put my hand on his shoulder and grinned. "You've got spunk," I said, resisting the urge to call him 'kid'. "You talked back to me, looked down on me, tried to punch me… But you know what I liked?"

"Hmph," said Wilhelm. "Right now you're going to say heart, ri-"

"You fought unfairly."

It took exactly thirty-two seconds for all the recruits to take that in. "Excuse me," said Maria, an Austrian with absolutely no relation to the Hapsburgs. "But did you just say… unfairly?"

"Ja!" I said. "A Full Nelson and a kick to the… vital regions! Police work is mainly paperwork, granted, but you need to be prepared! This isn't a level playing field! It's a battlefield! You've got to-"

"Danke, bruder, but I think that that's enough." West snuck up behind me and clamped his hand over my mouth. "Listen up! We will run two laps around the city, and then you may leave."

"Ja…" everyone said dejectedly.

"Follow me, then!" West began to run. The police trainees followed.

Why not? I had to wait for West anyway, so I chased after them. The clever Wilhelm was in the back, jogging slowly to conserve his energy. "Oh, and by the way," I said as I passed him. "Remember; just because I like you, doesn't mean that you're off the hook. After this, you will have to clean the entire police station tonight. No excuses!"

Before Wilhelm could open his mouth, I laughed and dashed to the front of the line, where West was. "Bruder…" he said. "What was that all about?" he said in Hungarian.

"West, he doesn't have a reason not to," I said, not picking up on why he wasn't speaking German.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "Prussia, did you see how Wilhelm looked down on you just because you're in the body of a teenager?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Can you really put up with this?"

"Yes," I said vehemently.

West sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"If you say so…"

Little did we know about the letter that awaited us when we got home.

X (Romano POV)

I was furious. No, I wasn't. Furious is a word that describes a king in a fairy tale when his daughter runs away with the one she loves. The word that best describes how I was feeling, on the other hand, will never get past the rating. Here's a hint: it can mean either the past tense of peeing, being extremely drunk, or extremely angry. It also starts with a P.

How it happened? Okay, after that (illegitimate child) England turned us all into kids, he sent all of us home, saying some bull-(poop) that he couldn't focus with all of us here. Then again, I had to do something about my mafia, so I was more than willing to go home.

The problem was that fratello and I were both turned into kids, too. Sixteen-year olds, to be exact. I didn't think that it was that much of a problem at first. Then again, I wasn't where I was right now.

I was supposed to be meeting with representatives from the Cibatta mafia, whom I didn't have a very good relationship with ever since they kidnapped me a hundred and fifty years ago [1]. But, I had to bear with it. As usual.

Until the time to talk actually came, I was calm. At least, I was as calm as I usually was; which was crabby by most people's standards.

The Cibatta boss came in person to talk with me, with a whole bunch of bodyguards like a normal justifiably paranoid person. I was supposed to be the host, so I rented out a hotel room for the day and waited for them there.

So when the Cibatta turned up, all they saw was a teenage boy. "Where is Vargas?" the Cibatta boss, Luciano, demanded. It took me five seconds for me to figure out that he thought that I was a messenger.

"He was sick," I lied quickly.

"He promised that he would be here!" shouted Luciano.

"Really, really sick," I suggested.

"So he sent you here in his place?" Luciano snorted. "What a coward."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A COWARD, YOU (illegitimate child)?!" I shouted at him.

Luciano looked at me. "Did you just…?"

Did I just admit that I was the real deal? "Uh… I mean, Signor Vargas is a very good boss, and I don't want you to call him a coward?" I chanced.

Luciano sighed. "Let's pretend that I believe you. Now, to business."

The whole deal went on, and this time, I didn't have to walk on eggshells as usual. Since I was the messenger, then nothing I said was, in fact, my fault! But the whole debate was so annoying…

After they left, I went to the nearest bar for a drink. "I need to see your ID," said the barkeeper.

I handed him my card, which he examined closely. His face screwed up into a look of irritation. "You're twenty-two? Really?"

Damn! I never bothered to change my ID, so it still had my real age printed on it! It was legal for me to drink here, since I barely qualify for the legal drinking age (sixteen); but now that I already showed him my ID, he thinks that I'm lying about my age even though I'm actually telling the (technical) truth! Agh… on top of that, there aren't any other good bars around here…

I stormed home, and rifled through the cabinets for a bottle of… pretty much anything.

"Ve~ fratello!" screamed Veneziano. "Fratello, come here! VE! LOOK AT THIS!"

"What is it?" I asked, irritated. What does it take for a guy to get a decent drink?

"It's a letter, fratello! A letter from England!"

I grabbed the letter and read it. "Oh… that (illegitimate child)!"

X (Belarus POV)

I was furious. When my body was turned into that of a fifteen year old, I was mostly fine. I could always ask Ukraine for any vodka I wanted, and the government knew perfectly well that I didn't have to go to school. But this… this was completely unavoidable.

"Are you sure that you need a wedding dress?" the saleswoman asked me. "You're not going to get married any time soon…"

I glared at her, but didn't respond. I had long learned that telling other people that I wanted to marry my big brother made them edge away… and then run off as fast as they could. And there was really no point in getting involved with the police and getting arrested again.

At that moment, my cell phone began to buzz. I picked up the call. "Natalya?" said the person on the other end of the line.

It was Ukraine. "What is it?" I asked.

"I got a strange letter in the mail," she said. "It was addressed to you, but I got it instead. It's from England."

What now? "What does it say?"

"I haven't opened it yet," she said.

I sighed. "Just read it out loud, it'll save both of us a lot of trouble."

There was a pause on her end, and the sound of paper ripping. "England wants you to come to his house," Ukraine said.

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"He says it's important, and your very existence could depend on it. Also, you're going to have to live in England's house for a while."

I thought for a moment. Why would he ask me to come of all times?

"До побачення," Ukraine said. (Goodbye)

"Да пабачэння," I said back. (Goodbye)

X (Spain POV)

I was not furious. In fact, I was content. That is, even up until the point when England called us to his house. I still wasn't even after we talked.

I was overjoyed. I could be with Romano for an uncertain period of time!

But time to backtrack. When I came to England's house, he was waiting in the drawing room. Sealand was sitting on a stool, for some reason uncharacteristically silent. Everyone else who was turned into a kid was there, too. I sat down, Prussia on my left and Romano on my right.

"All right, then," England said. He too was turned into a child, but he was now much younger than we were. Being a teenager was one thing. I could handle that. Being turned into a five year old… I couldn't imagine that. "Down to business."

"And why did you call us here?" Belarus asked. She and Romano seemed to be the most irritated out of all of us.

"I was getting to that," England said thornily. "Remember when we got de-aged?"

"How could ve forget?" Prussia said dryly.

"You were dressed like a Teutonic Knight the whole time!" I said good-naturedly.

Prussia glared at me. "You vere not zere for ze whole time, Spain! I only vore zat because I vas vashing my ozzer clothes!"

"A-hem?" England said.

"Oh. Right."

"Thank you. Anyways, I realized that now that you have been de-aged, there are three possible outcomes if not treated," England said. "One, you will remain that age forever."

"Oh no…" Romano groaned. "Forever?"

"Hypothetically, from that point you either stay the same or age at the same rate that you would normally age at, but with a lower spring board."

"Ve? What do you mean?" Italy asked.

"It's like a linear equation," Prussia explained. "You know graphing equations? X+1=Y? Vell, if X is the age ve should be physically and Y is the age zat ve are, zen it vould be like X minus votever equals Y. 'Votever' being the difference between vot should be und vot you are right now."

"And if it's a linear equation, then the line that it draws would be the aging rate!" said Belarus.

"Exactly!" said Prussia. "Vot is ze last idea, England?"

"Those were both the first one!" said England. "Two outcomes of the first theory. And Romano; that was the second-best scenario."

"What's best, then?" I asked.

"You age normally, and end up at your normal age," said England. "Worst case scenario…"

Italy shuddered. "Ve… Don't tell me…"

"Yes," said England solemnly. "You'd age normally, but you won't stop aging until you reach your actual age."

"Ve… that is the worst…" Italy said.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"Spain, you're over two thousand years old, right?" asked England.

"Two thousand and seven hundred something," I admitted.

"Let's put it like this. You'd age at the same rate as a normal human, but instead of stopping at twenty-five, you'd stop at two thousand and seven hundred something."

Whoa… "A century isn't much by our standards, but it will be for you," said England. "Your body would deteriorate horribly by that time. All of you. All of you are centuries old, and…"

"So why call us here?" Belarus asked. "Why didn't you just tell us this in the letter?"

"Because I need you to be close by for the time being," said England. "By Norway's calculations, I should be done from any time from next week to a year."

"A year!?"

"Or two," said England. "Now, I can't let you stay in my house—and by that I mean this house, not my land—for a few reasons. One, my experiments are liable to blow up in my face and you might get hurt. Two, I can't focus with you around."

Prussia groaned. "Vot is zis going to take…?"

"Don't worry, I've already arranged for you to stay somewhere," said England. "But Sealand has to come with you."

"Wait, what?!" Sealand shouted.

"This just gets better and better," Belarus muttered.

"Cheer up, it's a big enough house for all of you," said England. "Anyway, he's going to move out in September. And just in case someone asks why all you 'underage' chaps are running about, I asked someone to live with you."

"Who?"

"You'll see."

"Where is it?" Romano asked.

"Here."

England handed us a slip of paper with an address on it.

"Number three, Privet Drive."

X (Harry POV)

I looked out my bedroom window, watching nothing in particular. Ms. Number Three had moved in yesterday, and was so busy with moving that she didn't come to tea with Aunt Petunia at all. She did, however, promise to come today.

I sighed. Nothing much to see, after all. I gazed idly as a car rounded the corner, and parked itself neatly into the driveway of Number Three. A silver-haired bloke had emerged from the driver's seat and was yelling something indistinct. Another chap, this one with a large smile that reached his eyes had gotten out of the passenger's seat and said something to reassure his friend. A girl silently exited the same way that her smiling friend did, and added a few words. With an inaudible click, two more doors on both sides of the car opened, and three other blokes were visible. I could see that two of them looked so much alike that I wouldn't have been surprised if they were twins, while the third was a kid around eleven who was obviously unrelated to either of them. In fact, none of them looked like they were related to each other at all, besides the possibly-twins.

The brother with lighter hair and closed eyes had said something, to which his gloomy brother muttered something in reply. The kid got out a keychain and unlocked the door.

Just another boring day, I thought. New neighbors? Nothing compared to what awaited me at Hogwarts.

Little did I know exactly how wrong I was.

X (Sealand POV)

Jerk-England told me about his theories of the others aging a little while before, so I wasn't exactly surprised. Me having to move out and live with them…that was another story. But Privet Drive… "Doesn't someone important live on Privet Drive?" I asked. "You kept on talking about something happening there… Didn't a chap named Beatrix Potter blow up his aunt a couple years ago?"

"It was Harry Potter, and yes," said jerk-England.

"Vait… vy does Sealand haf to leave?" asked Prussia.

Jerk-England flinched. "Oh, right," he said. "I forgot. To make a long story short… Sealand's inherent magic recently awakened."

"Ve?" said Italy, confused.

Spain sighed. "How about making that short story into one that we can actually understand?"

England thought for a moment. "Okay. Remember that incident with the pirates?"

All six of us groaned. "How can we forget…?" Belarus muttered.

"After we came back, Sealand showed the potential to use magic," said England.

"Okay…" said Romano.

"Ve~ is it because he's your brother?" asked Italy.

"Or kid, depending on how you look at it," muttered Romano.

I made a face. "Let's not get into that," I said.

"No," said England. "All nations have that potential. I'm sure that all of you can use magic if you actually tried. Since Sealand is a mirconation, I'm not quite sure how it worked out, but that's not important right now."

"Zen vot is?" asked Prussia.

"He's going to Hogwarts in September."

"Und Hogwarts is…?"

"A school for wizards," said Belarus bluntly. "You can't teach him, can you?"

Jerk-England opened his mouth to protest, but he decided against it. "Fine. I admit it. I can't teach you, Sealand."

I shrugged. "Is that supposed to be a disappointment?" I asked. "Besides, you already told me about Hogwarts a long time ago. Didn't you hack into the school computer or something?"

"Not exactly… but you're enrolled, anyhow," he replied.

"Hold on a minute," said Spain. "I thought that you were good at magic. Why can't you-"

Jerk-England bristled. "I AM good at magic," he said stiffly. "But that has nothing to do with Sealand. Magic is too instinctive for me, so I'll have a hard time teaching someone who hasn't got that instinct."

"What if I do have that instinct?" I retorted.

"If you do, then you wouldn't have to be taught."

Ah. "So I stay at Privet Drive until September?" I asked.

"Yes." Jerk-England wrote something down on a slip of paper. "Remember: September First, King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, run through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, the train leaves at exactly Eleven O'clock," he muttered as he wrote. He handed the paper to me. "Don't you dare lose that."

"What about the train ticket?" I asked.

"You don't have to worry about that, either. Someone from Hogwarts will come to your house, and he or she will give it to you… in a few days."

"So vy tell him vot to do now?" asked Prussia. "I mean, ven zat person comes, zey vill tell him vot to do, ja?"

"Nein," said England irritably. "These people don't think to tell other people stuff that they think is intuitive. Unfortunately, that extends to running through what appears to be a perfectly solid barrier and expecting a train on the other end. Or thinking that everyone knows the sport of Quiddich. Or having the idea of owls as a plausible delivery system."

Prussia shrugged. "I haf Gilbird," he said.

"It's just like pigeons, si?" said Spain. "Homing pigeons."

"Except the owls are intelligent… no, wait, owls are good at delivery," said England. "They're just not very…"

"Practical?" suggested Belarus.

"Fast?" added Spain.

"Inconspicuous, that's the word," said England.

There was a long pause, in which no one actually had any more questions.

"That's all I have to say here," said Jerk-England. "Now, I drew you a map to the house already, it's on the table. Help yourself to anything that's in the cupboard to the left of the refrigerator."

He hopped off of the stool he was sitting on and left for the stairs to the attic, leaving the rest of us stranded.

"Zat vas strange, even for England," said Prussia.

"And you haven't even gotten to the part where he summons Russia…" I groaned.

Prussia spun around. "Vait, he does zat?!" he said, startled.

"Only when he tries to summon the devil, which is only when he wants to curse someone."

"Ah."

"So… who's driving us?"

X

As it turned out, Prussia was the only one with a car big enough to fit all of us, so we all piled into it. Italy and Romano had a Ferrari, but none of us thought that it would be a good idea to show it off. Belarus and Spain had walked, and I was already living here, so neither of us had cars.

Privet Drive was pretty darn boring, I'd say. Cookie-cutter houses, shaved lawns, and not a tree in sight. "Vot kind of a place is zis?" Prussia complained after he got out of the car.

"Hey, it's better than nothing," said Spain.

"I can live with it," said Belarus.

"Ve! I wonder who England set us up with…" said Italy.

"I hope it's not Potato Jerk," said Romano.

I rummaged through my pockets for the keys. "Here we go," I said, and clicked open the lock.

Across the hallway, in the kitchen, was Hungary. She was doing dishes.

I could almost hear Prussia's silent cursing.

Hungary put down the sponge, and waited for us to come in.

"Ve~! Sorella!" Italy flung himself onto her.

"Italy!" she cried, and hugged him back.

"You're the one who's going to look after us?" said Belarus incredulously.

"Igen," she said, which I was sure meant yes.

Prussia had recovered rather quickly, and stopped cursing. "So… vot now?"

Hungary looked at our bags. "I cleaned the house already, so don't vorry about zat, but you should settle in before it's too late. Mrs. Dursley next door asked me out to tea, so you're going to have to do it all on your own. Viszontlátásra!"

She slipped past us and walked out the door, leaving us standing there. "So… vot now?" said Prussia.

"Make the beds, I guess?" I suggested. "By the way, did Hungary say 'goodbye'?"

"She did," confirmed Romano. "I thought that you could translate."

"Not as well as you can," I retorted. "Anyway, Hungarian is harder for me. You know how it's the only European language that's not Indo-European?"

"But you have an instant translator, don't you?"

"Not as good as yours. I'm never quite sure if what I hear is correct."

Prussia shrugged. "I'm going to unpack," he announced. "You should go, too."

We looked at one another. "He has a point," grumbled Belarus.

"Hey, we can always go outside later!" Spain said optimistically. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"Fun?" Romano mouthed as Spain skipped upstairs. "The word 'fun' is perfect for a situation where we were dumped here and can't go home."

"Ve~ I knew you'd cheer up eventually!"

"That was sarcasm, idiota."

X (Snape POV)

I examined the pair with impassive eyes. One tall, one medium height. One with glasses, one without. Both foreign, that was clear enough. "So you two are new teachers?" I asked. "Are you sure that you are… up to the task?"

The one with glasses glared at me. "I am sure zat I am fully capable," he said. "Ze piano is my life."

The taller one nodded vigorously. "I can vork…" he said.

I looked at the papers. "And there are two more teachers coming in?" I asked.

The taller one shrugged. "I did not know. What subject will they teach?"

"Muggle Studies, same as you. And you," I said to the one with glasses, "want to be the music teacher."

"Ja," he said.

"You are aware of the…security concerns at Hogwarts, am I correct?" I asked. Both nodded. I picked up two glass vials from my desk. "These are Truth Potions."

"So you are making sure zat ve vill not betray you?" the tall one said perceptively.

"Exactly. This potion will not knock you out and force you into a state where you automatically answer all questions asked, unlike Veritaserum, but you can only tell the truth."

The duo looked at one another. A silent exchange went through between them, and they nodded. "Herr Snape," said the piano man. "Promise me zis. Zere are some tings zat cannot leave zis room. It has nottink to do vis your… Death Eaters, but it is a secret zat ve must keep."

A secret? I wondered, but I left my gaze impassive. "Let me hear your secret first, and if you have a reasonable explanation, then I will keep it."

The taller man shifted, but the glasses man remained stoically calm. "Fine. On your terms, zen."

The Muggle Studies teacher was about to open his mouth in protest, but decided against it. "If you are sure, zen I vill drink too."

Both drank their potions.

"Now then," I asked. "What are your names?"

The answers they gave were completely unexpected. And mental. If they weren't on Truth Potion, and if it weren't for their expressions of dire solemnity, then I would have immediately sent them to Saint Mungo's.

X

A boy sat on a chair in an airport terminal, reading a romance novel. A quick glance judged him to be about nine years old, but a closer look at his face confirmed that he was indeed older. Thirteen, fourteen, maybe even fifteen.

But no matter how anyone there looked at him, no one would have been able to guess his true age. Not even he knew the exact date, or even the exact century. He and the others guessed that he was about eight hundred, give or take.

Even so, a child would have a hard time getting a flight to another country. One would think…

But virtually no one saw him. The people confirming passengers for flights didn't even see him. The hustlers selling their goods didn't even bother asking him. Even the man who was supposed to ask people for their passports let him slip past the gates without a second thought. No one in line seemed to notice the boy who walked past. The metal detectors didn't even beep despite the contents of his bags… and his clothing. As for his fellow passengers in the terminal… they just assumed, judging by his many bags, that his parents were in the bathroom and he was waiting for them. [2]

Except for one man. Jack Silver, born and raised in America, recently transferred by his to a God-knows-where country in Europe, and now to the U.K. He was the first one to arrive at Terminal D, and had just realized that he left his novel in with the rest of his luggage. His luggage, on the other hand, was already on board the plane. All his bag held in the way of entertainment was his textbook in the local language (he had no idea that it wasn't Russian, and he got some incredibly nasty looks from the locals. One even threw a beet at him), which he no longer had any need for now that he'd mastered the art of pantomime. (He was particularly proud of his 'I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom' one. It involved lots of squatting down and groaning.)

So he settled for people-watching. First, a newlywed couple had settled down, giggling. Next, an old woman who actually turned out to just be resting for a moment, as she got up a few minutes later.

And then came the boy. The old woman had long left, and the couple was too engrossed in each other to notice, let alone care. But Jack noticed. He noticed that the kid wasn't that young, just very, very short for his age and probably malnourished. He noticed the three bags that he struggled with, and how he laid them down on the chairs next to him as if to pretend that he was waiting for his parents. He noticed that no one else seemed to even see him. The man sitting next to him let his gaze slip past him. Even as the terminal filled, not a single person, no matter, how tired they were, asked him to move his bags.

Jack watched many other people come in and out, but no one claimed the two seats on either side of the boy. When the plane finally came in and the passengers permitted to board, the boy was still unaccompanied. Even so, he picked up his bags and walked towards the gate, as if he was expecting this to happen.

No. It wasn't expectation. Or even certainty. That would imply that there was at least a shred doubt somewhere. This kid… it was more like he planned this. His parents weren't here at all, and he knew it. A runaway, eh?

But if he is one, than why is he going by plane? And why isn't he nervous about this? You'd think that anyone leaving home would be at least a little upset. And at his age…

He waited and watched as the kid handed the ticket man his ticket. The man didn't even bat an eye at the kid.

This was a little strange… "Hey," he asked the ticket man, hoping that he spoke English. "That kid… did you just let him through?"

The guy looked at him funny, and spoke in slow English. "I… did not…see…? Boy… he comes… sometimes? I cannot remember… Once? Twice? He comes and goes… slips through my mind." (A/N Okay, this probably isn't a very convincing accent for this part of Europe, but remember that if this guy can speak English this fast (for an amateur, that is), then he probably got the pronunciation nailed)

He's seen the kid before? "What about his parents?" asked Jack.

The guy blanked. "Parents…? I have never… seen them."

Wait, what? Common sense overridden, he chased after the boy.

The kid was easy enough to find. The plane was small, and it just so happened that there were only two seats left. One in the front, and another way in the back, right where the kid just decided to sit.

Let's see… convenience, or answers? Then again, the back IS closer to the bathroom…

Jack dragged his bag all the way to the back, where the kid was absorbed into his book. Romeo and Juliet?

He settled down next to him and buckled in. The kid wasn't paying attention.

"Hi, kid," he said.

He turned. "Ko tu teici? Es nerunāju angliski," he said. (What did you say? I do not speak English)

Jack rolled his eyes. "Kid, I have no idea what you just said, but you can't fool me into thinking that you can't speak English," he said. "No one who doesn't know any English can possibly read Shakespeare. Even I have trouble with it… and that one that you're reading doesn't even have modern translations."

The kid shifted uncomfortably for a moment as the plane speeded through the runway. "I hate this part…" he grumbled. With a jerk, the plane lifted off the ground and the boy visibly winced.

"So," Jack said after the boy recovered. "How old are you, kid?"

"… Fifteen…" he said shyly. "B-but I'm just short…"

Jack could believe that he was fifteen, but barely. "Uh-huh… where are your parents?"

"They… I'm going on ahead, they'll catch up later," the kid said quickly.

Jack eyed him with suspicion. "How many times?"

"Oh… a few times." The kid was fidgeting, an act noteworthy of some suspicion in Jack's eyes.

"How many times have your parents come with you?"

The kid knew he was cornered. Jack saw it in his eyes. "A runaway, are you?" he said.

The kid slunk back, and sighed. "I'm an orphan," he said. "I never had any parents."

"But why do you keep coming to this airport?" Jack persisted. "And why did you pretend not to speak English?"

The boy's expression transformed into one of extreme focus, and Jack suddenly had the feeling that his mind was being scanned by a gigantic rock full of emotions and-

"You don't know it, but your great-grandfather was one of mine," said the kid. But in Jack's eyes, he was no longer a kid… he had the body of one, but he wasn't. He was something much older, not even human…

The kid snapped his fingers in Jack's face. "Aizmirstiet to, ko jūs redzēja, teica, un dzirdējis," he said. (Forget what you saw, said, and heard.)

Jack instantly fell asleep. Latvia shifted. He wasn't allowed to do that unless he had a good reason, which this definitely applied. Even so, he always felt guilty modifying people's memories.

X

Far away, but not too far away on a global scale, a young man sat at a computer. He stared at the screen for a while, processing what it said. "England's house? That seems like a decently random and irrational place to go… After all, who else would be there? Besides England, I mean."

He shrugged, and filled out the form laid on the desk in front of him. It was supposed to help me find a job while he was there.

Unfortunately, had Estonia bothered to read what the paper actually said; then he would not have turned up in a castle in Scotland with absolutely no idea what was going on.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[1] Cibatta mafia, kidnapping Romano- In The Rite of Passage, one of my other fics, Romano was mentioned to be kidnapped by the Cibatta mafia, setting the events of the fanfiction in place.

[2] Latvia in the airport, invisible- If a nation doesn't want to be seen, and no one really cares; then they can slip through their people's line of vision. Not to mention that everyone would be so busy that they probably wouldn't notice a kid walking around…

Who are the two Snape is interviewing? What are Estonia and Latvia doing? And how will Harry react to the nation neighbors?