Prolougue

I am NOT his father

England

Red had many shades.

The shade in front of England was what many would call 'blood red' – it was blood in front of him. All over his hands, all over his desk… his papers…

England was in another coughing fit. A bloody one at that.

Watson hooted in worry, as England staggered over to the bathroom, blood dripping onto the floor, and bloody handprints on the wall.

England coughed into the sink again and again and again… he was sure his hair was bloody too…

The pain eased after what seemed like forever, and the coughs stopped too, along with the blood.

Breathing heavily, England started to wash the blood off. Rubbing his hand, then his face before washing his hair. His messy blond hair stained red returned to his original colour, and England sighed.

More of his people had died in a cruel, cruel way. The victim was a young Muggleborn couple and their child– young, under five, and the woman was pregnant with their second child… they were tortured… they watched their child get tortured, then killed, until they were tortured themselves. They were in pain until they asked, begged for their death.

This was how all were murdered – unless it had to be quick… Same for Amelia Bones… Susan must be so depressed by now…

England shivered in anger.

He stood there in the bathroom, leaning onto the sink silently until he heard his phone ring in his office.

Finally, England moved in silence to his office before picking up the phone.

"Yes?" England croaked out.

"Sir, the Minister wants to see you now," the person on the line – a government official what knew about him.

"I- alright. Tell him I'll be there in an hour," England said, still in a croaky voice, and the line went dead.

With another sigh, England went to his bedroom to prepare himself.

-0-0-0-

England arrived in front of his boss's office, and heard talking inside. Who was it? His boss wouldn't normally call another person when he had called England.

"Good grief, so it's your fault those people were killed and I'm having to answer questions about rusted rigging and corroded expansion joints and I don't know what else! Even my n- er, best agent can't do anything!" The Prime Minister was furiously speaking loudly, and just as he finished that sentence, England knocked carefully.

"Sir? You called me?" England spoke.

"Ah- yes, yes," the minister was saying, and the door opened, "Come in, Arthur…"

Inside, Arthur saw Fudge.

Crap.

The two met eyes, and Fudge quirked his eyebrows.

"You- I know you – you look like that Kirkland boy!" he shouted, and England's boss seemed to realize his mistake, as he said: "Hmm? What do you mean? This man's name is er, Atticus Kettle!"

"Didn't you just call him Arthur-?"

"You must've misheard."

"Yes! Nice to meet you sir," England quickly said, holding out his hand.

Fudge stood there with his mouth wide.

"You must be his father – you look just like that boy!" Fudge shouted.

"What boy?" England asked, sweating.

"Oh well there's this boy – a boy we thought to be insane – his surname must be his mother's – you're so young, though. How young are you?" Fudge asked.

"Er, 23, sir," England answered, "And I don't have any son."

"Must've been your teenage years. You bad, bad man," Fudge said, and England knew that Fudge thought that Fudge thinks that he got a woman pregnant when he was young.

"No, Atticus is a pure man," The Minister said, "Which is why he is my best agent – he's a great man – he'd never to that, er."

"But they look so alike!" Fudge exclaimed, "You're basically the grown-up, taller version of Kirkland!"

"Could we just move on with the subject of people being killed?" England's boss said, "And don't mind Ar-Atticus, he is a very trustable man."

"AH yes, that – it is NOT my fault," Fudge raised his voice, "Do you really think I wasn't already making every effort? Every Auror in the Ministry was – and is – trying to find him and round up his followers, but we happen to be talking about one of the most powerful wizards of all time, a wizard who has eluded capture for almost three decades!"

"So I suppose you're going to tell me he caused the hurricane in the West Country, too?" Prime Minister said. AH England had not told him that that was magic too…

"That was no hurricane," Fudge miserably said.

"Excuse me!" the Prime Minister said, "Trees uprooted, roofs ripped off, lampposts bent, horrible injuries –"

England coughed. Just thinking about that event made him ill.

"It was the Death Eaters," Fudge said, "He Who Must Not Be Named's followers. And … and we suspect giant involvement."

"What involvement?"

"He used giants last time, when he wanted to go for the grand effect. The Office of Misinformation has been working round the clock, we've had teams of Obliviators out trying to modify the memories of all the Muggles who saw what really happened, we've got most of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures running around Somerset, but we can't find the giant – it's been a disaster."

"You don't say!" the Prime Minister furiously said.

"I won't deny that morale is pretty low at the Ministry," Fudge said, "What with all that, and then losing Amelia Bones."

England's heart hurt. Thinking about a great woman, and a great aunt to Susan Bones…

"Ah," the Prime Minister said. England had told him about her, "Yes…"

"You know?" Fudge said.

"Erm – a er, wizard acquaintance of mine told me, yes," the Prime Minister made up, "It was on out newspapers too, you see. Amelia Bones … it just said she was a middle-aged woman who lived alone. It was a – a nasty killing, wasn't it? It's had rather a lot of publicity. The police are baffled, you see."

Fudge furrowed his eyebrows, but being the idiot he is, he believed in the Prime Minister about his 'wizard acquaintance.'

"Well, of course they are. Killed in a room that was locked from the inside, wasn't she? We, on the other hand, know exactly who did it, not that that gets us any further towards catching him. And then there was Emmeline Vance, maybe you didn't hear about that one –"

"Oh yes I did!" the Prime Minister shouted – and this one England didn't tell him about, "It happened just round the corner from here, as a matter of fact. The papers had a field day with it: Breakdown of law and order in the Prime Minister's back yard!"

"And might I add in that it was quite the issue," England added in, "It was such a bother to deal with… the public asking for answers…"

"A bother to deal with? Well we got more to deal with- with the Dementors swarming all over the place, attacking people left right and centre," Fudge huffed.

"Oh yes I've heard," the Prime Minister huffed, "They're the creatures that sap all the happiness out of people, aren't they?"

"…This 'wizard acquaintance again?" Fudge raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, yes," the Prime Minister said, "Now I have to say that you should be out there and doing something! It's your responsibility as Minister for Magic!"

"My dear Prime Minister, you can't honestly think I'm still Minister for Magic after all this? I was sacked three days ago! The whole wizarding community has been screaming for my resignation for a fortnight. I've never known them so united in my whole term of office!" Fudge said.

Well that was news; Dumbledore has not bothered to owl him about this. You see, England didn't receive the Daily Prophet because one- the location of his house should only be known by a few and two- he didn't need to read about the deaths; feeling it was enough pain for him.

The Prime Minister did not speak for a while, until he finally chose what words to say.

"I'm very sorry," the Prime Minister said, "If there's anything I can do?"

"It's very kind of you, Prime Minister, but there is nothing. I was sent here tonight to bring you up-to-date on recent events and to introduce you to my successor. I rather thought he'd be here by now, but of course he's very busy at the moment, with so much going on," Fudge said with bitterness showing slightly in his voice.

Fudge looked round at the portrait of the ugly little man, which was the way of communication between the Magic and Muggle Ministry. He, like most old portraits, knew about the nations and was silent about it.

"He'll be here in a moment, he's just finishing a letter to Dumbledore," the Protrait said when he caught the ex-Magic Minister's eye.

"I wish him luck," Fudge said, bitterness showing fully now, "I've been writing to Dumbledore twice a day for the past fortnight, but he won't budge. If he'd just been prepared to persuade the boy, I might still be … well, maybe Scrimgeour will have more success."

The boy? Harry? What was this? What was Dumbledore not telling England?

Dumbledore. He had a speech about his 'Old (human)man's mistakes' months ago, yet England still felt like he was making more of those mistakes, perhaps. His mistake of not telling the nations more.

England still didn't get why Dumbledore trusted Snape – England did see good in the man, but what shows on the outside…

'Dumbledore, what else are you not telling me?' England thought, facing the ground. Though his head snapped back up when the portrait spoke again.

"To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic."

"Yes, yes, fine," the Prime Minister distractedly said, as the new Minsiter of Magic arrived by floo.

Rufus Scrimgeour had streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows (though they weren't as bushy as Iggy's eyebrows). His yellowish eyes were and there was a sense of toughness around him – which is most probably why the magical community chose him over Fudge. And even the name- Scrimgeour was more of a name that sounded like it would swat Lord Voldemort away that a sweet, sugary fudge.

"How do you do?" the Prime Minister politely held out his hand.

Scrimgeour grasped it briefly, his eyes scanning the room, and stopping at England.

"Who is this man? He saw me floo, must obliviate," Scrimgeour said, pulling out his wand.

"No- no, he's my best agent. Great with secrets," the Prime Minister, "I'd rather have him with me."

"No can do, but I'll let him remember this if you insist," Scrimgeour said, "Could you please excuse yourself outside?" he asked England.

"…Of course, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you," England said politely before exiting the room.

He knew that the door was locked as soon as the door closed behind him.

He pressed his ear on the door, and tried to listen, though no sound could be heard – of course… it is his bosses' door. Unless they shout very loudly again, England wouldn't hear a thing.

So, England waiting outside of the door. Waiting for the conversation to be over and for his turn to speak to his boss to come.

He leaned onto the wall next to the door, watching some officials walk by sporadically, and thinking about going back to Hogwarts. Was Susan okay? She probably wasn't… with her aunt gone… how was Scotland doing? Wales? Northern Ireland… Ireland?

Ireland had stopped coming to meetings.

Perhaps he is too ill now to come to meetings.

The image of younger Ireland and Scotland watching England being dragged away from Rome came into his mind. England quickly swatted the image away. He wasn't worried… no, not at all.

England kept on thinking about his brothers – not out of worry of course, just curiosity – until he heard a muffle coming from the door, before it opened.

"England, they're gone – and the portrait is asleep," the Prime Minister said, "Come in."

"Yes, sir," England said, and followed his orders.

Inside, he was told to sit- which England did.

"So, why did you call me, sir?" England asked.

"I should say that I was worried," the Prime Minister said, "Lots of people are dying."

"Yes… they are," England said, "Just an hour or so ago…"

"Yes it was on the news…" the Prime Minister said, "I am concerned about this secret of ours, and your health. Are you sure you should go to Hogwarts again when you're this ill? What will you tell them about your seizures? And I suggest your brother doesn't teach too."

"…Sir, Harry Potter is not just someone I must protect; he is also my friend," England said, "And I should be there for my friend and everyone else…"

"Friend?"

"Yes, sir… friends, actually," England said, "Only a few of them know about the personifications. Well, out of my friends, that is. I think the Death Eater's children may know too."

"And the traitor?"

"…We don't know who yet, sir."

"What will you do when your find out who spilled?"

"We have our own ways of punishment, sir. You don't want to know."

The Prime Minister shuddered, as he had just imagined something horrible.

"You are dismissed, England. Take care of yourself."

"I can't take care of myself, sir… my people have to take of themselves to care for me. And with Voldemort on the loose, I don't think I will be in shape or a while."

England stood up.

"Good day, sir."

With that he started to go back home, travelling through the mist created by the dementors' breeding.

-0-0-0-

I imagine nations' punishment to be harsh as they don't die easily.

Also, HI I'M BACK.

-Potterhead.04