Should one be out and about in midday on July 2, 1938 they would notice a certain young man. This young man would appear in his early 20s, with lemon blond hair and extraordinarily large eyebrows wandering through Richmond Park. This young man-one Arthur Kirkland- would seem quite familiar to the inhabitants of London, and the UK as a whole. This was, perhaps, because he was the anthropomorphic personification of the nation England. And represented the UK as a whole at their meetings. His gait, though usually relaxed in his own country, was tense and frustrated. He had just been let out of yet another idiotic World Summit Meeting. Tensions, between all European countries, had been growing. And it was all due to two Nations; The brothers Germany and Prussia. Amazingly, the Asian Nations were not affected at all, despite how close many of them were to the Europeans. There was really only one Nation fighting to retain the peace throughout the continent; The Isolationist America. The young country did not wish to have another World War on his hands. Because everyone knew he would be dragged into it yet again. Arthur felt saddened for his former colony. The chromesthesia riddled Nation hated the sounds and colours of wars, and avoided them as much as possible. Which was hard to do in the modern world. Arthur was so lost in his thoughts, that he failed to notice the ball heading straight for his head. That is, until he was pulled roughly away from where he stood. Arthur's acidic green eyes met caribbean blue(with just a hint of pink) orbs. These eyes, belonged to the Nation that had just preoccupied the former empire's thoughts.
"Arthur! You have to be careful!" Alfred F. Jones-personification of the United States of America-cried. Arthur shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
"I do apologize, Alfred. I was lost in thought," Arthur said, brushing his suit off. Arthur eyed his former colony critically. Alfred's clothes were ragged and patched, appearing almost more than threadbare in the shade of the trees. His skin was gritty with sand, and it was all in his hair as well. His glasses were scratched and cracked in more than one place, and his ever present ahoge hung limply. Something it had not done since the Civil War. Alfred was going a Great Depression, and he had had several severe dust storms throughout the country that had not stopped since the 20s. Not for the first time, Arthur felt bad for the young Nation.
"It's fine, Iggy! Just don't do it again, I have enough worries as it is. Don't need getting blamed for your injuries to be added the list," Alfred laughed, ignoring the sand that fell out of his hair and clothing. Arthur grit his teeth, all pity for the other lost.
"Well. If all you came here for was to poke fun at me, then you may leave," Arthur groused. Alfred dropped his grin.
"I was worried. After the meeting, you stormed out. Mattie was worried, too," Alfred said, solemnly. Arthur's eyes softened at the mention of America's older brother.
"How is Matthew? I haven't seen him in a while," Arthur said softly. Alfred quirked a half smile.
"Neither have I. I think he's avoiding me, probably blaming me for his own recession. He looked even worse than I do, last time I saw him." Alfred looked away, avoiding his former mentor's eyes.
"I think the whole world is, love," Arthur answered, observing Alfred from the corner of his eyes. The young Nation looked at the floor. Arthur had noticed he'd been doing that a lot, to hide the cuts on his cheeks. Arthur was almost completely sure that they were from the sand storms, but Alfred had been getting a lot of heat from his former friend, Russia. So it could have been evidence of that.
"I know. I'm isolationist, though. How is it any of my fault?" Alfred demanded, voice full of heat. Arthur led the boy to a bench, where they sat next to each other and observed a group of children playing.
"Despite your isolationist ways, you're a major trading partner with almost all of us. When your Great Depression hit, others went down as well," Arthur informed the boy sadly. Alfred nodded.
"I know that, but…" Alfred trailed off and shook his head, "Let's talk about something else! What orphanage are these children from?"
"Wool's Orphanage. It's been around for about a hundred years, and it's quite good. Better than others, at least," Arthur answered, frowning as the children purposefully excluded a twelve year old boy. Alfred followed his gaze to the boy.
"They're excluding him. Isn't that rude?" Alfred huffed, cocking his head.
"Quite," Arthur said, distantly. The boy noticed their gazes and swiftly approached them.
"You were watching me. Why?" The boy demanded, hands on his hips. Arthur noticed Alfred brush his rose gold hair over his shoulder. It was the longest it had been since his colonial days.
"Why aren't you playing with the other children?" Arthur asked.
"They're all incredibly dull. I don't want to. Plus, they're all scared of me." The boy answered, sneering at his fellow orphans.
"Why are they scared of you?" Alfred asked, his head still cocked like a curious bird's.
"I can do things. Things the others can't. Magic things." The boy answered. Arthur felt more than saw Alfred stiffen next to him. He knew the younger could see the colour of truth in the boy's words.
"What's your name? And what school do you go to?" Arthur asked.
"Tom Riddle. I go to Hogwarts." The boy-Tom-said proudly. Arthur smiled.
"So you're a wizard, then. My name's Arthur Kirkland, this boy beside me is Alfred F. Jones. It's a pleasure, Tom." Arthur introduced.
"You know of Hogwarts?" Tom asked.
"I do. I attended there myself, not long ago. Slytherin house, and you?" Arthur asked.
"Slytherin, same as you. What of him?" Tom asked, nodding towards Alfred.
"Ah, yes. I do believe I've forgotten what house you placed in, Alfred. Refresh my memory, would you?" Arthur said, his voice light and teasing.
"I… do not remember." Alfred answered, head down.
"Why not? You only graduated about two years ago. Hufflepuff, wasn't it?" Arthur said, his voice still holding the inflections of before. He knew that Alfred wasn't listening, so much as reading his words as they floated above his head in colours.
"No, that was Mattie's. I was Ravenclaw," Alfred answered.
"Ah, that's right. I was surprised when you sent the letter proclaiming your house," Arthur teased.
"Ravenclaw? You must be incredibly clever, then," Tom said.
"Thank you. Although, I've heard that you have to be even more to be placed in Slytherin," Alfred said, as humble as ever.
"I would've expected you to be Gryffindor, though. You've got that look to you." Tom looked Alfred up and down.
"Tom! We're leaving!" A matronly woman called. Tom looked back at her and sneered.
"I have to leave. It was pleasant meeting with you. You're intelligent conversation in a sea of idiots. Perhaps we'll meet again some day!" Tom called as he jogged to the woman. As soon as he was gone, Alfred turned a thunderous gaze onto Arthur.
"You know how I feel about magic and wizards and such! And yet you drag me into a conversation with one?" Alfred seethed. Arthur shrugged and chuckled.
"Oh, lighten up, love! It won't kill you to converse with a pleasant human," Arthur chuckled. Alfred ducked his head, turning his glare to the ground. Arthur sobered up, "Besides… I have a feeling about that boy. And it isn't a very good one."
"His words were tinted with red. He's angry. At the world, I think." Alfred whispered. The former colony pat his old mentor's back, "But I must take my leave. I need to be getting back to my hotel. I leave for my house tomorrow morning." Alfred stood and stretched, his back popping and cracked glasses glinting. Arthur smiled and bid his former charge adieu. Yes, he had a very bad feeling about that Tom Riddle.
HEY LOOK! A LINE BREAK
Wow. Short chapter is short. Don't worry, it's just the prologue! Anyway, this is my second (published) fic, and first crossover! I would appreciate constructive criticism and flames will be fed to Natsu (hooray for Fairy Tail references!).
"Series of sandstorms"- A reference to the Dust Bowl (also known as the Dirty Thirties) in which all across America experienced a deadly series of dust storms. I figured it would really affect Alfred. Poor Alfie-baby :,(!
"He looked worse than I do" (in reference to Canada)- When the Great Depression hit, Canada ran into problems of it's own. The gross domestic product dropped 40%, while in the US it only dropped 37%. Poor Mattie-baby :,(!
"A lot of heat from his former friend, Russia."- At the time, though they weren't at war, tensions were high between the two Nations. I say former friend, because the US was great friends with Russia before the whole Communism Is Shit thing. Also, Russia was the only country to aid the Union in the Civil War. RusAme is best ship. Fight Me.
"The chromesthesia riddled Nation hated the sounds and colours of wars, and avoided them as much as possible."- Another common form of synesthesia is the association of sounds with colors. For some, everyday sounds such as doors opening, cars honking, or people talking can trigger seeing colors. For others, colors are triggered when musical notes and/or keys are being played. People with synesthesia related to music may also have perfect pitch because their ability to see/hear colors aids them in identifying notes or keys.[26]
The colors triggered by certain sounds, and any other synesthetic visual experiences, are referred to as photisms.
According to Richard Cytowic,[3] chromesthesia is "something like fireworks": voice, music, and assorted environmental sounds such as clattering dishes or dog barks trigger color and firework shapes that arise, move around, and then fade when the sound ends. Sound often changes the perceived hue, brightness, scintillation, and directional movement. Some individuals see music on a "screen" in front of their faces. For Deni Simon, music produces waving lines "like oscilloscope configurations – lines moving in color, often metallic with height, width and, most importantly, depth. My favorite music has lines that extend horizontally beyond the 'screen' area." (taken from Wikipedia). I always imagined that Alfred would be that one Nation that tasted emotions and saw words/music notes/numbers/sounds in general as colours and floating around. Sue me. I support the headcanon with everything I've got.
"No, that was Mattie's. I was Ravenclaw"- I always imagined Alfred in Ravenclaw. Himaruya himself (herself? Themself? Unsure of gender!) has said that America is smarter than he acts, and purposefully doesn't read the atmosphere.
Until next time, this Italy's Driving saying; That's All Folks