**THE COVER FOR THIS FANFICTION WAS DRAWN BY THE TALENTED SONGMINA! CHECK HER OUT, AND I'VE LEFT A LINK IN MY PROFILE IF YOU'D LIKE TO SEE THE FULL-SIZED IMAGE!**
Summary: (Sequel to "The Price of Wisdom". Harry Potter/APH crossover) As conflicts in the wizarding community come to a head, Voldemort will stop at nothing to have Kirkland in his clutches, just as Harry will stop at nothing to see the Dark Lord dead.
Obligatory disclaimer to the original properties of HP and APH~
England
Steam pooled and swathed itself around Kirkland's unclothed body like one great cloak of cloud. Unsatisfied with this intense level of heat, the country turned the handle another notch to the left, craning his head upwards and closer to the hard-working showerhead. The pressurised stream hit squarely on the crown of his head, running its watery fingers through the sopping-wet mop of his hair and helping to clear the head-ache currently tormenting him.
Another half-hour passed without a word or move from the soaked man. Rinsing patters and "twinkles" of rapidly colliding water from the shower were the only sounds to be heard. Only when the hot water began to dwindle did England finally cut the flow, leaning heavily against the shower-wall with a bowed head, an arm bent above that head, and a clenched fist connected to that arm. Even with the shower turned off, condensed droplets clung to every centimetre of his bare skin, which had turned a delicate shade of pink from the strain of enduring the near-scorching water.
Arthur breathed shallowly, spitting out a red-tinged gob of spittle once. Said bloody-saliva was promptly whisked down the drainpipe, leaving little trace behind of its existence. The shower had helped him, but England's hangover was still a looming, agonising force in the forefront of his head, quite literally. It took all of the nation's willpower to not grip his hair and outright weep like a child, riding out his headache in that way until the painful pulsing faded. Maybe a cup of tea would help banish it... it was worth a try, if only he could summon the energy to leave the comforting confines of the shower and make one. Christ, did he feel low...
Having deemed it somewhat-safe now that the water had stopped, a calico cat pawed and nuzzled at the other side of the shower curtain. Her meows were almost concerned, but definitely insistent. Over the course of the last few weeks she'd grown fat from the plumpness of pregnancy, the partially-developed kits she carried weighing visibly on her belly.
Eventually, her headache-magnifying meows convinced the cat's owner to abandon the steamy safety of the shower. Groggily, Arthur drew back the curtain, instantly allowing the cooler air to enter in a flood and smack him full in the face. Alarmed mews came from the feline as she scrambled out of her master's path. Each step he took scattered drops to the tile and bath-matt below, which the she-cat dodged with a deep distastefulness. Like most members of her kind, Brandee was no fan of getting wet, and she avoided such situations that would render her in that state with a passion.
Meanwhile, Arthur had reached for a towel and was half-heartedly drying himself. After tousling his hair with the towel, he cast it aside with an uncharacteristic carelessness and hastily got dressed in casual clothes that he'd previously placed on the bathroom countertop. Also near the sink and his pile of folded clothes was a lilac letter, slightly damp, a bit wrinkled, but otherwise intact. England plucked it up as he passed through the doorway, now garbed in the fresh change of clothes, his cat anxiously padding behind his heels.
Outside the bathroom was the main section of his newest London hotel room. Few pieces of furniture were scattered throughout the simple room; a single bed, a bedside table and lamp, a cupboard-set, telly... So long as he had a bed and toilet, England could really care less where he slept for the night. He was on the run, after all, and couldn't risk occupying one of his London apartment homes for fear that those locations might be traced back to him. Nor was it wise for him to stay in conspicuous places or in one single hotel for too long without the possibility of drawing attention to himself. Perhaps it was partially paranoid of him to think all of this, but regardless England had taken the safest route by jumping from one nondescript hostel, motel, or hotel, to the next, each and every night.
He very somberly went about making himself a cup of complimentary tea that'd been provided by the hotel, then settled himself down in his bed to sip at it. As if on cue, Brandee leapt like a blur of fur straight into his lap, circling once before laying herself down. Her paws clutched around one of his legs in what was almost a partway hug. Ecstatic purrs became the dominant noise as England's hand rested on her scruff, caressing in soothing, circular motions.
Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, his supply of tea did not last long. After only a minute or so of it dwindling down his throat, his cup was empty and likewise deposited atop the bedside table. With his now-free hand Arthur loosely held the pale-purple letter. He read only out of idleness and skimmed many large chunks of meaningless text, having already read the letter's contents many a time before.
Past the overly-long greetings and salutations from the newly-elected Minster laid the real meat of the letter. There were instructions written in a style so secretive in tone that it was almost laughable, on how to go about meeting up, as well as directions on how to go about getting to the designated meeting place.
"It is my hope that we can come to an understanding on how to best proceed in these troubled times. Together, we can better resist He-who-shall-not-be-named's forces with far more efficiency. I plan to not only put up a fight, but to win this deadly game, and I am certain you can relate.
-Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic."
England had replied from almost the moment he'd received this original letter, agreeing to their choice of setting, but only on his own terms and conditions. He wanted a minimum of three aurors present, and protective and concealing wards layered across the entire area as a safety precaution. These requests hadn't been unreasonable, and as expected had been reaffirmed in a second, shorter letter.
And so an official date had been set for tomorrow at an obscure spot in Wales, where England would finally be introduced to the rookie Minister. As that day approached, England found himself obsessing more and more over the letter. He took it with him to just about everywhere he went, rereading it over every other hour to ensure he had remembered all the little details. It was a bit quirky of him, sure, he was aware of that; but at the same time he couldn't quite help himself. It was just in his nature.
If he was finally going to be an active participant in the fight against Voldemort, then he figured he might as well do it with allies coordinating attacks at his side, bolstering his own strengths. Just the thought of working with or for the Ministry made his stomach churn a little, but to crawl back to the Order after all that had transpired was equally distasteful; though if it came down to being an absolute necessity, he would put aside his pride to do just that. However, he could always just be pre-judging the Ministry too hastily. After all, leadership had passed from the bumbling buffoon that was Fudge, and on to someone slightly more capable. Perhaps under Scrimgeour, there had been considerable progress made in the Ministry already.
He could always hope.
Harry
"So how was your summer, Harry?" the bushy-haired girl inquired gently, her ginger counterpart pitching in immediately afterwards.
"Yeah mate, how awful was it?"
"Ron!"
"What?! But in all seriousness, how did those muggles treat you?"
Harry chuckled and rocked atop his borrowed bed at the burrow, a permanent smile plastered on his face. It was great to see and talk to his oldest friends again. It was the greatest feeling in the world, actually. Even their bickering made him beam affectionately for nostalgia's sake.
Dumbledore had done him a wonderful service by dropping him off at the Weasley household to spend the remainder of his summer there. The Burrow, with its endearing clutter, gently-sloping walls, lovely smells, Mrs. Weasley's heavenly cooking, and friendly people, had always felt like a second home to him; next to Hogwarts of course. Upon his arrival late last night, he'd received the warmest of receptions from Mrs. Weasley, and in the morning, had been shaken awake to be greeted by the two people he'd been longing to see the most all summer. It'd been a pleasant surprise to see Hermione here as well, down for the rest of the holidays just as he was. Now the whole gang was assembled, and Harry couldn't be happier. With Sirius gone, these two were the most important people in his life. Even before Sirius stepped onto the scene, they always had been, and no one could ever replace them on that pedestal of honour that stood in his heart.
"Surprisingly well, actually," he answered. "Or at least they did their very best to actively avoid me, which is always an improvement. After that scene at the train station, I doubt the Dursley's would've dared to be in the same room with me for more than a few minutes. Enough about them though. What news on Voldemort?"
Ron hissed as if stabbed at the mention of his name, prompting Harry to roll his eyes. He truly did not understand the hysteria associated with the word 'Voldemort', and if anyone was to be afraid of him, it was Harry Potter himself, after all.
"My dad's not as secretive with Order stuff anymore... I guess because I'm getting older, so he told me a bit of what they think he's planning. Apparently they're predicting that You-know-who is trying to infiltrate the Ministry with his own men, but the Order has been shutting down most of that so far... He's also searching for Kirkland, supposedly," Ron coughed, awkwardly. "That's what I heard, anyways."
"England, Ron," Hermione corrected absently, as if deep in thought.
"That's still too bizarre for me. I'm going to keep calling him 'Kirkland' if you don't mind."
"Hm, I suppose you're right. It's a bit odd to say," conceded Hermione with a small shudder. "Kirkland it is."
Feeling it was his turn to speak up, given the subject matter that the conversation had turned to, Harry somberly said, "I saw him the other day."
"Who? Kirkland?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Well Christ Harry, why didn't you say anything sooner?"
"It slipped my mind I guess," he murmured in a careful sort of way, going quiet as he thought back to last night, how sickly, how rude and downright different Kirkland had been. It'd been so unsettling. Slipped his mind? No, maybe not. More like my mind desperately wanted to forget.
Ever the one to want the full story, Hermione seized the lapse of speech as an opportunity to pitch in with her own questions. "What happened exactly? How is he?"
How to start? Honestly, it'd been a little harrowing to see Kirkland again, but he knew his friends were aching for some small amount of good news, no matter how insignificant the dose. Lying wouldn't help anything though. He'd just have to dive right into it, then.
"Well he wasn't... well."
The two of them simply stared at him, their blank faces screaming volumes that seemed to say 'care to elaborate already?' Getting the message clear as day, Harry hastily unloaded more information to sate them.
"Dumbledore took me to this muggle pub, and that's where we found him. He was there, drinking. 'Wasn't all that happy to see us I think."
"How so?"
"I can't say that he really looked all that healthy at the moment, and he was pretty unpleasant to us too. It sounded like he won't be coming back to teach this September."
His friends sported conflicting emotions at hearing that little update. Truth be told, Harry didn't exactly know how to feel about it either. Kirkland had always gone above and beyond in his calling as a Professor, adding a bit of brightening light to every class that would've otherwise been boring, and he had ended up being a decent bloke as well. But at the same time, the country still unsettled Harry. There was so much they didn't know about him, and even if he seemed to be on their side for the time being, the nation was also an unpredictable variable in this war. He was somewhat of a gray, neutral queen-piece on a chessboard, neither black nor white, and this didn't really sit well with Harry's strict moral code.
"That's a shame?" said Ron uncertainly, his words coming across as more of a question than a statement.
Dismally nodding, Harry continued, "There was a letter with him too. Now I can't be one-hundred-percent sure, but I think it was one of those Ministry envelopes. I recognised it from my hearing there last year."
Dubiously, Ron was scratching his head, and Hermione looked off distantly. "I wonder what that could mean," she murmured, only to receive unnecessary and unfruitful shrugs from the boys in reply.
"...Well, there's nothing we can really do about all this while we're still in school, is there?" Ron put forth after a period of dreary, despair-filled silence.
"I guess not..." Harry conceded, feeling more and more helpless and hopeless by the second.
Kirkland would just have to fend for himself, for now. No doubt the nation was used it. As for Voldemort... Well, when Harry was of age, he'd better be making a habit of watching his back, because as far as the prophecy was concerned, Harry was determined to be the one to come out on top, regardless of the odds.
The next day.
England
"I'm sorry wee one, you can't come. It'd look very unprofessional. And would you stop that before you tear a hole in my trousers?"
Brandee proceeded to cease clawing at the hem of his pant-leg, mewing dolefully. England ignored her meows of complaint, continuing to get ready for the meeting that he had been agonising over for days now. The moment had finally arrived, and all he could think about was presentation. Not to say that presentation wasn't important...
First impressions were everything, he'd oft found, and so for the first time in over a week, England had exercised enough self-control to refrain from drinking himself senseless this morning, as well as the night before. He couldn't be going about making a fool of himself as either a drunkard or a sorry, hung-over excuse of a human being, or country rather. He'd also done his best to clean up and look presentable, or as somewhat-presentable as possible given his loss of weight and overall health. England had never been particularly robust-looking, though that image had always been deceiving, but now he was even less so.
The clothes he wore weren't exactly his finest, but they would do well enough, and most importantly they equally represented both the magical and ordinary spectrums of his very being. Muggle clothing, and black wizard robes in place of the dark trench coat he'd grown the most accustomed to wearing these days.
It's almost like a job interview, of sorts...
A very, very peculiar, high-security "interview" in which the interviewer was already one of his "bosses", in a way. And his "resume" was his name; 'Arthur Kirkland', England, Great Britain.
He gazed critically at himself in the small main-room mirror, checking his reflection for any flaws in his appearance that required correction. His tie was a little loose... Or was the tie just a tad too formal? Should he rid himself of it altogether? Oh, bugger it all. Deciding on keeping it on, England adjusted the tie with a quick tightening before turning to his cat.
"...I'm a bit nervous," he announced, somewhat ashamed at having voiced his anxieties aloud, and to his cat no less. It was true though. Brave, even seemingly fearless as he could be sometimes, it was more than often a partially put-on act. The prospect of meeting with multiple wizards from an organisation he'd deliberately broken ties with in the past unnerved him. What if they'd set a trap? What if they planned to use him for far more devious devices, not unlike Voldemort? The scenario was unlikely, rather counter-productive, and mostly conjured up from a mind racked with paranoid ramblings, sure, but there was still a sense of legitimacy to his concerns.
Trying for the hundredth time to straighten out his comb-resistant hair, Arthur murmured low under his breath, "I have to be neat," not the unkempt visage he'd adopted most recently through these turbulent times, obviously. That just wouldn't do at all.
"Calm, collected. And above all, I absolutely can not show any signs of weakness..." he drifted off, slightly overwhelmed by the daunting task of deception he had ahead of him.
He could manage all that in one meeting, right? It wasn't as if he was pretending to be something he wasn't. Except... the covering up of any weakness... That little detail would have to be an act, to reassure the Minister, to prevent the crushing of any fragile hopes. Subconsciously, England's eyes leapt to the oblivious cat, for comfort, heartening, or something he knew not. Talking to himself with the animal as an audience always seemed to calm him.
Time to go. No more stalling if I want to arrive punctually.
Having steeled himself by taking a deep, filling breath that rattled through his lungs, and with one final glance at the mirror, Arthur apparated away.
Author's Note:
Like I said at the start of this chap, the awesome sauce cover for Cause of Calamity was drawn by SongMina! Check her out on DeviantART and fanfiction C;
This summer is officially the busiest one I've yet to experience. Welcome to adulthood I suppose :'T Apologies for the late wait for an update. This chapter is also less substantial/exciting than the last one, but it was all necessary filler, I promise. Sorry! Goodness, it would've taken far longer to get out, but all of your guys' kind words kept me in check!
Final smol sorreh to the people I missed when replying to reviews. I sort of got to about the halfway mark, jumped around, lost track, and got demotivated. I'll try harder to keep on top of them C; Rest assured I read and appreciated each one. You are all too sweet, and some of your thoughts are interesting!
Review before I'm plunged into the hell of school? Reviews directly help with my writing. ;w; You lot are awesome-sauce.
(Also excuse any ittie bittie grammar screw-ups. I was rushed and not very thorough when proof-reading this for the final time aah ;w; )