Trigger warning: swearing, violence.

Disclaimer: I forgot this last chapter, but this goes for the rest of the fic; I don't own Harry Potter or Hetalia. I only own the idea, but I can't claim copyright to that either.

"Oh for the love of God and all that is holy Harry!" Uncle Alistair yelled from under a mountain of pillows, "please make it stop ringing!"

"I'm sorry Uncle," Harry cried, wearing a pair of fluffy earmuffs and staying as far away from the front door as possible, "Dad said, when I feel magic... I just have to let it out..." He shrugged in apology as the doorbell rang through the house again. Neither of them made a move to answer the door, they learned to try and ignore it after the first few times. Harry's 'accidental' and uncontrolled magic had been making the bell ring for a whole day straight now.

Shortly after Ireland and Romania let it slip that they were all wizards, Harry had tried to stifle or control his magic to make his caretaker's life easier, but to no avail.

"Don't bottle it up for my sake Harry," Arthur had told him. "These things happen to every young wizard, it's really not a problem."

Maybe for England, who had raised many young wizards, and even more young colonies, it wasn't a problem. But for Scotland, those first few hours of endless ringing was pure agony. He had tried to remove the doorbell for both their sanity's sake, but it had soon repaired itself and continued ringing.

Both Harry and Alistair believed Arthur would have a solution to their current predicament.

But Arthur wasn't here.

Arthur had been away on a business trip again, though this wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Considering his father's line of work, Harry had gotten used to his father being out of the country for a few days multiple times a month. The only thing that was different was that Uncle Alistair was left to take care of Harry in their London home, instead of dumping Harry on Mrs. Figg. This was because this was the longest Arthur and Harry had been apart at once.

England was away for three weeks attending a "team building" conference with the former Axis Powers and Allied Forces in Seychelles (oh all the wonderful memories they shared on that island), and Alistair had marked the calendar when Arthur was due to arrive. That date passed almost two days ago.

Multiple technical and scheduling problems had caused Arthur's flights to be delayed and missed. From the tone of his frantic texts and calls before his phone finally died, it was clear both Harry and his father were anxious to be reunited.

"You really miss your father, don't you?" Alistair said, poking his head out of the pillows to ruffle Harry's messy black hair.

"Of course I do," He said sadly, "he's been gone so long."

The doorbell rang again as if to reinforce his point. At this, Alistair buried his head in a pillow with a groan.

"What if the Dursley's start to get suspicious again?" sighed Harry, "can't you use your magic to fix it?"

Alistair ran his hand through his fiery hair with an exasperated sigh. It's been 11 years since that arm had burned him last. "You ken me and your father don't really use our magic anymore."

"Well why not?" Harry asked, staring straight at his uncle, looking for an answer in the deep forest of his eyes. Alistair couldn't bring himself to look away, only allowing his eyes to wander as far as the lightning bolt scar. Did he really have it in him to tell Harry, it's because he might have actually had a hand in marring that innocent face with a mark of death?

"It's pure complicated Harry, me and your da-"

Alistair was cut off by the phone joining in the doorbell's chorus. They both exchange stressed looks, with Harry's face quickly growing hot with embarrassment.

"Maybe if you try removing it again?" Harry suggests meekly. The phone continues ringing as Alistair tries to give Harry a look of encouragement, this isn't your fault.

"You get the phone, I'll work on the door." Alistair grins and digs himself out of his faultily soundproofed grave as Harry makes his way to the phone.

Harry recognizes Uncle Francis's phone number on the display, but the sassy voice that greeted him was not the Frenchman's "Okay Scot, it's not funny anymore. Answer the bloody door damn it!"

"Dad?"

"Harry?" the voice stuttered, "Wait, don't- Don't follow that language!"

Harry drops the phone and runs to the door as Alistair opens it.

With a giant smile splitting his face, Harry rushes past his uncle, flings off his ear muffs and tackles his father to the ground, knocking Francis's phone out of his hand and cutting him off, sending his luggage sprawling across the lawn, they greeted each other with laughter and tight hugs.

"Dad!" Harry cried as the landed on the grass.

"Hullo Harry! Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did! You were gone for so long! And you were supposed to be here two days ago!" Harry exclaims, sitting on his father's chest as Alistair struggled to hold in his laughter.

"I'm sorry Harry, look, I'll make it up to you." Arthur says as he picks himself off the lawn and brushes dirt from his suit. "Let's go out somewhere today. Just the two of us."

"Really? Right now?" Harry asks.

"Yes, of course love. Anywhere in London, I'll take you." He replies as he retrieves Francis's phone.

"Then, I want to go to the zoo!" Harry smiles as he helps pick up his father's luggage.

"Well lovely juvely, the zoo it is! Just let me change out of this suit and we can go."

"Are you sure Arthur? You just arrived. You should rest." Alistair reasoned as they all brought Arthur's luggage into the house.

"No, it's purely fine Alastair. I got enough rest waiting in the airport or on the tarmac." He shrugs Alistair off. "Put on your shoes Harry, I'll be down in a minute." Arthur and Harry exchange smiles before he bounds up the stairs to change into casual wear.

"And shouldn't you be happy I'm finally taking Harry off your hands?" he calls jokingly from his room. "Three whole weeks of complete sobriety! Think of all the hard liquor you can drink once you get back to Edinburgh!"

"That was only one time Arthur!" Alistair called back.

"What about the time Uncle Dylan and Uncle Patrick came over last week?" Harry snickered to his responsible drinker of an uncle.

"Harry I thought that was to be our wee little secret." Alistair said as they hid laughs behind their hands.

The zoo was absolutely crowded with people. There were many children with their families and a couple of teenagers roaming the sidewalks, gawping at the colourful animals in their enclosures.

Harry and Arthur had the bad luck to cross paths with the Dursley's a couple of times, apparently celebrating some 'precious angel's' birthday; though Arthur and Harry couldn't find where this supposed angel was.

"Maybe Dudley ate it," Harry whispered to his father.

"I would buy that." Arthur would grin in reply.

Each time they met, Petunia's scowling eyes fell upon Arthur, whispering cruel words to her purple faced husband in less than hushed tones. Dudley too had his own set of weak insults intended for Harry's ears. But Harry wouldn't let Petunia or Dudley ruin his special time with his father. With a few sly remarks aimed back at Dudley, courtesy of his sharp tongue; the Kirkland's were sent running to the next exhibit, with joyous smirks adorning their faces before any of the Dursley's could comprehend what was said, and before Vernon's face could get any more purple and threaten them with their rent.

Eventually, Harry and Arthur made it to the Reptile House when France's phone rang.

"I should take this Harry, it's for your uncle. You go on ahead." Arthur said as he waved Harry off and tried to find a quieter place to speak. Harry heard his father start talking in that strange language he couldn't recognize from his postcards, but he started to pick out a few words over the years, "Hello Monaco!" he heard Arthur greet someone with a smile on his face. His smile soon fell and was replaced by a smirk, "No, I didn't nick France's phone this time. Why would I lie to you?"

Harry chuckled to himself, probably just another one of Dad's colleagues.

As he walked into the Reptile house, Harry saw Dudley and his friends again, shouting at the animals to "do something interesting! Damn wankers, so boring!"

"I wonder what poor animal those guys are terrorizing now," he thought to himself.

When Dudley had become bored enough and vacated the space in front of the case where a certain sleepy and tired snake resided, Harry went to go see it. "Don't worry about him," Harry said, giving the snake a small grin, "that guy makes fun of everybody."

It could have been a trick of the light, but Harry could have sworn the snake smiled at him.

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked. The snake nodded in reply. Harry figured there must be some sort of magic that let him talk to animals, finally one of his accidental uses of magic was actually cool and useful. He smiled and shrugged, glad that Dudley had moved on to something else and continued to have a short chat with the snake (albeit a very one sided one at that).

"Look! Harry's making the snake do something!" Dudley called to his friends, making all eyes that mattered fall onto Harry.

There was pushing and shoving between the two boys. The glass disappeared. Dudley fell into the cage. The snake escaped. Petunia screamed. The glass reappeared. Arthur hung up his call.

Vernon was yelling at employees to get his son out from behind the glass, all the while his face looked like it was about to explode in anger. Harry giggled to himself has he tried to back away from the commotion and make his way to his own father.

As he stepped backwards he bumped into his father and looked up with a grin. They locked eyes, but the look on Arthur's face was not what he expected. The usual cheery and bright eyes they both shared were replaced with a poisonous green and seething with anger.

"We're going home." Arthur said sternly before grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him out of the zoo.

"I'm sorry dad! It was just an accident!" Harry cried, trying to defend himself and explain his actions. "One minute the glass was there and the next it was gone. It was an accident, I swear!"

Apologize for using my magic to hurt someone.

Apologize so he'll stop yelling at me.

Apologize!

"I know I'm supposed to be extra careful about using magic in public, and I'm sorry about that!" Harry's voice cracked over the words. "I know we crack jokes about them all the time, but I would never want to use magic to hurt people! Not even Dudley!"

"I don't care about that!" Arthur shouted, shocking tears to start welling up in Harry's eyes. "You think I care about those worthless Muggles? The Dursley's can all just sod off!" he yelled, nearly spitting out the name of their landlords. "But what you did today, was fucking unacceptable!"

Harry kept backing up, backing up until his back was pressed against a wall. His legs turned to pudding and his lungs caught fire.

Who was this? His father never swore like this, not even at Uncle Patrick. And he most certainly never yelled liked this at all.

Who was this?

Who was this red faced, green eyed, bushy browed stranger screaming at him? All Harry wanted to do was shy away. To curl up in a ball and hide. But he can't.

Arthur grabs his shoulder and pulls him back up to meet his poisonous eyes. "Do you have any idea how scary it is to hear you talking like that?" He screamed as his nails dug into Harry's arm like claws, drawing pained cries to boil up from Harry's throat. "Why the bloody hell would you talk to a fucking snake?" He spat as he threw Harry against the wall.

"I'm sorry dad! I'm sorry!" Harry struggled to choke the words out. "I just wanted to say 'hi', what's wrong with talking to a snake, Dad? I don't see the prob-"

A sharp sound louder than any of Arthur's shouting so far rings through the house. A sickening crack reverberates in Harry's ears as he crumples to the floor. Streams of salt burn his cheeks as tears run down his face. Harry moves to cup his cheek where all the pain is radiating from, but his fingertips send shots of fire through his body as they make contact. Pulling his hand back, it feels hot and sticky, stained by the dark red liquid dripping from his mouth and over his chin.

His mind goes blank.

He can't breathe.

The blood pounding in his ears was so loud it nearly drowned out his father's yelling.

"Dad?"

"I never want to hear you speaking like that ever again!" Arthur continues, his shouting threatening to shatter the glass windows. "DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?!" he screams as he wrenches Harry to face him, to meet the green eyes he shares with his father.

"Daddy?!"

"Go to your room!" Arthur bellows, nearly throwing Harry up the first few steps like a rag doll.

Harry runs up the stairs, sobbing all the way, leaving the tiny drops to blossom like roses on every other step.

It's not until the slam of a door shakes the house is England called back to his senses. He chases after Harry, following the trail of blood to his room.

"Harry, please! Open the door!" Arthur exclaims as he knocks on the cold wood.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud!

He hears a frightened scream over his banging.

No.

He's putting on too much force, again. Just like that hit.

He opts to lean on the door, pressing his forehead to the wood, his body gone limp as he struggles to hold back his own tears.

I'm not an Empire anymore. I don't want to be a tyrant anymore! I'm not a knight. Or a pirate. Or even a fighter pilot.

I just want to be a good father.

"Harry please! I hurt you! I have to take you to the hospital!" he pleads, praying to God Harry will forgive him.

"I don't want to go anywhere with you!" he hears Harry's voice crack as he screams against the pain in his jaw. "Not the hospital! Not the zoo! Not even America!"

Arthur hears bedsheets rustling and another door closing. He's probably hiding in the closet, like he does when we play hide and seek, Arthur thinks to himself.

"Harry, love." Arthur says as he wipes away his tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeats the phrase on end as he gets up to leave, feeling pins and needles with each footfall.

He walks down the steps in a daze. He makes his way to the kitchen. Grabbing a couple of handfuls of ice cubes, he puts them all in a plastic bag. Wrapping the whole thing in a tea towel, he slowly makes his way back up the stairs.

Each drop of blood on the carpet motivates him more and more to think of an apology better than the last. But by the time the red spots run out, so does his confidence. With the words stuck in his throat, all he can choke out is a pathetic "put some ice on it."

Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, with the largest puddle of blood threatening to swallow him up, he nervously presses a number on the phone.

"Bonjour?"

He hangs up and buries his head in his hand. He takes a breath to calm down. He tries again.

"Aye?"

"Scot!" he calls as his vision goes blurry.

The night air feels cold against Arthur's face and stings his bloodshot eyes. The bottle of beer in his hands, wet from condensation, freezes his fingers. Not even the few fairy friends that could brave the city lights dared to go near the troubled nation.

A loud CRACK sounds through the street and a figure appears at the end of the driveway.

"You ken, as I was driving out of London earlier, I gave Ireland a call." The figure calls out as he walks closer to the porch. "I invited him for drinks. But he was busy, probably with paperwork. One of the lovely perks of independence, I ken. Anyway, he couldn't answer, so I left a message."

England buried his head in his hands with a heavy sigh. He really fucked up now.

"When I get home, and my phone rings, I expected to get dolled up in a kilt and enjoy a couple of pints of Guinness." The figure continues.

"But no." Scotland says as he takes the first step on the porch, grabbing England by the chin, boring his emerald eyes into his youngest brother's own set of jewels. "I'm here. Because you came crying to me. You freaked out, andhad some sort of fucking break down!"

England can't take much more and tears himself away, burned by Scotland's eyes.

"I don't know what to say... to apologize." England chokes out, "I don't know what came over me. I just don't-"

SMACK! The sound of skin on skin rings through England's ears again, cut off and stunned into silence by a backhand from Scotland. Seemingly not receiving enough punishment, Scotland grabs him by his messy blond locks and bangs his head against the porch's post, leaving a dent and spidering cracks in the wood. The lights on the streets and within the houses of Privet Drive flicker and burn out for a second from the impact, as splinters fall to the floor.

"Those are piss poor excuses and you ken it!" Scotland shouts.

"For fucks sake Scot-" England spits as he shoots a venomous look at his brother.

"Don't you bloody darelook at me like that." Scotland scolds him, "It seems we're all in the mood for beating people just for being Parselmouths!"

England doesn't even move to cup his face and relieve the stinging in his cheek. Instead, he painfully unlocks his jaw and releases a sigh "I deserve that." He says as he moves to take another sip from his bottle. Scotland pries it from his hands before he could drink, gesturing and making a face as he takes a swig of it himself as if to say ' -but you don't deserve this'.

"What are you doing with this anyway? We both ken you're too much of a lightweight to drink away your problems." He says as he lays down on the porch beside England.

"Celtic arse." England spits as he rolls his eyes.

"Roman bastard." Scotland shoots back. "Here," he says as he digs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and nudges England's backside with it, "Let's calm down for a bit, awrite?"

England lights it and takes a few drags. With the smoke unfurling in his lungs, it warms his cold body from within. After holding his breath to admire the taste, he exhales and watches as the smoke tumbles upwards, disappearing into night the sky. If only his problems could do the same. "I should have called Francis," he jokes, wiping blood off his temple.

"Isn't he number one on your speed dial?" Scotland asks. Looking back at his brother, England sees he is enjoying his intoxicant of choice as well.

"Don't drink lying down, you eejit." England grins as Scotland pulls himself up to sit beside him and pats his back.

"It's been so long since I've heard Parseltongue." England says quietly.

"I don't miss it." Scotland says as he offers the beer bottle. England turns it away, somewhat regretting even taking it out, and takes another drag of the cigarette instead.

"But how could Harry be a parselmouth?" England asked.

"His father was a pureblood, perhaps somewhere along that line." Scotland reasoned. "But not all parselmouths are dark, right? I mean, lookit us." he says as he ruffles England's hair, trying to lighten the mood.

England grins and meets Scotland's hand on his head. We're not exactly the best example of good parselmouths though. His face falls as he brings their hands down. "It's just, hearing him talk like that, it reminded me too much like-"

"Harry is nothing like that." Scotland says harshly.

"What will happen, when he goes to Hogwarts? What if he gets sorted into Slytherin? What if-"

"Don't even entertain that thought." Scotland says as they meet eyes again. England's eyes were still red and puffy, but he did a good enough job drying his own tears. "Harry is a good boy. You've been teaching him well," Scotland thinks back to the world map hanging on Harry's bedroom wall, now sporting a few green pins around Europe and the British Isles. "He loves learning about and meeting different people. He's got some muggle friends at school, and he loves his Uncle Alfred. He's not going to become some sort of wizard supremacist once he walks through the Great Hall. Something like that doesn't flip like a switch."

England nods and takes a couple more drags from the cigarette. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right you cheeky sod. How'd those words taste coming outta your mouth?" Scotland teases.

"Like vomit." England shoots.

Scotland laughs as he gives England a noogie, a laugh that England is happy to return.

"I just want to do this right this time." England says softly, "Be a good big brother for once. A good father. For Harry."

Scotland looks at him like he just grew second head, "What do you mean? Lookit your colonies."

"I am. I wasn't there to see America and Canada grow up. And once they did, I threw them into a war, against each other! Then Australia, I used him as a dumping ground for prisoners. And New Zealand and Hong Kong, I only cared about them because of their trade routes. And oh God, Sealand-"

"Bloody hell drink this!" Scotland says as he shoves the beer into England's hands.

England's lips hesitate on the lip of the bottle. As he tips the bottle, the liquid burns his throat, untying the knots in his stomach.

"You're and idiot and you're too hard on yourself sometimes Arthur." Scotland says as England downs the last of the drink. "No doubt you fucked up in the past, but you made a promise to North and Hong Kong and Aberdeen: you're a different man now. I ken you truly care for them, and you can't deny they're all grown up to be good boys."

"Thank you for the kind words Alastair." England says as he stamps out the butt of the cigarette and hands the empty bottle to Scotland. "I screwed up. But I can still fix this, right?"

"Of course," Scotland pats England's shoulder for encouragement, "now let's get you inside so you can apologize." He says as he pulls England to his feet.

Walking inside, Scotland sees a small puddle of blood on the floor, a few drops leading up the stairs and some spattering on the wall. The strength of a Nation, and he used it on a human, Scotland scoffs. He quickly casts the scouring charm before England could guilt himself any further.

"So where is the wee tyke?" Scotland asks as he leaves the bottle on the kitchen table while England takes a box from the counter and sets it on the table.

"He's been hiding in his room since it happened." England sighs as he sets the box on the table. "He won't come out when I call him." he starts to retrieve some plates from the cupboards.

"Wait, what's that?" Scotland asks as he helps England set some forks and knives on the table.

"This?" England points to the box and opens it "It's an apology cake obviously."

"You're supposed to be apologizing, not making him feel worse." Scotland grins.

"Bloody hell, I bought it from a French bakery in the city." England retorts, "He loves it when France cooks for him."

They hear a creek on the stairs and look up to see Harry peeking through the railing.

"Uncle Alistair?" Harry says as he rubs his eyes.

"Hey Harry! Come here!" Alistair exclaims as Harry runs down the stairs and into his arms, tears brimming his eyes. "That's quite a nasty shiner innit?" he says. Harry's cheek was already turning a sickening hue of black and blue and so swollen, his eye was nearly shut tight. "Your father give you that?"

Harry sniffles and tears threaten to pour from his eyes again. "He boxed my ears something fierce."

"Ah no worries me braw bairn. I boxed his ears too." He smiles as he brushes tears off Harry's cheeks, careful as he goes over the bruise. "I ken it might hurt Harry, but you have to smile for me, awrite? Give me a smile and let me work my magic."

Harry struggles to hold back tears as he contorts his face into a pained smile. As Uncle Alistair brushes his fingers over his skin, Harry feels that warm, soothing sensation he's come to associate with the rare and beautiful magic of his family in his jaw. Smiling gets easier and easier for Harry, and soon, he no longer has to force it.

"Thank you Uncle." Harry cries into Alistair's chest.

"You awrite now Harry, you awrite." He says as he embraces his nephew.

"What was that about not using magic?" Harry grins to look up at his uncle.

"Well this is deid important! Almost as important as what your father wants to say to you." he says, brushing Harry's dark hair out of his eyes and directing him to face Arthur.

"Harry..." Arthur says as he takes a step forward.

Harry flinches and takes a step back.

Arthur kneels and sits on his heels so he's looking up at Harry instead of towering over him. He's not the powerful empire he once was. No more ruling over his colonies with fear and tyranny. Not in this house. He's just a human here.

"Harry," he calls again, reaching for his son, begging for an embrace and to lessen the space between them. As Harry pads into his father's arms, Arthur closes himself around Harry, holding his son as close to his heart as he could. Even though Harry doesn't do the same to wrap his arms around Arthur, Harry still trusts him. And that's enough for Arthur.

"Harry, love," the words catch in his throat, but they soon pour out like a flood.

"Harry, I should have never raised my hand against you like that. Hurting you and scaring you like that, it's the last thing I would ever want to do. Harry please, will you forgive me?"

The smell of cigarettes and alcohol still on his breath overpower Arthur's usual light sent of tea, but he was still Harry's loving dad.

Wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck, Harry returns the hug, "I forgive you, Dad."

Arthur pulls back to meet Harry's eyes. Both pairs of green were sparkling with tears. Holding Harry's head in his hands, Arthur continues, "Harry, please believe me when I say love you. I love you more than anything on this earth- and I never want to scare you like that again."

"I love you too dad." Harry says, as moves to embrace his father again.

As Harry's arms tighten around England, he feels like he's being pulled back together. After being torn apart by all the invasions, the wars, the declarations of independence; knowing that he is loved and he can love too, makes him feel whole.

He hears a fork tap on a plate. They look up at Alistair who's sitting at the table with a slice of cake. He's cut pieces for both of them and is helping himself to one as well.

Alistair smiles at Arthur, "this is a great cake" he says as he stuffs his mouth again.

I made one of my betas cry.

Guest jack : hong kong x Iceland = OTP! Wait what was the question?

It's actually kind of funny, because I'm uploading this from Hong Kong International Airport.

User YJV :I like it! is it possible to add in the Italy Brothers as well? With Romano possibly representing he magical part of Italy? I love Romano please update soon

Yes, I have re-written some parts to include Romano. I probably won't do that with many other characters that aren't a British Isle or a former colony, because I want the main focus of this story to be the relationship between England and Harry and his family, but Romano's awesome.

Reviews are my lifeblood!