Summary: (Harry Potter / Hetalia Axis Powers Crossover) England decides to teach at Hogwarts to keep an eye on the Boy Who Lived. But the famous Trio (Harry, Ron, Hermione) are becoming suspicious of their new professor... Can England keep his status as a country a secret? And what does Voldemort want with him?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter was created by J.K. Rowling. Hetalia Axis Powers was created by Hidekaz Himaruya. Harry Potter and Hetalia belong to their rightful owners. I do not own either.

America

I have a feeling that my Boss wouldn't be too happy if he found out what I was doing... Just a hunch. Hmph, well, it's not like he's the boss of me... oh... wait, he kinda is.

The United States of America sat in a passenger jet that was about halfway through in it's journey. The destination: New York City. He wasn't alone, and sat with two other passengers on either side of him. One of them, a pretty blonde lady, sat quietly with her legs crossed, reading a magazine. The other, a business-like man in a gray suit, had his laptop opened on his lap, and was working on something or another. Unlike his "neighbors" on the plane, America had nothing to distract him but his thoughts. He had packed in such a hurry that he had completely forgotten to bring something to entertain him for the long flight.

Whatever. I don't call myself the Land of the Free for nothing! I'll do whatever I wish. Besides, this is important... This is the only way I can think of that might let me know more about what's going on. thought Alfred, trying to justify his brash decision.

Alfred turned his eyes to one of the screens in the plane that was playing a movie, hoping to turn off his brain and lull himself to sleep. It wasn't working.

In his head, Alfred went over his plan for the hundredth time. He was to go to the American wizarding community of "Barrel's End Avenue", one of the largest gatherings of wizards in the United States, and the closest thing in the country that compared to Diagon Alley in London. It was hidden in New York, and many wizards tended to gather there to sell things. Even wizards from out of the country (the UK and Canada, most notably) gravitated to the spot. Last time America had visited, many years ago, there had been a thriving black market posted there... as well as many magical crime gangs.

Step one: go to New York and pick up a gun. Lord knows I'll need it... who knows what may go wrong?

America had a place in NYC that was set aside for him should he choose to visit. He kept a small, personal store of fire-arms locked in a vault there. If for some reason he couldn't get a gun there, then he'd just have to buy a new one. Call it paranoid, but America didn't trust the wizards of Barrel's End. Last time he'd been, he'd almost been mugged by three of them and their pesky wands. It didn't help that America was also rather out of touch with his considerably smaller magical community. He didn't trust magic... magic was unpredictable. Magic defied everything that should be normal (but then, so did he...). In short, it wouldn't hurt to come prepared with a weapon, if things happened to get hairy.

Step two: Go to Barrel's End Avenue, and stroll around for a bit. Investigate. Socialize. Act like I belong there. Talk to the local wizard dudes, and the foreign ones too if I can...

Step three: If all goes well and smoothly, leave. With any luck, I'll have obtained some invaluable information.

Step four: Use whatever I've learned to find and help Mattie.

...

Out of the blue, America's belly rumbled and whined, angrily sending sparks of pain throughout his stomach-region. The female passenger with the magazine on his right sent him a momentary look before returning her attention to the magazine in her hands.

Alright. Change of plans. Step one: Get some food and coffee first.

England

Rose Zeller was coming over for tea today.

After teaching her grade their History of Magic class, he had noticed that she was a little... off. The girl was with her small gaggle of friends, and on the surface she seemed happy, but England had felt prompted anyways to offer her tea today, during her mid-day break.

"Miss Zeller," he had said as the rest of the students exited, excitedly talking amongst one another. She had looked up at him, surprised but pleased and smiling. "Could you wait behind for a moment to speak to me after class? Don't worry, you're not in trouble."

"Yes sir!"

At that point England had invited her over to his office. Rose's mood had immediately brightened ten-fold. Gleefully she had agreed before hugging him around the waist. Still not used to such open displays of affection from her, England had patted her on the head and back, warmly but a little uncertainly, not really knowing what to do in the situation.

"You're my favourite teacher," she'd cheerfully but timidly whispered into his robes, her voice muffled.

At that moment, England had felt a warmth blossom in the epicenter of his chest, spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. For one of the first times, England truly felt happy that he'd decided to be a Professor. If this was what teaching was all about, then he didn't regret choosing to do it.

Suddenly, Rose pulled back, looking horrified. "But you can't tell anyone I said that!" she'd said in an almost scolding voice. "I don't want to hurt the other Professors' feelings!" her eyes shined with unshed tears of guilt.

"Well, we wouldn't want that," said England thoughtfully, trying to placate her. "Don't worry, you have my word."

"Promise?"

"These lips are absolutely sealed. Now go on, I don't want to make you late."

She broke into another smile. "I'll see you for tea Professor!" Rose said before she blew out of the door.

And now that it was noon, England was to be expecting Rose at any minute. He already had the tea ready, and to pass the time he was reading a book. He felt happy. Yes, the meeting last night had shaken him, especially his chat with Dumbledore at the conclusion, but that was behind him right now. Right now, he was relaxed, he had a good novel in his hands, Brandee was on his lap, the polar bear was eating, and a sweet student who he adored was coming to visit.

Just then, England dropped his book. It collided on the ground with an obnoxiously loud 'thud'. Brandee yowled and barreled under his desk, green eyes peering out at him.

Pain. Pain in his chest. It felt like a serpent was trying to escape his lungs, working it's way up his throat, with another one was coiled around his heart, squeezing...

He acutely recognised this agonising sensation. But was it just him... or was it worse this time?

Gagging and choking, England sprang to her feet, stumbling to the bathroom. He couldn't reach it in time before the first cough came and worked its way out of his mouth. Blood burst from behind his closed lips, dripping down his chin and splatting on his floor.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, England made it to his bathroom. He started for the sink, but his legs couldn't support him. In the end, England settled for leaning against the bath, his torso and left arm draped over the edges of the bath's walls and his head facing down, partially obscured by his light-coloured hair.

For a while he just heaved, spewing up globules and torrents of red liquid. This time, there was no vision to accompany the fit, though England knew without a shadow of a doubt that somehow You-know-who or his followers had been responsible for this.

He hated this. He hated feeling this weak... hated being reduced to a messy wreck, coughing blood over the side of the bath-tub...

To make matters worse, England heard someone knock at the door. As if he didn't have enough to deal with at the moment...

"Hello? ...Professor?"

Damnit! I forgot about Rose! He couldn't let the girl see him like this. Their tea would have to wait till later...

When England didn't answer the door right away, Rose opened it. England heard her call out for him again, and this time her voice sounded more worried. "...Professor Kirkland? Sir? Oh, hi Brandee! Where's the Professor, girl?"

"I'm here, Rose!" he said loudly from by the tub, trying his best to sound natural. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that we may have to do this another time-" England's speech was interrupted by an untimely hacking cough.

"...Are you okay Professor?" he heard her say in concern. "You don't sound too well..."

"I'm fine!" said England as happily as he could, gritting his red-stained teeth and closing his eyes tightly, trying to fight the burning pain... "I-I'm, I'm just a bit ill! I'll have to cancel-" another cough stopped him once again from finishing what he was going to say.

To England's horror, he heard Rose's footsteps rush to the half-closed bathroom door. There was nothing he could do to stop her should she choose to come inside. In his haste, he hadn't completely closed or locked the door, and he was in no state to do it now. She hesitated, and then opened it. England closed his eyes, bracing himself.

Rose gasped then screamed. It must've looked horrible, with the tub covered and slightly filled with blood. He had coughed up more of the vile stuff than he usually did this time... How was he going to explain this?

"Professor?! Oh, what happened...?" her initial alarm fading into quiet hysteria and concern. She still hadn't moved from the doorway.

"Nothing," said England pathetically, knowing that there was no way in hell the first-year Hufflepuff would buy that... He was still half-hanging over the side of the bath, body trembling occasionally.

"...Y-you're... you're hurt sir! I'm g-going to get Madam Pomfrey!" she said, turning on her heels and preparing to dash away.

"No!" coughed England, moving himself upright with some difficulty and effort.

"Don't worry, sir," she said in a voice that was half-panicked, and half comforting. Bless that girl... she was trying to be calm and reassuring for his sake... "Madam Pomfrey is a really nice lady! She'll fix you right up!"

"I don't need-" but the girl was already gone.

England cursed, spitting blood disgustedly. Well, that was just great. The last thing he needed was to be moved to the hospital wing, in the middle of noon-break, when just about everyone could see him, just so that Madam Pomfrey could take a look at him. It wasn't as if she would be able to do anything to help him, anyway... These fits listened to no one. They came and went as they pleased, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Rose returned with Madam Pomfrey only a few minutes later. When they got there, they found England in the bathroom, in almost the exact same position as when Rose had first discovered him.

England had been considering trying to hide somewhere or cleaning the tub to hide the evidence, but in the end he had concluded that such courses would be useless. He was still coughing, so hiding wouldn't help him convince them to leave.

In this sort of a situation, he was trapped, and with no way to get out.

America

After landing in the city, Alfred hadn't wasted any time.

He'd had no trouble with picking up a weapon, and while digging through his stuff, he'd also come across his old wand, and had decided to bring that along too. Although America planned on only using his gun if he ran into trouble, it was a good idea to have a wand on him. Without a wand, he may look weird, and the wizards in Barrel's End would be suspicious of him. And this was why America was now walking to the entrance of Barrel's End with a simple pistol hidden in his jacket sleeve, and a wooden wand tucked behind his ear so that it was easily visible on his person.

It was an old and long wand, about twelve inches and made of dog-wood. He was pretty sure that the core was phoenix-feather, or something like that. (1)

Back when he had been very young, England had insisted on sending him and Canada to Hogwarts for a single year of instruction, simply so that they could learn the basics of magic. Just before going, England had bought each of them their own, personal wands. That had been a long, looong time ago, when he had still been a colony. He'd completely forgotten that this wand was here... and he couldn't remember the last time he'd used it. America wasn't exactly... as accepting of magic. That was more Iggy's thing.

Barrel's End Avenue was easy to find, if you knew where to look. For non-wizards, it was impossible to see, hear, or enter the place. It was at a construction site that had long been abandoned. Years ago, some people had tried to build a recreational center there. However, due to the abundance of muggle-repelling spells concentrated around the area, they had been unable to do so. The project had been abandoned for vague and unexplained reasons only days after official construction began, leaving behind dug trenches and foundations, abandoned supplies, and unused building parts. No one ever went here. Not even the dumbest and most rebellious of teenagers. Of course, this was ideal for the wizards.

Being careful where he stepped, Alfred wandered through the old abandoned construction zone. He was looking for something in particular: a porta-potty. Why they had decided to change the entrance of Barrel's End Avenue into a portable toilet was beyond America. He supposed that it was a good cover-up, but still... gross.

America spotted the teal green porta-john a ways ahead, and made a bee-line for it. The closer he got, the more details he could pick out. It was battered and dusty, and if Alfred had to guess where it had come from, he'd wager that the construction workers had brought it with them, and then had left it behind after the project was cancelled. There was also a very unwelcoming stench emanating from the toilet, that steadily grew with each step he took. Alfred made a face, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue in exaggerated nausea and disgust. The smell was probably an added precaution to drive away unwanted guests.

Bracing himself, Alfred grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open. Immediately the smell wafted over him in full force. Alfred gagged, his face turning green. This better be worth it...

Once he'd firmly closed the door behind him, (trapping himself with that horrible odour in the process...), America felt around the toilet-paper dispenser, his hand searching for the secret pressure-point that would cause him to be transported to Barrel's End.

His mouth twisted with revulsion. "Where is it?" he muttered impatiently, his other hand clamped over his nose and his eyes just about watering from the tainted, repulsive air...

His fingers finally found the pressure-point, and America felt the floor beneath his planted feet begin to sink down into the ground like an elevator. Sighing out from relief, America leaned against the door, breathing through his mouth and trying to inhale as little as possible.

It didn't take long for the portable toilet to stop moving. The door opened, and Alfred could have cried tears of joy when he felt the wave of fresh, clean oxygen crash over him. He just about stumbled out of the door, glad to be out of the stink and the confined space. Hoping that no one had caught his not-too-graceful entrance, America casually crushed off the arms of his jacket.

He was here.

It's time for action.

Barrel's End was like a dome-shaped cave, and it was deep, deep underground. So deep that it was undetectable, especially when considering all the magical measures taken to conceal it. Despite this, however, it was hard for America to believe he was under the surface of the earth. This was mainly due to the bright lighting, and the absence of a ceiling. The surface of the earth, or the "roof" of Barrel's End was so far above the ground that it was extremely hard to see. Large spotlights were mounted to the "ceiling" of the cave, and they lit up everything like a football field so that it was almost as bright as day. There were also vents and tunnels leading to the outside, so that surface air could be pumped in, and the old air could be pumped out. Thus, the air was usually fresh.

America was in the near-center of Barrel's End. This part mostly consisted of shops, stands, restaurants, and travelling sales-wizards. Farther from the center area were some homes for people to rent and a few Inns for the wandering wizard to stay in. In the outer fringe of the community was where the vast majority of the crime originated. Barrel's End was infamous for it's wizarding crime, but if you kept a straight head and didn't go looking for trouble, you were sure to count on a safe visit. Unfortunately for America, he had a feeling that he may have to go looking for trouble...

Countless wizards meandered in front of him, some in groups, and others alone. They wore everything from ridiculously long and colourful robes and pointed hats to frayed jeans and hoodies. The fashion in America was a little more flexible for wizards, but most of them still clung to the traditional wizarding garb from England. Most of them were shopping, selling and buying all manner of magical wares. America spied a pair of witches sitting at a café, two teenagers playing an altered version of Quod-pot, and three children admiring the sweets in a candy-store before moving on to a broom-stick shop.

America felt as if he had just stepped into a different world; one that was both similar and yet completely different from the one he knew.

Warily, he began to move, weaving through the people as he walked. No one paid him any mind. America knew that the odds of him learning anything useful here were next to zero. No, all the juicy info in Barrel's End was in one place.

The fringe.

And that was where America was headed.

England

"Mr. Kirkland! What ever happened to you!" shrieked Poppy Pomfrey, her composure completely lost. Rose peered out from behind the medi-witch, her eyes wide and fearful.

Arthur groaned, blood still leaking out from his lips. "It's just as I told both of you-" a cough. "Nothing!" His mind hurriedly searched for an excuse, but it was hard to think when you had to cough up your own plasma every few seconds.

"Don't give me that! You're vomiting buckets of blood into a bathtub!" Pomfrey crossed the room and placed one hand under each of his arms. She scooped up England, causing him to stand, and grunting from the exertion as she did so. England moaned, closing his eyes and coughing pitifully. "That's a lot of blood," he heard her whisper aloud. "But don't worry! You'll be fine." she added quickly, afraid that he had overheard her. She must've been trying to lift his spirits by speaking positively. "We'll get you as strong as an ox again in no time!"

Arthur groaned again. To distract himself from everything that was happening, he let a few choice words escape his mouth before another coughing-fit made him stop.

"Now Arthur!" scolded Pomfrey, moving backwards and supporting him as she did so. England was almost limp, with his ankles dragging on the floor, so she had to work twice as hard. "There's no need for that kind of language! There's a child here! Rose, dear, could you help me move him?"

"Yes ma'am!" squeaked Rose, trying to be brave.

"Bloody-" England threw his head back and hacked up more of the thick red liquid, choking on it when it refused to completely come up. His throat gurgled.

"Bloody is right!" agreed Poppy briskly. She opened the office door, and with Rose's assistance, began to walk to the Hospital Wing with England at her side. After a while, he regained a bit of his strength, so moving and supporting him became less of a hassle for the two witches. "Now tell me, Arthur, do you remember swallowing anything odd or sharp by accident? Perhaps-"

"Aaaaghh," he tripped on nothing, a river of red was pouring from his face like a waterfall or a fountain, continually falling... Rose just about slipped from a puddle, yelping as she fought to regain her balance.

"Oh, to hell with this," muttered Poppy. "Locomotor, Arthur Kirkland!"

England felt an invisible force lift him off his feet. He lurched forward and made a noise of surprise. The spell moved him into a horizontal position, floating a few feet off the ground. He growled and huffed under his breath, feeling humiliated. "Poppy! I assure you that this is hardly necessary-"

"No speaking," snapped Pomfrey, directing and moving him with her wand. "We're almost at the Hospital Wing."

England fumed and suffered in silence. He spied Brandee, following them and mewling loudly as she watched him move slowly through the air. It wasn't long before he could hear the sounds of the Great Hall coming up on his left. Great... just great... he bemoaned, running a hand down his face. Please don't let anyone see me, please... he chanted over and over in his head.

For once, it looked like England's wish was to be granted. While passing the Great Hall, no one seemed to notice. The students were too busy eating and socialising to pay him much mind. England began to relax the moment they passed the massive opening of the doorway, and when the interior of the Great Hall was out of view. Finally, some good luck...

But alas, it was not to be...

"Professor Kirkland?" said one of the Weasley twins, George, England believed. It was hard to tell the difference at a distance. He and his brother were rounding the next corner when they spotted the strange procession of Arthur floating in mid-air on his back, Madam Pomfrey with her wand out, and a small Hufflepuff girl with a cat following in the back.

"Yes," dully replied England, bowing his head and coughing some more. Madam Pomfrey moved him onto his side to avoid having him choke. "That's me."

"What happened?"

"Nothing," stubbornly insisted England. Pomfrey snorted in disbelief.

"Out of the way!" proclaimed Pomfrey, making a shooing gesture with the hand she wasn't using to hold her wand. "I have to get him to the Hospital Wing."

Slightly flustered, the red-haired twins quickly moved aside, anxiously watching England leave.

America

'BANG!'

It hadn't taken him long to get involved in a conflict. Now, America found himself crouched behind a stand used to sell illegally acquired potions. Moving stands and carts like these were common in the Barrel's End, and the fringe was no exception. This one was coming in handy keeping him covered and shielded from the incoming jinxes and hexes being fired at him from across the street. America didn't hesitate to return the fire with his gun. Their basic shields couldn't hold back ordinary lead...

Honestly, it was hard to recall how he had ended up like this... Oh, right.

It had all started with him seeing a Death Eater.

An effing Death Eater. Blatantly wearing his "uniform" of a black cloak, creepy mask and all, in public.

Another blast of magic shattered a bottle of potion on the stand above America, raining down onto his shoulders. Oh wait, sorry, his bad... Correction: TWO Death Eaters. He sure hoped that that potion wasn't poisonous or anything... Or worse, if it would make him sprout ears or something.

America had expected to see some bad and strange things in the fringe. Death Eaters hadn't been one of them. Aren't they, like supposed to only be in England?! thought America angrily. After seeing the wizards, who were so obviously affiliated with You-know-who that it was undeniable, America had done the obvious thing: approach them. His first instinct had been to confront them, but the more rational side of his brain had decided that sneaking up on the two or even trying to pick up a conversation to question them would be smarter. Unfortunately, as soon as he had seen Alfred coming in their direction, one of the Death Eaters had panicked.

"That's him! I saw his name and face on the list!" shrieked one of the Death Eaters, pointing a finger at Alfred. America looked around, wondering if the wizard was actually pointing to him or someone else. No, he was the only one there. What did the guy mean by "list"?

"What are you yammering on about? Belt up!" irritably grumbled the other cloaked-man.

"I swear! I recognise him! I was on the Berlin mission!"

'The Berlin Mission'

...That had been a serious mistake on the Death Eater's part. The wizard was either very foolish, or very afraid. "The Berlin Mission". Berlin... That had been where Matthew had gone missing...

I knew it. Voldemort was responsible. That's all the proof I need, inwardly growled Alfred. Now all that remained was to extract every last bit of knowledge out of these two. They'd better pray that they could tell him where his brother was... because if he didn't get an answer... there'd be hell to pay. That man, the one that had claimed to be a part of this "Berlin Mission", had in all likelihood been indirectly involved in the disappearance of Canada. He'd be the first to go, if Alfred didn't get his answers... Oh, if only he'd had kept a cool head, had been quiet, and hadn't let out such an obvious outburst.

Alfred immediately pulled his gun out from its hiding place. The wizards bolted for it. Alfred pursued them, with the edges of his vision tinged red, and his brain filled with hot rage.

They began to pull out their wands, preparing to disparate away, but America aimed precisely and shot at one of the wooden sticks, shattering it into splinters. The Death Eater who had been holding the wand yelped, shaking his hand vigorously. The other wizard became distracted for a moment, but before America could use this to his advantage, the Death Eater with the remaining wand sent a curse his way.

While America moved quickly to the side, dodging the curse with only a second to spare, the wizard who had lost his wand quickly stole another one from a passing witch. She had struggled and swore in protest, but in the end the Death Eater had ended up with once again, a wand in his possession.

Instead of continuing to try and escape, the Death Eaters had turned on Alfred, going on the offensive... Alfred continued to fire bullet after bullet, stopping once to snap in a new cartridge as fast as his fumbling fingers could move. With the hand-gun now reloaded, he once again began to shoot-

America flinched as a hex sparked against the ground, far to his left, abruptly pulling him out of his unpleasant reminiscing and bringing him back to his present situation. Jeez, these guys had horrible aim...

He quickly whipped his arm around and blindly fired his gun, shooting in the general direction of the two attacking wizards. That had been his third warning shot since getting stuck behind this stand. Now he was getting pissed...

He shot his pistol again, this time daring to let his head come out from behind the stand, and aiming to hurt. Clicking the trigger a second time, he came to an unfortunate realization...

"Shit!" He was out of bullets.

Sure, he could always use the wand that was still miraculously tucked above his ear despite all the action that had happened, but Alfred had other and more preferable methods for bringing these two goons down...

Alfred scooched back a bit and faced the stand he had been using as a form of cover, sitting with his knees against his chest. He drew back his legs, and firing his muscles, pushed them into the cart. It went flying, moving forward at the speed of a car. Alfred could heard the wizards yelp and scramble away, trying to avoid the incoming stand as it sailed through the air like a meteorite. He heard the loud crack that signified the departure of one of the wizards by disapparation, but he also heard another one of the wizards cry out in pain. At that same instant, he heard the ear-filling sound of the potions-sale-stand slamming into the ground and breaking into pieces.

Gotcha, bastard... he smirked triumphantly.

Alfred leaped to his feet and darted forward. The only thing left of the stand after its impact was a wreckage of wood and bits of glass. The remaining wizard had steered clear of most of the flying debris, but was pinned under a decent sized-beam. By the look of him, one of his legs was broken, and some of his ribs were most definitely in bad shape from the way he was grimacing and breathing sharply. Despite this, the Death Eater was desperately struggling with the beam, trying as hard as he could to move it or at least shift it. He was in the midst of throwing it off before Alfred got to him, slamming his foot into the guy's shoulder and kicking his wand away.

Shoot, this isn't the wizard I wanted... thought America grumpily, surveying the terrified man. This was the Death Eater who hadn't recognized him, the one who hadn't been a part of this "Berlin Operation". Still, he wasn't totally innocent either, and he could always squeeze something out of this guy...

America placed the barrel of his pistol against the Death Eater's crotch, staring him dead in the eye as he did so. Yes, the gun wasn't loaded, but he didn't need to know that... "Listen carefully, and answer every one of my freaking questions if you want to keep your precious balls," spat America, tightening his grip on the useless weapon.

The Death Eater gulped, his adam's apple bobbing.

Canada

A man walked into the room. His footsteps sounded heavy to Canada, and they echoed throughout the attic, rebounding painfully in Canada's ears. Because his head was ducked, Canada only saw the dark mantle that the intruder wore.

At first Canada had stiffened and recoiled, expecting an onslaught on his mind. ...But then he began to suspect that this person was not You-know-who. Over the course of his stay in this attic, chained to the wall, Canada had become very familiar with You-know-who's proud, long, but soft and silent footsteps. This person, whoever he was, was NOT He-who-must-not-be-named. The fact that his thoughts and memories had not yet been invaded was further proof to this fact.

Hesitantly, Canada raised his head ever so slightly. He had been right. This person was not You-know-who, he was a Death Eater if his robes and presence here were anything to go by. He had a snide, pale face, with a long nose. This face was framed by black, greasy curtains of lank hair. In his right hand he held a bag.

"I'm here to check up on you, on the Dark Lord's orders," said the Death Eater in a slow, bored voice. His dark eyes were devoid of any visible emotion.

Matthew said nothing. Check up on me? For what purpose? Its obvious by now that I won't die, and I can't remember the last time I ate, so what's the point? It was true. Since coming here, Matthew's feedings had been rare, and the rations had been low. He was wasting away, both physically and mentally. I just wish I was home... lamented Canada wistfully, absently tugging on his chains. His chains were his constant companion, now. It must look beautiful with the snow right now... and Christmas will be coming soon. I hope Kumajubube is okay, too.

The dark-haired man crouched down next to Canada, placing his bag on the ground. He began to sort through the bag's contents, and Matthew caught a glimpse of light reflecting off glass flasks from the interior. A variety of contrasting smells wafted out of the bag's opening. Probably potions of some sort. He gave Canada a quick check-over, his fingers finding and inspecting the nearly-healed slices on his shoulder and back. Canada didn't move nor resist. He was too tired... too tired...

"Looks like you need a potion to perk you up," he said, ever so gloomily. Canada gave him a look, wondering if the man was actually serious, No sh-

From his bag of potions, the Death Eater retrieved a small, slim phial. A dense, golden liquid oozed and moved inside, as if the potion had a mind and will of its own. ...Like hell I'm drinking that... Nope nope. Canada shuddered. The potion may have an attractive colour, but the way it seemed to move of its own accord made Canada feel squeamish just by looking at it. No way is he putting that in my stomach.

The man flashed Canada a suddenly stern glance. Canada nearly flinched from the intensity of it. "You will drink this," he said, slowly. His voice lowered, and Canada had to strain to hear it. "This concoction has a name... Felix. Don't waste it." At first, Canada didn't understand. A gasp flew forth from his lips. Felix Felicis. Liquid Luck. ...Why? How?

Unstopping the phial and bringing it Canada's lips, the man said no more. Canada, still suspicious of trickery, cautiously sipped down the golden potion. A warmth travelled down Canada's throat as the pricelessly valuble potion trickled and flowed into his mouth. He began to feel... confident, more confident that he'd felt in days. It must've been the luck-inducing potion taking effect. So... this was the real thing, not fake. It must be.

After carefully placing the now empty phial back into his bag of potions, the man departed. "Good luck," he said meaningfully over his shoulder, but with no real conviction. Still, Canada understood the double-meaning of the man's departing remark...

I have all the luck in the world on my side, now. Canada thought. But why? Why would a Death Eater betray You-know-who? Why give him that potion? Why try and help him, and even possibly aid in an escape attempt? Does it matter, Canada grimly said to himself. These questions are getting me no where. At least now I have a chance at escape. Who knows how long this potion will last though? I've got to be quick, and try now. There will be no second chances, and no other golden opportunities like this will come my way... If I don't try and make a move now, I may never break free of my captors.

There was still a major issue here, though. Liquid luck could help him sneak past guards, and even slip away from this wretched, god-forsaken place unnoticed... but would it get him out of these magically reinforced chains? Canada didn't see how it was possible. Still, despite his dubiousness, the new-found confidence from Felix Felicis was stronger than his uncertainties. Somehow, Canada was certain that deep down, he would find a way. Felix would find a way. And right now, "Felix" was telling him to rattle his chains. Canada did just that, producing a loud metallic clanking sound. He didn't know why making this much senseless noise was so supposed to help him, but something told Canada that it would be worth it...

As if in echo to his thoughts, Canada heard another pair of footsteps enter the attic where he was being kept. Another one of his jailors, one of the countless despicable men that assisted in holding him in this loathsome place... What were the chances of two of them visiting him within two minutes of each other? How... lucky...

This new Death Eater rushed inside, pushing the door aside with his shoulder. He looked around wildly, breathing heavily. "I heard something!" he accused, glaring at Canada. "What's going on in here?" He demanded of the chained nation. Matthew shrugged innocently, but beneath this façade his purple eyes glinted and his lips tugged up tauntingly.

Canada assumed that this Death Eater must've been on guard duty. The guards had always seemed extra paranoid to Canada, extreme taking precautions and acting jumpy whenever Canada so much as twitched. You-know-who must've really threatened and scared them pretty badly for them to be this dedicated to their guarding duties. Canada shuddered to think what would happen to his guards in the event that he actually successfully ran away... no, he couldn't afford to feel pity and have second thoughts right now.

"You better not be trying anything fishy," scowled the guard, briskly walking forward to have a closer look, probably to see if Canada had been meddling with his chains. Yes, that's right... come closer... Felix/Canada urged, feeling elation rise with each step the Death Eater took.

When the Death Eater was close enough and in range, Canada struck. During the course of his imprisonment, Canada had almost always behaved well and passively. This had led his guards to become more relaxed and filled with a false sense of security when around him. The Death Eater had literally come within a few inches of Canada. What foolishness...

Canada shakily but speedily sprang to his feet and slammed into the Death Eater simultaneously. Although his movements were unsteady from being limited to rarely standing and being unable to walk for a great many days, Canada still took the wizard by surprise. Before he could cry out in surprise and possibly alert any other Death Eaters, Canada swung a chain around his neck, cutting off his airflow. The man wheezed silently, his face beginning to turn blue and his eyes bulging. His fingers scrabbled and scrapped weakly against the chain. While keeping the chain pulled taught, Canada searched blindly in the incapacitated Death Eater's robes...

Ah, yes! He'd found it. The man's wand... Canada held the wand delicately between two thin fingers, levelling his indigo eyes at it deliberatively. He was temporarily overcome with a feeling of déjà vu... He had a wand of his own, somewhere back home... It was made of maple, or something... Still, it had been so long since he'd last held such a magical tool, or attempted to wield magic in general. Well, at least now he had a weapon of some sort to help him leave.

Feeling peculiarly odd as he did so, Canada used the common stunner spell named "stupefy" to render the suffocating Death Eater unconscious. Next, he once again looked through the man's robes, finding a key to unlock the cuffs and chains on his wrists. Immediately relief swelled through his hands and arms, and wincing he brushed trembling fingers against the sore cuts and dark bruises that decorated his abused wrists. After that, he lowered the slumping wizard onto the ground, eying him critically and contemplatively. Now, it was time to leave, and sneak past any remaining guards... He couldn't just leave the man's body there, though, and instead shoved him into a closet in the corner of the attic. If someone walked in, though, they'd immediately see that Canada was missing. He'd have to make this quick in order to avoid such an occurrence...

Canada took his stolen, recently-acquired wand and put the tip of it to his temple. Immediately, his body began to literally vanish. Canada observed with a sort of morbid fascination as his legs and arms vanished, blending in seamlessly with the background and surroundings behind and around them. Of course, his limbs were still physically there, and Canada could feel them just fine, but they were now completely and utterly invisible. Even his constant companion of a shadow had all but disappeared; a skill that was difficult for even the best of magic-users to master. Experimentally, Canada made a fist with his right hand and brought to up in front of his face, waving it in front of his own eyes. It was unnerving to not be able to see your own body...

Matthew Williams had always been especially adept at disillusionment, invisibility, and camouflage spells. With other types of magic he'd been reasonably proficient, (excluding apparition, which he'd always utterly failed at), but spells that made him disappear had been where he'd excelled like no other. Heh, it's probably because people can hardly see or pay me mind even when I'm visible... thought Matthew in a strange mixture of light humour and dejection. With any luck, (and I'm pretty sure I have plenty right now, thanks to that potion...), I'll be able to simply slip away like a breeze... never to return.

Nodding to himself determinedly, Canada set out. He made sure to close the creaking door as slowly and silently as time could allow. To Canada's great delight, it looked like most of the Death Eaters had left. The house was more-or-less abandoned, save for the occasional lingering person. Every time he passed someone, he'd slow his pace and halt his breathing. No one ever looked his way. All was going to plan... not that he really had a plan. He was just mostly making this up as he went a long, with the help of "Felix's" suggestions.

In good time, Canada was outside the building. He couldn't believe his luck... he hadn't been noticed. Not by a single person. And better than that, You-know-who must've been off somewhere doing whatever psychopath-dark-wizards do, because he hadn't ran into him, thank goodness...

Now that he was finally outside again, feeling the fresh air caress his face, Canada wanted nothing more than to run and run, without looking back.

Just in time for Canada to finish that thought, he heard a voice that chilled him to the bone...

"What do you mean, he's gone?" came Lord Voldemort's hissing vocal chords. Canada froze. Almost in slow-motion, he turned, shuffling mutely. The bone-white faced wizard was standing in front of the building's door, speaking to a Death Eater. It frightened Matthew at how easily the dark-wizard had slipped past his senses, and how he hadn't even noticed him appear... For once in his life, Canada felt grateful that he was invisible. From inside the house, Canada could hear the panicked and frenzied movements of men running, probably searching for him...

Okay. No problem. Just because HE decided to show up, doesn't mean you can't still blow the coop without anyone being the wiser... Canada drew in a shuddering breath, his heart hammering away in his rib-cage and a nervous sweat droplet forming on his forehead. He wiped it away absently. Focus... He ducked into the next alleyway, not wanting to run into any people in the streets.

Scotland

Something was going on in the town of Perth, Scotland decided. Something peculiar... out of the norm. He didn't know what it was yet, but he was going to find out. Every since visiting Perth, Scotland had noticed something felt... wrong. Out of place.

Scotland prided himself in being very intune with the state and affairs of both his people and land. He spent much time living among them; drinking with them, laughing with them, speaking with them... Compared to many other countries he'd met, Scotland interacted with humans more frequently than most. His younger brother England, while being deeply caring for his precious Brits, didn't come nearly as close to the hours and dedication Scotland poured into integrating himself into society. Scotland supposed that this was so because a part of him wanted to... be a part of them. He didn't want to feel like an outsider.

Therefore, Scot knew that something amiss and sinister was taking place in Perth. He was going to find out what it was, and take care of it if necessary. Perhaps it had to do with the subtle string of mysterious disappearances and assumed deaths that had taken place here only recently.

Or perhaps it had something to do with the disturbingly loud sounds coming from that circuit of alleys that no one else seemed to hear. His instincts had led him here, and those noises warranted a looking-into... The whole situation was made increasingly suspicious by the way that none of the people walking by reacted to the noises at all...

...Magic? Scot speculated. It could be so...

Though every instinct in his body was screaming for to RUN RUN RUN Canada refused the urge to bolt, instead restricting himself to an almost leisurely pace. Leaving too quickly could give away his position, so it was necessary that he move as quietly, carefully, and inconspicuously as he could. Unfortunately, You-know-who had wasted no time, and had already sent out all the Death Eaters to scour the general area. If Canada was somehow discovered, he would be forced to make a mad dash to freedom, which could lead to blunders...

The Felix Felicis had worn off over a minute ago, leaving Matthew on his own. Still, he was convinced that the worst part of his plight was over. Now that he was out of the house, he shouldn't have too much trouble-

A Death Eater ran past him, his legs flying. Canada pressed himself against the alley wall, avoiding him and trying not to breathe heavily. When the Death Eater was out of sight, Matthew resumed his endless walk... Quite on accident, his foot scuffed against the ground, producing a scritching noise and kicking up a loose piece of the pavement.

"And where do you think you're going...?" that unforgettable voice, the one that would no doubt haunt Matthew for many months to come...

Merde.

There he was, behind him, standing almost casually. Next to him stood one of his followers, twitching nervously, but the man was hardly worth note when compared to the monstrosity at his side... He-who-must-not-be-named was as frightening and disturbing as ever. His long, bone-thin fingers tapped impatiently against his folded arms, and those savage scarlet eyes flashed out from a pale and sharp face. He was staring almost exactly at the spot where Matthew stood, like a deer caught in the headlights...

He can't see me, can he?! worried and fretted Canada. No one should be able see me with the naked eye... How was he able to find me so easily? Maybe he's bluffing, and doesn't actually know I'm here. He could just be trying to provoke a reaction from me. But no, I made a noise, as small of a noise that was... it still seems to have given me away... Damn damn damn. Maple. God help me.

Without any kind of warning, Voldemort abruptly pulled up the sleeve of the Death Eater next to him, revealing a faint and red tattoo-like-marking resembling a skull and snake. The Dark Mark. After touching one of those spidery fingers to the mark, it flared black immediately.

Should I run now?

In response to the mark and the summoning of their master, dozens of Death Eaters apparated into existence.

Yes. That would be wise. It's haul-ass time, as Alfred would put it...

Matthew didn't get very far. He managed to shoot forward a few steps before a blast of tearing pain struck him in the side. He screamed, loudly and chillingly. His skin burst open, the muscles beneath the flimsy exterior being sliced deeply by some invisible force. Canada's vision blurred, and he never did see who had been responsible for the spell. Blood flew across his face, appearing as some vague, blurry red blobs... He stumbled, landing on his shoulder jarringly. As his focus and concentration wavered, so did his illusion of invisibility. He flickered into partial sight for a second, revealing his location, before once again fading into the background.

...Ouch.

Canada recovered just in time to scramble out of the way of a barrage of killing curses and all kinds of other nasty spells. The gash in his side screamed in protest, and out of the corner of his eye Canada witnessed a smear of red against the pavement from where his body had skidded against it. He dared not look at the wound, for fear that perceiving the full extent of it would distract him or make him sick.

Practically flying to his feet, Matthew shot towards a corner, planning to make a break for it down another street. Another, shallower slash flew up his left leg, making him teeter precariously on his feet. In the end he collapsed a second time, his head and limbs working only faintly and sluggishly to push himself up again. This time, he could hold onto the invisibility spell no longer, and it failed completely.

This is it... Matthew lamented. I can't run like this... looks like my luck's run out. I can't give up, though. At least, not without a fight. Still, Canada knew this was the end of the line. He felt like a cornered animal at the conclusion of the hunt, knowing that he was prey and that he couldn't win, but resisting all the same.

When a shadow fell across his face, Matthew immediately assumed that it was You-know-who. How awful it must look, for him, a nation, to be on the ground, while a mere criminal (however powerful he may be) leering over his prize. He cringed, delaying the moment when he'd have to look into those awful red eyes. This was of course futile, and unavoidable. Reluctantly, Canada opened his pained eyes and brought his head to the figure he knew was standing over him.

It most definitely wasn't who he'd thought it was.

"...Uncle Scotland?"

There was no denying it, even when his back was facing him. The mop of bright red hair, the cigar hanging from his lip... He stood defiantly, but almost casually, as if he didn't consider the hoards of dark wizards facing them a threat. Canada had a suspicion that part of this might be an act, designed to be a deliberate intimidation tactic. It seemed to be working. Most of the Death Eaters shifted and muttered with discontent and uneasiness. You-know-who on the other hand, just looked plain murderous.

Matthew had no idea how he'd gotten here, appearing out of nowhere, but he couldn't care less. It was a safe guess to say that this was the happiest he had ever seen him.

Scotland turned his head to glance at Matthew, dividing his focus between the unmoving and shocked enemies in his front and the hurt country at his back. "Ye alright laddie?" came the simple, three-worded question. Canada nodded numbly. He certainly didn't feel "alright", but experience told him that these weren't fatal wounds... Heh, they never were...

He-who-must-not-be-named and his crowd of followers still hadn't moved. Whether from surprise, or just plain interest, Canada wasn't sure. Scot took advantage of this lapse in their attention and action to speak more directly to Matthew. "Disapparate." His voice was flat, quiet...

"What?" Canada had already considered this, but the thought of apparating... He shivered, unthinkingly placing a hand on his gravest injury. Disapparating had always been a last-minute plan to him, one that he didn't want to undertake... Canada had never been good at apparating. Sure, he'd learned, once... centuries ago. He hadn't done it since then, and was seriously out of practice. Even if he had recently apparated, Canada still wouldn't want to try. He had been horrid at it since the beginning, always splinching, finding himself in wrong, inaccurate destinations... Desperate times called for desperate measures though... I can do this. I can.

"Where?" he whispered hoarsely, swallowing his fear. "I can't go too far..." He warned. Canada knew first-hand that the risks of apparition escalated the greater the distance you attempted to traverse. Canada had a feeling that if he tried to jump to another continent and go straight home... he'd lose an arm or something. That would be... unpleasant, and Canada hoped to avoid that.

Scotland looked thoughtful for a spell. He kept the sound of his voice down enough that only Matthew could hear properly. "...My school. Th' special school. Yoo've bin there once before. My brother should be there as well... Yoo'll hae tae go tae th' forest, 'cause th' school itself blocks all apparition, as does th' school groonds. After tha', you shood be able tae arrange a way tae get home."

"What about you?" asked Canada, concerned. He couldn't just leave him.

"I've got plenteh of tricks up mah sleeve."

Somehow, Canada didn't doubt this. He can handle himself... he's always been more confident in this magical stuff than me... Suddenly Canada was overcome with the familiar feeling of inferiority. He shoved it aside as best as he could.

Leaning most of his weight on his uninjured leg, Canada shot to his feet and whipped out his stolen wand. In his mind, he nervously pictured the forest he had in mind...

...

CRACK!

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and please review some more and tell me you're thoughts! I'd like to hear them!

(1) This is pending, and MAY be subject to change. But I think I'll probably keep it the way it is...

Heheh America is pretty OOC here, but if I was in his position I'd get pretty serious and moody too. Well, whatever, enjoy some Epic!/Bada*sAmerica! D: Oh my? I wonder why there are Death Eaters in America? There was only two, but they seemed pretty comfortable where they were, don't you think? I'AINTTELLINGSHIZ

Speaking of Scottie, I wonder how that vote will turn out! :3 Should be interesting either way. SCOTLAND IS EPIC WOOOOO And he'll hopefully have more chances to shine! Haha, I bet none of yeh expected him to get involved or be the hero, didja? There will be more of him next chap!

So Canada is trying to get to Hogwarts? I know a bunch of you want Alfred to come for a visit as well... I wonder if that'll happen...? How will this all play out? You'll just have to keep reading to find out I guess.

BETCHA THERE'S A BUNCH OF MISTAKES IN 'ERE (GOTTA COME BACK AND PROOF-READ)

Phew! That was a long chapter! *wipes forehead* Thank you SOOOO much everyone for reviewing! And please, keep reviewing! I love them, and they've really helped me conquer this whopper of a chapter! Please, keep it up? *puppy dog eyes*

eheh it already snowed twice where I live... and now it's hot again... WEAHTER, Y U NO MAKE YOUR MIND?! :0