Snakeskins

Overdue

The Paris summer conference was in two days and Arthur had no results. What he did have was high blood pressure.

"Mister POTTER!"

He was quite through with papers, forms, memos and submissions. He would no longer deign to give suggestions or leave open-ended questions unanswered in polite company. Arthur Kirkland was positively fed up with the head of his Magical Law Enforcement Bureau and unless Mister Harry Potter wanted to extract England's boot from his ass this afternoon he would not be delayed any further!

Arthur was banned from using most convenient forms of magic while away from Hogwarts, but he didn't need supernatural aid to swing open the wide green double doors at the end of a long stone passageway winding around the perimeter of the Ministry of Magic. The doors struck the walls with an incredible bang and revealed a vaulted chamber of green stone, thick pillars descending from the high ceiling with veins of gold running through them like marble, their stems piercing the floor and breaking up groups of desks.

The Magical Law Enforcement Bureau was like a very large muggle police station, or at least one from a century or two ago. Brass lamps and desks overflowing with scrolls and sheafs of paper, the hoot and coo of owls fluttering about with Aurors at their desks hunched over work or standing in groups speaking over one another about cases and protocols, short black robes quite unlike day-to-day long flowing cloaks giving them room to pace and gesture as men and women competed for attention in the busy intellectual space. The ghostly apparitions of wanted Wizards and Fugitive criminals wafted through the air in a cycle much like the text at the bottom of a news broadcast, and all the air was humming with the active rhythm of the day.

A rhythm Arthur was set on disturbing as he stormed straight down the clear aisle towards the back of the grand hall. Make-shift walls of bookshelves spilling yet more paper and even magical devices all polished and glowing with energy made the space hum excitedly, and despite the lack of physical lights, it was incredibly easy to see in the dim space.

Arthur would never know sure if it was a biological difference or something purely cultural which rendered Wizards so damned illogical in comparison to muggles. Auror Potter's desk was twice as long as any of the people working for him, cluttered with piles of books and files and candle wax and ink pots and newspapers and abandoned quills that it made Arthur's inner bureaucracy wither up a little in disgust at the sight. He couldn't even stand to see his computer's desk top so out of control, maybe during a difficult quarter or after several rough nights, but not daily like this. But magic folk were different and this was just one example of how.

Back to the matter at hand though: he had given Potter weeks to sort this book nonsense out, but now in the first week of July Arthur had had enough. He had two days before he and Scotland would have to sit down across from the Italian brothers with answers, and he had no answers.

"Potter!" He barked again, and this time made damned sure he was heard as he came to a sharp stop in front of the desk.

Some of the chatter died.

With a sound like the distant ring of a bell, a sprinkle of fairy dust over two tall stacks of record books caused them to part like elevator doors. A golden apple rolled off the top and bounced on the desk before righting itself again, and after a bundle of papers spilled onto the floor Arthur was granted a view of the man he'd come to see.

Auror Potter's desk was the obvious result of many years spent subtly extending the working surface with magic, because it was not only twice as long as a normal desk and heavily rounded, but it was twice as deep as was practical. Behind the books were layers of maps, one particularly large image pegged down with what look like wizarding chess pieces. There were three men standing over the map, and Arthur groaned in the back of his throat when all three of them looked up at him.

One, of course, was Harry Potter himself: with that tangled black mop of hair and curiously bright green eyes there was no mistaking him, the lightning scar on his forehead difficult to see through his hair. He was wearing a black robe cuffed in gold for his rank, the ministry's law enforcement crest blazed over the right breast and reflecting gold and black in the sourceless light. He was wearing a violently purple tie and under the robe it looked as if he had a matching indigo waist jacket on, but Arthur didn't honestly care how he dressed himself.

The second wizard to Mister Potter's left was a Weasley: how else could the red hair, freckles, and awfully round boyish face be explained? His red hair was going a bit thin at the very top of his head and was cut long around his ears, an unattractive look that made the flush on the tip of his rounded nose stand out. He was wearing a pinstripe brown suit, but of course the stripes themselves were florescent and shimmering gold in the light, a wand in his hand where he was leaning on the table where the three men had been talking.

The last one was Professor Longbottom, who was certainly one of the last people Arthur wanted to deal with right now. It was the first time in at least a year that Arthur had seen the Professor without an accompanying layer of potting soil on his hands or feet, his red robe cut short like it often was at Hogwarts. He was even wearing a pressed white shirt with a crimson tie. Although the Weasley seemed a very tall man, Professor Longbottom had the breadth plus the stature to render the other two men very small in comparison. Tiny Auror Potter was the one to actually address Arthur after his interruption.

"Ah, Mister Kirkland." Straightening up as he spoke, Auror Potter stepped out from between the other two wizards and circled around the desk with a hand extended, obviously telling him to come around the workspace and join them at the map. "I was wondering when I might be seeing you again."

"You know exactly why I'm here, Potter." Arthur went for the throat right as their hands clasped for a brisk shake. "I want that book."

"I know you do, Mister Kirkland, but there are procedures to follow."

"You've had two months for your damned procedures!" Auror Potter answered him by simply nudging the bridge of his round glasses higher up his nose and bringing him back to the other wizards. "I'm not telling you to leave the case, Potter, I'm not discouraging you at all from investigating all of this madness! ut for god's sake you're turning myself and McGonagall into a pair of liars by holding on like this!"

"Excuse me, what?" Professor Longbottom's slow, mellow voice interrupted what Arthur knew should have been a statement delivered with more tact, but he simply wasn't of a mind to check himself today. "Harry?"

"Yes, you're quite right." Arthur had a feeling Potter's statement wasn't for him as he was brought fully into the group and a hand was swung out by the Auror to proceed with introductions. "Mister Kirkland this is Ronald Weasley and Professor Neville Longbottom. Ron is my right hand here at the Bureau and Professor Longbottom works at Hogwarts as the-"

"Yes, yes, I'm fully aware of Professor Longbottom's duties and qualifications, Mister Potter." He didn't need the rambling list of House Head and Greenhouses, just held out a fast hand for a shake and blundered through it on his own. "You do excellent work, Professor and your students think very highly of you. Auror Weasley, an honour." Not really, but as he shook Weasley's hand after there was no need to dismiss a war hero or snub either wizard for their outstanding accomplishments.

"Ron, Neville, this is Arthur Kirkland," Potter continued. "We've been having a bit of a tussle over the last few weeks."

"Arthur Kirkland, International Wizarding Relations, gentlemen." Arthur finished up, "Now, Mister Potter, if you'll simply hand over that book then I can be on my way to Paris and deliver it to the Italian delegates when I see them."

"Italians?" Weasley said, baffled.

"Sir did you say Arthur Kirkland?" Longbottom parroted, and Arthur nearly threw his hands in the air.

"As I said," Auror Potter spoke up to calm the rest of them down, hands raised and patting the air gently. "There's been friction between us down here and Mister Kirkland's offices upstairs. Apparently the Italian Ministry of Magic has been poking around Hogwarts for some time and they're very interested in upsetting Mister Kirkland until they get their precious book back."

"Well they can sod off then, Hogwarts is none of their business." Four years ago Arthur might have laughed and agreed with Mister Weasley's dismissal, hell, only six months ago he would have been happy to go along with it, but not now.

"Ron." Potter warned, sparing Arthur who had to deal with a pair of squinting, confused grey eyes coming from his herbology instructor.

"Arthur is my ward, Professor, surely you've heard of him being a foster before now?" Arthur didn't make much secret of it, so if the professors knew he wouldn't have been surprised.

"I had heard that, it's just something of a shock: you do look alike." That was not an encouraging thing to hear… "Fourth year- well, third but he's gone into fourth year now, hasn't he? Slytherin? For such a quiet boy he has quite the knack for getting into trouble."

"Astonishing trouble," Arthur agreed, uncomfortable in his own skin to be talking about himself in the third person like this. "And it's a mess I'm very keen to clean up, Professor. Young Mister Vargas' injuries certainly rocked the boat and-" he looked back at Potter without missing a beat "-giving that book back would be a wonderful bit of help!"

Potter and Weasley had been holding each other's gaze and muttering, but the only word Arthur caught was a repeat of 'Slytherin' and that put him in an even worse mood.

"We're still examining it, Mister Kirkland."

"Mister Potter!" He roared, "Headmistress McGonagall swore that book to the Italians the night it was found! Due to circumstances it wound up here and you have had two months to exam it to your hearts' content! You will release it or so help me I'll go over your head for it!"

"I would very much like to see you try, sir!" Harry Potter was not a great beast of a man but he was only small when compared to his friends. He still had a proud stature to him, strong like a soldier and steeled from fighting too great a war at too young an age. Arthur did respect him, as blindly frustrated as he was by him right now, he respected and held the kind of love that only a nation could feel for one of its heroes.

But when a nation wanted its way- when they needed it at the expense of human sensibility and behaviour, then there were ways around them. There was an innate magic wrapped hand-in-hand with nationhood, an unbridled, readily available source of influence and ability lapping just beneath the surface. It was trust and faith and loyalty, fealty and respect and honour. In physical terms it was a heat, a burn, a rising wave of sensation that started in the gut and rolled up the body, down the limbs, and gave hands gesture and throat voice to make mountains move.

The problem with it was that this power was still magic: and wizards knew how to fight magic.

Arthur could feel the heat rising in him, he could feel it teasing the back of his throat with the only words he would ever have to say to bend a tiny, temporary human's will to his own. 'I need that book' he could say, 'I command you to obey' he could bellow, 'I call you to my loyal service and service me you shall in whichever way that you are able'. He could stamp out inhibition for a moment if he dared breathe heat into Potter's face and let it infect him like a fever, a willing euphoria of utility and purpose, serving the greater whole and feeling the security of one more cog in the great machine

But if he did that, then Longbottom would see it like a miasma: unexplained and nearly dangerous. Weasley would sense it like a predator creeping closer through the underbrush, recognize the symptoms of a friend and colleague acting without his own full consent.

He could bend Potter's will, but then he'd have to fight Longbottom, Weasley, and an entire department of highly trained Aurors. His own people, England's own soldiers.

It infuriated him as a man and nation to stand down, but swallowing that heat like a mouthful of pennies to corrode in his raging stomach, Arthur took one step back to suggest he was giving up the fight. But really: he was only moving so he could see all three wizards clearly. When he spoke his breath was cold enough to turn to mist off his lips.

"The only thing standing between Hogwarts and a full, gruesome inquiry that would shatter its walls and send every student and staff member fleeing into the hills is me." Arthur stepped back and allowed England to take his place, let the voice that belonged to more than just a man utter dark things. "Laugh if you will, boys, about bureaucrats and paper-pushers upstairs. But unless you want to see Hogwarts reduced to dusty halls and silent grounds in your lifetime then listen well: you must give me the power to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that two deaths and the injuries and injustices that have followed were only unfortunate events, accidents, and coincidences, or you can say goodbye to the one place all of us were meant to call home."

Now that got their attention. Potter had a slack-jawed, pale look about his scruffy face to suggest he'd just been slapped, and Weasley had deflated like all the strength had come out of his shoulders, his spine hunching and shoulders bowed as he looked at his shoes instead of up at anyone else. Longbottom was the only one who looked like he was thinking, eyes jumping back and forth as if he were reading rapidly off a page of numbers without understanding them.

Glancing down between the men at the map they'd all been crowded around when he arrived, Arthur didn't recognize much until he saw the image of a gnarled tree inked onto a large hedged space. The map was rough and very old, made on thick and crude parchment that might have been closer to animal skin than paper. The words "Forbidden Forest" were marked decoratively across the top, and that solved the mystery of why the Professor was here in the heart of the Ministry.

"You have two days, Auror Potter, or I can't guarantee Mister Longbottom his job again come September. You know where to send it once you've decided. Good afternoon." And so he left.


Feliciano and England spent about a minute together at the Paris conference, a three day series of meetings that ended with France's July 14th Bastille Day celebration. He had a lot more fun hanging around with Hungary, Austria, Germany, Spain, and France himself than going anywhere close to England.

He just didn't want to talk to him, it was like going and spending time with Russia: yes he could have, but no he didn't want to. Russia was scary, England was not, and Feliciano had more fun talking to Belgium and listening to Japan discuss how potions experiments had led to the discovery of mochi rice cakes in his homeland.

He had a lot more fun just attending the meeting and listening to France drop blatant hints about how he was planning to spend his birthday this year. Only America was shocked by the half-scale model of the Arc D'Triomph made out of cupcakes, or the complimentary chocolate éclairs and roast coffee served on the morning of the 14th instead of the usual continental breakfast in the hotel. And really, America was only surprised because he wasn't very good at listening to anyone who wasn't himself speaking.

"Apologies for the delay." They finally met up in private on the night of the 14th, which was their last collective night in Paris and had, to Feliciano, been a sign that England just wasn't going to keep up his end of things at all. It hadn't really occurred to him that England might have just been looking for a proper opportunity to get it over with.

The hotel was lovely and grand as you were supposed to expect from Paris. The hotel's garden courtyard had been rented and decorated for the Bastille day party, hanging lights and fire works with a large stone space for dancing- both contemporary party music and several slower ballroom songs and ballads for classic, traditional fun. There were humans and nations: diplomats, lucky bystanders, rich citizens, businessmen, a high school choir, tables of food and a small army of waiters and servers to refill wine, water, coffee, or anything else the party-goers wanted. France knew how to host a party like no one else in Europe.

Feliciano had been down on the dance floor when Scotland found him and told him to head upstairs to the second floor balcony overlooking the party, so that was where he was leaning and looking down at the swinging couples and feeling the beat of the music when England approached him.

"Did it have to be this difficult?" Feliciano asked, turning around and leaning back on the balcony railing, ankles crossed and hands braced on the polished marble behind him. He'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned his jacket in the summer heat, and looked up at England who was a few feet away from him: the door back into the hotel was closed.

"I had to tell them more than I wanted to." England was also in a full suit and tie, he even had the waist jacket to make it extra formal, a step Feliciano had skipped for the sake of comfort since the party was outside. He couldn't remember what colour England had worn, and in the ambient light shining up from the dancers below he couldn't make it out right now. He had eyes only for the flat leather briefcase the other nation was holding.

They didn't say anything else as Feliciano pushed off the rail and England held the suitcase up for him to take with a soft 'thank you' in Italian. Then things got a little tense.

"…Huntington was brought in by Potter to translate the text."

"Ah," his least favourite professor working with the father of his least favourite Gryffindor! What a small magical world England hosted. "Did they do much to it?" He asked for conversation's sake, watching England put his hands in his jacket pockets and stare absently past him at the courtyard.

"Honestly I didn't look or ask, I wouldn't know it even if they had since I had no previous contact." The briefcase, he could feel it now, was warded and charmed to suppress the nasty aura the book inside had. It was better to keep things like this quiet: even if other nations knew about magic and its unpleasant tendencies, it wasn't worth bringing up on such a happy occasion. "Will that be all, Italy?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Will you be arriving early in London for the September express?"

"No. I'm going to have my brother adjust the charm and make my own way there." He'd have a bit of trouble with some of it maybe, but now that he had that additional power to change clothes when transforming his body, it would be much easier to just get to the station as an adult and put the charm on with no one looking. He wasn't feeling generous enough to share the technique with England just yet.

He was about to walk away when the other nation took a sudden, shallow breath and held it. Curious, Feliciano held off from saying goodbye and watched England's eyes slowly track from the edge of nowhere back in front of him, then eventually look at him.

"I am sorry, you know." He hadn't expected an apology. "For what happened. You do understand that if I could have another run at it I wouldn't make the same mistakes twice."

"It's not your mistakes I'm mad about, England." Even if saying he 'forgot' was a very big leap. "It's your decisions." The decision not to hunt, not to look around, not to be critical of what he was seeing and actually inquire into all the things that were going wrong at that school. His decision to play school instead of use his cover for what it was: a cover to figure out why children were attacking children: blowing up their things, cutting off their hair, throwing them off broomsticks from terrible heights or laughing as their peers ran off covered in flames.

Italy was still mad.

"Good night, England. I'm gonna put this away and then go back downstairs."

"…Good night, Italy."


One more summer chapter and then year 4!